library of the
period, and it is to him the student is indebted for the magnificent
collection known as the "Harleian," which subsequently became, by
purchase, the property of the nation, and is deposited in the British
Museum. He married the greatest heiress of the day, Lady Henrietta
Cavendish-Holies, only daughter and heir of the duke of Newcastle (of
the Holies creation--the present duke, a Pelham-Clinton, derives from
a different descent). He left but one daughter. She married the second
duke of Portland, grandson of Dutch William's pet page Bentinck, whom
he imported into England, and loaded with honors and emolument until
even the House of Commons of _that_ day cried out loudly, "Enough!
stop!" Through this lady the Bentincks got Welbeck, the duke of
Portland's chief seat to-day.

Meanwhile, the Oxford honors and patrimonial estates in Herefordshire
passed to the second earl's first cousin, and so on, in regular
succession, until the earldom became extinct by the death of Lady
Langdale's brother a few years ago. One of Lady Langdale's sisters
married a General Bacon. At the time of the marriage he was but a poor
captain, and his wealth did not much increase, whilst his family did,
and his wife, the once beautiful Lady Charlotte, Byron's "Ianthe"--to
whom he addressed the famous lines which form the prelude of _Childe
Harold_, beginning,

Not in those climes where I have late been straying--

had to see her daughter a governess in the family of a Cornishman,
once a common miner! One of her daughters is now married to the son
of Lord Mount Edgecumbe's agent. It seems that the sisters could not
forgive the mesalliance, as they deemed it, for Lady Langdale's will
shows no bequest to the Bacons.

Lady Langdale had another sister, who married a son of Doctor
Vernon-Harcourt, long archbishop of York, grandfather of "Historicus,"
the well-known political letter-writer of the London _Times_. This
lady died about the same time as Lady Langdale. One sister only, the
wife of a foreign nobleman, survives. She is the last of the Harleys
of the great minister's line.

A GLASS OF OLD MADEIRA.

We had met in Europe some dozen years ago--I from Massachusetts,
he from Carolina. We both looked grave for an instant as a friend
presented us to each other, naming our respective residences, and then
both laughed cheerily, and were good friends ever after. We enjoyed
_Tartuffe_ and the _Mariage de Figaro_ in company wit