LADY JOHN RUSSELL, the eldest daughter of the late Thomas Lister, Esq., was married first to Thomas Lord Ribblesdale; and is now the wife of Lord John Russell, M.P., Secretary of State for the Home Department, third son of John present Duke of Bedford.

"Amongst the British noblesse," says Mr. Burke, in his Peerage, "there is not a more illustrious house than that of Russell. The name is interwoven with the brightest achievements in the records of England, and it has been borne at different periods, by statesmen, warriors, and patriots, as sage, as gallant, and as disinterested, as ever guided her councils, unfurled her banners, or bled for her freedom."

This great family is of undoubted Norman origin, and was settled at a remote era in the county of Dorset. In 1202 we find a John Russell paying the sum of fifty marks for licence to marry the daughter of Daun Bardolph. In 1221 we find the same person, or at least one of the same name, acting VOL. IX. NO. v.-NOVEMBER 1836.

as Constable of Corfe Castle, whose son and heir, Sir Ralph Russell, Knight, married one of the daughters and co-heirs of James de Newmarch, Baron of Newmarch and Derham. This family is indebted for its rise to an incidental introduction to Philip Archduke of Austria, son of the Emperor Maximilian, about the year 1500. Mr. John Russell having been presented by that prince to Henry VII, he was soon after admitted into the Royal service as a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber. By Henry VIII he was appointed Marshal of the Marshalsea, Comptroller of the Household, and a Privy Councillor; created by patent, 29th March 1539, Baron Russell of Cheyneys, in the county of Bedford; appointed Warden of the Stannaries, K. G. 1540, Admiral of England and Ireland, President of the Western Counties, Lord Privy Seal, and finally one of the Council to Prince Edward, at whose coronation he officiated as Lord High Steward of England. He obtained also, on the dissolution of the

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greater monasteries in 1540, a grant to himself and Anne his wife, and the heirs of their bodies, of the whole site of the rich Abbey of Tavistock, and large domains thereunto belonging. On the 29th Jan. 1550, he was advanced to the dignity of Earl of Bedford; and on the accession of Queen Mary he was continued in his office of Privy Seal, and sent Ambassador to Spain to attend into England King Philip, to whose grandfather he was first indebted for his introduction to the English Court. He married Anne, daughter and heiress of Guy Sapcote, Esq., and widow of Sir John Broughton, Knt.; and dying, 14th March 1558, was succeeded by his only son,

FRANCIS, Second Earl, K.G., who distinguished himself at the battle of St. Quentin, in the reign of Mary. This nobleman married first, Margaret St. John, daughter of Sir John St. John, Knight, and secondly Bridget dowager Lady Rutland, daughter of John Lord Hussee. He was succeeded, 28th July 1585, by his grandson,

EDWARD, third Earl, who died without issue, and was succeeded by his cousin

FRANCIS, fourth Earl, one of the advocates of the popular party during the reign of Charles I ; but his death, which occurred 9th May 1641, was considered a great loss to the royal cause, as his speculations extended no further than the redress of grievances. He was father, with other issue, of Edward, whose son Edward Russell commanded the British fleet at the battle of La Hogue. The Earl of Bedford was succeeded by his eldest son,

WILLIAM, fifth Earl. This nobleman served for some time as a general of the Parliamentary army, but becoming disgusted with the violence of that party, he resigned his commission, and afterwards concurred in the Restoration. On the 11th May 1649, he was created Marquis of Tavistock and Duke of Bedford. His eldest son was Lord William Russell, who was so cruelly beheaded 21st July 1683. James II in his misfortunes applied to the Duke of Bedford, observing-" My Lord, you are a good man, and may do me some services." The Duke pathetically replied-“ Sir, I am old; I had a son, who might have served your Majesty had he lived." The Duke

died 7th September 1700, and was succeeded by his grandson,

WRIOTHESLY, Second Duke, whose suc

cessor was

WRIOTHESLY, third Duke. This nobleman married Anne, daughter of Scroop first Duke of Bridgewater, by Elizabeth, third daughter of John Duke of Marlborough, but, dying without issue, was succeeded by his brother,

JOHN, fourth Duke, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in 1756, and in 1762 Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of France, in which character he signed, at Fontainbleau, the preliminaries of peace with France and Spain. He died 15th January 1771, and was succeeded by his grandson,

This popular

FRANCIS, fifth Duke. nobleman died at Woburn Abbey, deeply lamented, at the early age of thirty-seven. Imbued with the political principles of his family, Francis Duke of Bedford was regarded by his party as the hereditary champion of the constitution-in private life he was universally beloved and esteemed. His grace died unmarried, and was succeeded by his brother,

JOHN, sixth and present Duke. This nobleman was born 6th July 1766, and married, the 21st March 1786, Georgiana Elizabeth, second daughter of George fourth Viscount Torrington, by whom he has, with other issue, FRANCIS Marquis of Tavistock, and the present distinguished Secretary of State and Leader of the House of Commons-Lord JOHN RUSSELL.

Lord JOHN RUSSELL, the third son, married, 11th April 1835, Adelaide Lady Ribblesdale, eldest daughter of the late Thomas Lister, Esq., of Armytage Park, in the county of Stafford, and sister of Thomas Henry Lister, Esq.,the author of "Granby." The family of Lister is of great antiquity in the north of England, and the senior branch, now represented by Lord Ribblesdale, has been seated at Gisburne for more than five centuries. Lady John Russell's grandfather, Nathaniel Lister, Esq., of Armytage Park, M.P. for Clitheroe, a gentleman well known in the literary world, was the second son of Thomas Lister, Esq., of Gisburne Park, and uncle of Thomas first Lord Ribblesdale.

Ir was a lovely September afternoon, when my friend and self stepped on board the elegant steamer, General Lincoln, which was to convey us to Hingham, a small and picturesque village on the coast of Massachusetts. We were glad to leave Boston, for, though summer had gone by, her warm breath and sunny smile still lingered in the air, and any one who has been so unfortunate as to pass that season in a city, can tell how their bland and balmy purity, which is such a blessing amid the woods and fields, is lost amid the harsh glare of a brick wall, and the crowd of a public street. We found the deck alive with children-the pupils of a free school, who, accompanied by their teachers and a band of music, were going to pass a holiday, as a holy hour, in the country.

It was a glorious day-the clear, rich sun smiled at his own bright face in the waters. The children laughed and sung, and chased each other in their glee, as if their very hearts were just let out of school --and the wanton sea breeze, frolic as themselves, tossed their free wild curls into the golden fight, and played with the roses on their dimpled checks, till the wavy hair grew bright, and the warm face rosier still. The rainbow gleamed in the foam like a girdle of gems by our side-the waves leaped up like living things, all redolent of light and joy-and many a gaily painted boat did we pass, and many a majestic ship, with its curved sails changing from grey to gold as shade or shine prevailed. At length the band suddenly struck up a popular air. The broad white deck was cleared for the quadrille ; the sets were quickly formed; and the children, smiling and blushing, bounded lightly through the mazes of the dance. Altogether it was quite delightful; and, impelled by the same impulse of admiration, we both drew our pencils from our pockets to commemorate the scene-my friend, by a drawing in his sketch-book; and I, by some verses in a blank page of a volume of Burns. As I raised my head to think of a simile for the sweet season of childhood, my eye was attracted by a fairylike boat, with a single sail, dancing merrily

over the waves, as if it possessed a human spirit to rejoice in the beauty of the day. The following lines, suggested by the sight, may not be inappropriate here:

How swift o'er the waters it dashes!
The spray-jewels spring to its prow,
The sunny foam over it flashes,

And Heaven looks soft on it now.
With its balmy breath wooingly pressing,
The zephyr has curved the light sail,
And the bark in that playful caressing,
Goes gracefully on with the gale.

A cloud o'er the far away billow,

So down-like and delicate rose,
So soft, it would seem a fit pillow
To cradle a seraph's repose!

Yet we know not what darkness and danger
It bears in that bosom of light,
The smile of the beautiful stranger
May change to a frown ere the night.
Ah! thus, in Life's rapturous morning

We float with the breeze and the beam;
The shadows of destiny scorning,

We see but the sun-lighted stream. The beautiful islands which are scattered over the harbour of Boston, render this sail one of the pleasantest in the world. There are two, on which forts were erected in war-time, Fort Strong and Fort Independence. But the most interesting one of the present day is Thompson's Island, on which is an excellent asylum for indigent boys, called the Farm School. The island contains one hundred and sixty acres of land, all of which is in a high state of cultivation. Most of the work in the extensive gardens is performed between school-hours by the pupils, now numbering just one hundred. The younger boys have small garden-lots assigned to them, which they are allowed to call their own, and in which they of course feel a lively interest. The school-house is erected on a prominent part of the island, and commands a rich and varied prospect.

Another object worthy of notice is a monument, called Nix's Mate, raised many years ago to commemorate the murder of a mate, perpetrated on the spot, by a captain of that name. It formerly occupied the centre of an island, which has since been washed away, and the restless waves now lash in vain the lone and lasting memorial of guilt. It is built of granite, and

there is something grand in its desolate appearance, as it stands unmoved and stern, in sunshine and in storm, amid the everheaving sea!

Among the many objects of interest, along the shore of the main land, is seen the still unfinished monument on Bunker Hill, erected in memory of the unfortunate -I should say, the fortunate- men who fell there at the commencement of the revolutionary war. It has been many years in progress by subscription, and, as a sarcastic friend of mine lately observed, it is to go a few thousand dollars' worth higher this year. It is to be of solid granite, in the shape of a pyramid.

Hingham is of late becoming a fashionable resort from the city. It is the oldest town in New England excepting Plymouth, which is within a few miles' distance of it. Our purpose in going thither was to visit an invalid friend, who, with her mother and sisters, was boarding at a cottage in a lonely and romantic part of the village, called Rocky Nook. Our walk from the boat was delightful, through most luxuriant woods, whose foliage had been suddenly changed, by the magic wreath and smile of autumn, till it glowed like a living rainbow. The house was situated on a gentle eminence, and, as we approached, a bright face vanished from the window, and the next moment my friend was flying down the hill to welcome us. How perfectly lovely she looked at that moment! Her white morning dress simple and graceful as herself her pale brown hair wreathed with wild flowers, and drooping in long curls on her check the tremulous glow of returning health-the fair Madonna forehead, full of purity and intellect-every feature of that face so delicately beautiful—the whole contour of the small, elegant head, and curving throat so entirely classical:-Raffaelle, could he have seen, would have made her his model, and given new grace to the canvas. Behind her, in swift pursuit, came her youngest sister, the pet of the family-a little rosy rogue, three years of age, with wild disordered curls, that absolutely gleamed with light and looked like a net for sunbeams. She was a strange bright child, at times so full of fun and frolic, and at others so thoughtful and demure. "If all who are born must die," she said to her mother one day, "I wish God would unborn me, for I don't want to die." At another time, after some one had told her that it was God who clothed the sky with clouds, she seemed for

a few moments absorbed in thought, and then exclaimed-" Mamma! is God the mantua-maker of the sky?"

At the door we were met by the rest of the family, and ushered into a small parlour, most tastefully adorned with natural flowers. After partaking of a delicious repast, consisting of new milk, eggs, bread and butter, pies, honey, and a cake made of Indian meal, called by the good housewives of New England "journey-cake,” we adjourned for the evening to the spacious barn, where, by the brilliant moonlight, the children amused themselves with the swing, and the rest of the party with singing and conversation. Our number was soon increased by the arrival of some village friends. But the evening air grew cool, and we were about to return to the house, when some one proposed a dance.

Ah, but we have no instrument,” said another.

Hardly had she finished speaking, ere an inspiring waltz was heard from some invisible flute! It was surely in the air! Was Prospero alive? Had Ariel come again? And the low melodious laugh, which followed our exclamations of wonder, and which sounded directly over our heads, did not lessen the delusion. But the pleasant tune went on; and so enlivening were the notes, that several sprang from their seats, and joined in the graceful dance, while others searched in vain for the enchanter. At last a slight rustle betrayed his hidingplace. "The loft! the loft!" they cried. There was a sudden rush towards the ladder leading to the hay-loft, and several gentlemen ascended. Then there was a playful struggle, renewed laughter, and they reappeared at the head of the ladder, dragging forward our Ariel with his flute in his hand-a romantic youth, who loved solitude, and often sought it in the cool and quiet loft. At our request, he continued his music, and a merry country dance ended the amusements of the day.

Early the next morning seats were arranged in the large hay-cart for a trip to Mantasket beach, about three miles distant, and seven miles in length. All the most romantic of the party, among whom was myself, were eager for a seat in this rather ricketty vehicle; the rest were contented with the more rational carry-all. I did not envy those in the latter, for they were not half so gay as we. A poet, a painter, a lawyer, and an editor, were our attendant beaux, and many a jeu-d'esprit and many a