It was the last night of the seven years, and never had William Kempe abandoned himself to But towards day-break sleep with lighter spirits. a change came over him. His slumber began to be disturbed by frightful dreams. So intense was the pain that he awoke, and saw the grey light of morning dimly striving with the night-shadows, but he was unable to move hand or foot. Fain would he have cried out for help, but his tongue refused to form a single syllable. He had been struck by palsy. When at a late hour of the day no Mr. Kempe made his appearance, the family became so much alarmed that they broke open the door of his bedroom, when they found him in a truly pitiable plight. He had evidently some weighty secret upon his mind, and the efforts he made to speak convulsed him frightfully, yet still without producing anything more than imperfect sounds. Seeing that he was so anxious to make some communication, they brought him pen, ink, and paper, and then first perceived that he had lost the use of both hands, as well of his feet. The physicians, though they exhausted all reasonable and unreasonable remedies, could do nothing. On the night of the third day he died. "Very wonderful," said I, when the old peasant had finished his tale; very wonderful—if it were only true." "I'll be sworn it's true," he answered, somewhat sharply; "you may see the seven fish-ponds with your own eyes, if you Besides, isn't it said so on his tomb in choose it. To dissipate our doubts, we wandered to the parish church of Finchingfield, and there, true enough, in the south aisle, a handsome monument, over William Kempe and his wife Philippa, records the vow of the seven years' voluntary silence. PORTRAIT AT BRAHAN CASTLE. AMONG the numerous family portraits in the ancient castle of Brahan, the seat of the Hon. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie of Seaforth, there is one, concerning which a tale exists which is not more strange than true. It represents Lady Frances Herbert, second daughter of William Herbert, Marquess of Powis (created Duke by the abdicated James), wife of Kenneth Mackenzie, fourth Earl of Seaforth (created Marquess by the same monarch). This lady died at Paris in December, 1732. It may be proper to explain that the descendants of the Marquess of Seaforth, the elder line of that noble family, are extinct in the male line; and the estates and headship of the clan devolved on Francis Humberstone Mackenzie, created Baron Seaforth in the peerage of England, whose daughter and sole heiress is the present Hon. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie. Among the descendants in the female line of the elder branch, was the late Viscount Kenmure, whose mother, Lady Frances Mackenzie, was daughter of the fifth Earl, titular marquess of Seaforth, and grand-daughter of the Lady Frances Herbert. One of the brothers of the Lady Frances Gordon of Kenmure, was Lord Nicolas Mackenzie, in holy orders in the church of Rome, to whom the education of his nephew, the late Viscount Kenmure, was, in his early years, confided. Some years ago Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie, then residing in Edinburgh, received a note from the late Viscount Kenmure, requesting permission to call on her and introduce himself to her as a cousin. At the appointed time he came; and in the course of conversation, he informed the chief of Seaforth that he had just returned from a tour in the north, and that his regard for his maternal ancestors had induced him to devote a day to a visit to Brahan Castle, over which an old housekeeper had shown him with much attention. "I was especially struck by one picture," said his lordship, "that of my great grandmother, Frances Herbert, Marchioness of Seaforth; and what is very curious, I at once recognised her!" "How can that be?" said Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie, "for she died upwards of a century ago?" "Notwithstanding," said Lord Kenmure, “I have seen her, and the impression which she made on me could never be effaced, and I at once recognised her portrait in your gallery at Brahan. "I was educated in Flanders by my uncle, Lord Nicolas Mackenzie, a pious ecclesiastic of the church of Rome; and I well remember that, one evening, while we were alone together saying our prayers before retiring to rest, a most venerable benignant-looking lady entered the room, and glided behind the prie Dieu, on which my uncle was kneeling; and continued looking mildly and kindly upon us until our prayers were ended. Then she disappeared. I immediately asked my uncle if he had remarked we were not alone? Certainly, said he, we were not alone: the spirit of my grandmother was with us. But her presence did not disturb me, it rather gave me encouragement to pray. The presence of a saint like her could only bring peace and joy. This incident made a deep and lasting impression on |