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blast me with its thunders. Go to. I could, by mine art,
so humble thee, set thy love so exquisitely on its desire,
that thou shouldest lay thy proud womanhood aside — sue
and crouch, even if 'twere for blows, like a tame spaniel !
I have thee in my power, and were not the natural bent
of thy dispositions kind and noble-hearted, yet sore beset,
and, as it were, overwhelmed by thy curst humours, I
had now cast my spells about thee — ay, stricken thee to
the dust ! Shake off these bonds that enthrall thy better
spirit, and let not that beautiful fabric play the hypocrite
any longer. Wliy should so fair a temple be the dwelling
of a demon ?"

A deep sob here told that kindlier feelings were at
work ; that nature was beginning to assert her prerogative,
and that the common sympathies, the tender attributes of
woman were not extinguished.

The struggle was short, but severe. With difficulty she
repressed the outburst of her grief as she spoke.

" A woman still ! 'Tis the garb nature put on. I have
wrapped a sterner garment about me." A long and bitter
sob here betrayed the violent warfare within. It was but
for a moment. Affecting contempt for her own weak-
ness, she exclaimed,

" Throw it off? F^xpose me defenceless to his proud
contumely? Even now the cool glance of indifference hath
pierced it through ! "

Here she arose proudly.



" And what thinkest thou, if 1 were to stand unarmed,
uncovered, before his unfeeling gaze ? "

" He loves thee ! " hastily rejoined the seer.

" Me ! — as soon that bauble learn to love as "

" Say but one word, and I will bow him at thy feet."

" 'Tis well thou mockest me thus. To worm out my
secret, perchance. — For this didst thou crave my pre-
sence ? Let me be gone ! "

" Thou shalt say ' Yes,' Kate, ere thou depart ! "

The curtain which divided the apartment suddenly flew
aside. The astonished lover beheld his mistress : — not
the unreal phantom he had imagined, but a being sub-
stantial in quality, and of a nature like his own, though
gentler than his fondest anticipations.

The seer departed ; but in the end the lovers were not
displeased at being betrayed into a mutual expression of
their regard.

The operation of the heavenly influences was, in these
days, a doctrine that obtained almost universal credit ;
and it would have been looked upon as a daring piece of
presumption to baffle the prophetic signification of the

On that same night, being the eve of St. Bartholomew,
they were married : — thus adding one more to the numer-
ous instances on record, where a belief in the prediction
has been the means of its accomplishment.

The remainder of Kate's history, and how she crossed
the sea, accompanied by her husband, into the wilds of
Bohemia, living there for a space; and how she after-
wards returned into her own land, will be set forth at
some more fitting opportunity.



D 2

" Still the fairest are his fuell,
When his days are to be cruell ;
Lovers' hearts are all liis food,
And his baths their wannest blood ;
Nought but wounds liis hands doth season,
And he hates none like to reason."

A Hue and Cry after Cdpid. — Ben Jonson.




XHE dark and romantic history of the Earl of Tyrone
would, of itself, occupy a larger space than these volumes
afford. The following episode, connected with his con-
cealment in the neighbourhood of Rochdale, the author
does not presume to bring forward as a fact. Yet there
are good reasons for supposing that it formed an important
era in his life, and was followed very soon after by the
queen's pardon. The importance of this measure may be
conceived, when, by some, Elizabeth's depression, and the
profound melancholy she exhibited in her latter hours,
were attributed to this source. It is said, that she re-
pented of having pronounced his forgiveness ; that having
always resolved to bring him to condign punishment, she
could i-eceive no satisfaction from his submission : while
the advantages of her high estate, and all the glories of a
prosperous reign, were unable to alleviate her disappoint-

The following is a brief sketch of his life — extracted
from generally received authorities.
D 3


Hugh O'Neale was nephew to Shan O'Neale, or the
Great O'Neale, as he was more commonly called ; well-
known for his eminent courage, a virtue much esteemed
by the half-civilized hordes whom he commanded. He
was created Earl of Tyrone by the queen ; but disliking
this servitude, and wishful to liberate his country from
the English yoke, he entered into a correspondence with
Spain ; procured from thence a supply of arms and am-
munition, and having united many of the Irish chiefs in a
dependence upon himself, he began to be regarded as a
formidable enemy.

The English found much difficulty in pursuing the
rebels into the bogs, woods, and other fastnesses to which
they retreated. Sir John Norris, who commanded the
English army, was rendered thereby more willing to
hearken to the proposals made by Tyrone, and the war
was spun out by these artifices for some years. Sir John
dying, as was reported, of vexation and discontent, was
succeeded by Sir Henry Bagnall. " He advanced to the
relief of Blackwater, then besieged by the enemy, but was
surrounded in disadvantageous ground. His soldiers,
discouraged by part of their powder accidentally taking
fire, were put to flight ; and, though the pursuit was
stopped by Montacute, who commanded the English
horse, fifteen hundred men, together with the general
himself, were left dead upon the spot. This victory, so
unusual to the Irish, roused their courage, supplied them
with arms and munitions of war, and raised the renown of
T}Tone, who was hailed as deliverer of his country, and
patron of Irish liberty." *

• Cox, p. 415.


The unfortunate Essex was afterwards appointed to the
command ; but his troops were so terrified at the reputa-
tion of Tyrone, that many of them counterfeited sickness,
and others deserted, fearful of encountering the forces of
that daring chief. Finding himself in a great measure
deserted, " he hearkened to a message from Tyrone, who
desired a conference; and a plain near the two camps
was appointed for this purpose. The two generals met,
without any attendants. A river ran between them, into
which Tyrone entered to his saddle-girth, but Essex stood
on the opposite bank."

At this meeting, where " Tyrone behaved with great
submission to the lord lieutenant, a cessation of arms was
agreed on. * Essex also received a proposal of peace,
into which Tyrone had inserted many unreasonable and
exorbitant conditions ; and there appeared afterwards
some reason to suspect that the former had commenced a
very unjustifiable correspondence with the enemy." From
this time the beam of Essex's favour was obscured, — the
issue terminating in his death and disgrace. In the mean
time, Tyrone had thought proper to break the truce ;
" and, joining with O'Donnel and others, overran almost
the whole kingdom. He pretended to be the champion of
the Catholic faith, and openly exulted in the present of a
phoenix plume, which Clement VIIL, in order to encour-
age him in the prosecution of so good a cause, had conse-
crated, and conferred upon him." f Essex being recalled,
the queen appointed Mountjoy as lord deputy. " He found
the island in a desperate condition ; but being a man of

* Sydney's Letters. f Camden.

I) i


capacity and vigour, he immediately advanced against
Tyrone in Ulster. He penetrated into the heart of that
country, the chief seat of the rebels. He fortified Derry
and INIount Norris. He chased them from the field, and
obliged them again to shelter in woods and morasses ;
and, by these promising enterprises, he gave new life to
the queen's authority throughout the island."

Tyrone, however, still boasted that he was certain of
receiving the promised aid from Spain ; " and every thing
was put in condition for resisting the Spanish invasion,
which was daily expected. The deputy, informed of the
danger to which the southern provinces were exposed,
left the prosecution of the war against Tyrone, who was
now reduced to great extremities, and marched with his
army into Munster."

" At last the Spaniards, under Don Juan d'Aquila,
arrived at Kinsale ; and Sir Richard Piercy, who com
manded in the town with a small garrison of one hundred
and fifty men, found himself obliged to abandon it on
their appearance. These invaders amounted to four
thousand, and the Irish discovered a strong propensity to
join them, in order to free themselves from the English
government, with which they were extremely discontented.
One chief ground of their complaint was, the introduction
of trials by jury *, an institution abhorred by that people,
though nothing contributes more to the support of that
equity and liberty for which the English laws are so justly
celebrated. The Irish, also, bore a great favour to the
Spaniards, having entertained the opinion, that they them-



selves were descended from that nation ; and their at-
tachment to the Catholic religion proved a nevs^ cause of
affection for the invaders. D'Aquila assumed the title of
general in this " holy war" for the preservation of the
faith in Ireland ; and he endeavoured to persuade the
people, that Elizabeth was, by several bulls of the pope,
deprived of her crown ; that her subjects were absolved
from their oaths of allegiance, and that the Spaniards were
come to deliver the Irish from the dominion of the devil.*
Mountjoy found it necessary to act with vigour, in order
to prevent a total insurrection of the Irish ; and having
collected his forces, he formed the siege of Kinsale by
land ; while Sir Richard Levison, with a small squadron,
blockaded it by sea. He had no sooner begun his oper-
ations than he heard of the arrival of another body of two
thousand Spaniards, under the command of Alphonso
Ocampo, who had taken possession of Baltimore and
Berehaven ; and he was obliged to detach Sir George
Carew to oppose their progress. Tyrone, meanwhile,
with Randal, Mac Surley Tirel, Baron of Kelly, and other
chieftains of the Irish, had joined Ocampo with all their
forces, and were marching to the relief of Kinsale. The
deputy, informed of their design by intercepted letters,
made preparations to receive them ; and being reinforced
by Levison with six hundred marines, he posted his troops
on an advantageous ground, which lay on the passage of
the enemy, leaving some cavalry to prevent a sally from
d'Aquila and the Spanish garrison. When Tyrone, with
a detachment of Irish and Spaniards, approached, he was

* Camden, p. (545.


surprised to find the English so well posted, and ranged
for battle, and he immediately sounded a retreat ; but
the deputy gave orders to pursue him ; and, having
thrown these advanced troops into confusion, he followed
them to the main body, which he also attacked and put
to flight, with the slaughter of twelve hundred men. *
Ocampo was taken prisoner ; Tyrone fled into Ulster ;
O'Donnel made his escape into Spain; and d'Aquila,
finding himself reduced to the greatest diificulties, was
obliged to capitulate upon such terms as the deputy pre-
scribed to him. He surrendered Kinsale and Baltimore,
and agreed to evacuate the kingdom. This great blow,
joined to other successes gained by Wilmot, governor of
Kerry, and by Roger and Gavin Harvey, threw the rebels
into dismay, and gave a prospect of the final reduction of

The remaining part of Tyrone's history may be gathered
from the narrative.

Among other memorable incidents illustrative of his
character, it is said that Tyrone, appearing in person to
execute a treaty, immediately on the issue of some san-
guinary engagement, was requested to sign the terms.
" Here is my signature," said he, laying his bloody hand
on the deed : " 'tis the mark of the Kings of Ulster."
Hence, tradition gravely asserts, was the origin of " The
bloody Hand," the arms of Ulster ! That such a derivation
is fabulous, we need not attempt to prove.

• Winwood, vol. i. p. 369.


What a paradox is love ! — the most selfish and yet the
most disinterested of the passions ; the gentlest and yet
the most terrible of impulses that can agitate the human
bosom ; the most ennobling and the most humble ; the
most enduring and the most transient : slow as the most
subtle venom to its work, yet impetuous in its career as
the tornado or the whirlwind ; — sportive as the smile of
infancy, and appalling as the maniac's shriek, or the laugh
of his tormentor. 'Tis a joy nursed in the warm glow of
hope ; but who shall reveal the depths of its despair ! 'Twas
given to man as his best boon, — his most precious gift ;
but his own hands polluted the shrine, — marred the
beauteous and holy deposit. The loveliest image was
then smitten with deformity, and that passion, the
highest and noblest that could animate his bosom, be-
came the bane of his happiness, the destroyer of his
peace, and the source whence every attribute of woe
hath sprung to afflict and darken the frail hopes of
humanity. This may be the dark side of the picture ; but
unless the breath of heaven sanctify even the purest


affections of our nature, they are a withering blast,
blighting its fairest verdure, — a torment and a curse !

The following narrative, floating but indistinctly on the
author's memory, and, in all probability, attached to other
names, in localities widely apart, is yet, he believes, true
as to the more important particulars. The site of a few
cottages in a romantic dell in the neighbourhood of
Rochdale, is still associated with the memory of the un-
fortunate Earl of Tyrone. It is yet called " Tyrone's bed."
In history, this noble chief is depicted in colours the most
hideous and detestable ; but if the lion had been the
painter, we should have had to contemplate a different
portrait. By his countrymen, he was held in the most
profound reverence and respect. Beloved by all, he was
hailed as the expected deliverer of his native land from
wrong and oppression. The most bigoted of his per-
secutors cannot deny, that oppression, the most foul and
inhuman, did exist ; and the men, who took up arms for
the rescue of their brethren, may be pitied, if not par-
doned, for their noble, elevated, and enduring spirit. Let
us not be misunderstood as the advocates of rebellion ; but
surely there are occasions, when the galling yoke of op-
pression may be too heavy to sustain, — when the crushed
reptile may, writhing, turn against him who tramples on
it. Let us not do this wrong even to our enemies, by re-
fusing to admire in them the disinterestedness and magna-
nimity, which, in others, would have ensured our admi-
ration and applause.

About a mile from the spot we have just named stood
the ancient mansion of Grislehurst: — Surrounded on every
side by dark and almost trackless woods, sprung through
a long line of ancestry from primeval forests, it reposed


in undisturbed seclusion, still and majestic as the proud
swan that basked upon the dark lake before it, secure
from intrusion and alarm. Gable-ends and long case-
ments broke the low piebald front into a variety of de-
tail, — a combination of effect, throwing an air of pictu-
resque beauty on the whole, which not all the flimsy and
frittered " Gothic " can convey to the mansions of modern
antiques. For the timber employed in its erection, a
forest must have been laid prostrate. Huge arched fire-
places ; chimney pieces, carved with armorial bearings ; oak
tables, absolutely joisted to sustain their vast bulk; bed-
steads, that would not have groaned with the weight of
a Titan ; the whole intended to oppose a ponderous re-
sistance to the ravages of time and fashion. Not a vestige
is left. Those laughing halls echo no more with the loud
and boisterous revel ; the music of the " many twinkling"
feet is gone ; scarcely a stone is left upon its fellow, — a
few straggling trees alone mark the site. The beech and
willow are waving o'er its hearth ! Who would build
for the destroyer ? And yet man, with the end of these
vanities in prospect, daily, hourly still builds on ; his
schemes and his projects extending through the long vista
of succeeding ages, as though his dwelling were eternal,
and his own fabric should survive the ruin and the doom
of all!

A long train of ancestors, bearing the name of Holt,
occupied this dwelling as the family mansion. The manor
of Spotland, forfeited by the rebellion of Paslew, Abbot
of Whalley, was granted by Henry the Eighth to Thomas
Holt, afterwards knighted in Scotland by Edward Earl of
Hertford, in the thirty-sixth year of the reign of that
monarch. The present possessor of the same name.


grandson to Sir Thomas, resided at Grislehurst during
the latter part of Elizabeth's reign and that of James.
He married Constance, the daughter of Sir Edward Lit-
tleton, of Pillaton Hall, Stafford. One son, Francis, and
a daughter named Constance, were the fruit of this union.
At the commencement of our narrative, he had been for
some years a widower, and his son was then absent on
foreign travel.

It was in the memorable year 1603, the last of Eli-
zabeth. The rebellion in Ireland had been smothered, if
not extinguished ; and the great O'Neale, Earl of Tyrone,
and King of Ulster, together with many other chiefs, were
forced to remain concealed in woods and morasses. Out-
lawed and outcast, some of them crossed over into Eng-
land, remaining there until pardoned by the Queen.

Constance was now in her nineteenth year. Bright as
her own morn of life, she had seen but few clouds in that
season of hope and delight. Sorrow was to her scarce
known, save in the nursery-tales and wild ballads of the
surrounding district. When the glowing morn was over-
cast, she was unprepared, unfitted for the change. The
storm came, and the little sum of her happiness, launched
on this frail and perishing bark, was wrecked without a
struggle !

One evening, in the full glare of a dazzling sunset, the
light streaming like a shower through the dark foliage of
the valley, she had loitered, along with her old nurse, in
the dell to which we have before alluded. The glowing
atmosphere was just fading into the dewy tint which be-
tokens a fair morrow. To enjoy a more extended gaze
upon the clouds, those gorgeous vestures of the sun, Con-
stance had ascended, by a winding path, to the edge of a


Steep cliff overhanging the river. She stood for some
minutes looking towards the west, unconscious of the
loose and slippery nature of the materials beneath her
feet, and of her near approach to the brink. On a
sudden the ground gave way, and she was precipitated
headlong into the river ! Nurse Agnes, who stood be-
low, watching her young mistress, not without appre-
hension as to the consequences of her temerity, was
stricken motionless with horror. There seemed to be no
help. Fast receding from all hope of succour, Constance
was borne rapidly down the stream. Suddenly, with the
swiftness of a deer from the brake, a figure bounded from
an opposite thicket. He seemed scarcely to leave his
footmarks on the long herbage ere he gained the river's
brink. Plunging into the current, he succeeded in rescuing
the maiden from her perilous condition. He laid her
gently on the bank, beckoning to her attendant, and was
speedily out of sight. The aged Agnes, with trembling
hands, relieved Constance by loosening the folds from her
throat ; and almost ere she had wrung out the water from
the raven locks of her inanimate mistress, the stranger
returned. He carried a cordial, with which he moistened
her lips ; the old woman chafed her temples, resorting to
the usual modes of resuscitation then in practice ; and, in
the end, Constance opened her eyes. A heavy sob ac-
companied this effort. She looked wildly round, when
she met the deep gaze of the stranger. With a faint
shriek, she hid her face in the bosom of her attendant,
who, overjoyed at her recovery, could scarcely refrain
from falling at the feet of her deliverer. She turned to
express her thanks, but he was gone.

It was not long ere several domestics, alarmed at their


absence, came in search ; and Constance, borne gently
along, was soon restored to her anxious parent. But he
looked thoughtful and disturbed when the stranger's
person was described, evidently averse to hold any com-
munication on the subject. Nurse Agnes grew eloquent
in his praise, until the following conversation that same
evening in the kitchen turned aside the current of her

"A rough gray cloak, gossip, thou sayest?" again
enquired a hard-featured hind from the chimney-corner.

" I tell thee a cloak, and a cap turned up in front. He
doused it off nobly, and took to the water like a spaniel ! "

" Wliy 'tis the wild man of the woods ! " said another
listener, who had hitherto been silent, but whose remark
seemed to strike terror into the whole group. They
looked round as if anticipating a visit from this fearful
personage. Dame Agnes crossed herself, and muttered
her prayers with great despatch ; something was at length
audible and articulate, as follows : —

" Mercy on me ! my days are numbered. If it should
indeed be this incarnate, — forgive the thought ! — we are
all dead creatures. The very horses and kine stagger, and
fall into fits at times, when they come home, and it is all
along of 'em having seen or smelt the brimstone from the
pit. Davy had two died last week, and he was sure they
had either seen the de'il or his deputy, — this same gray
man of the woods. Woe's me that I should ha' lived to
behold this child of perdition ! " The old woman here gave
way to an outburst of sorrow, that prevented any further

" It is about a three month agone since this same wild
man was first seen," said the old seneschal, whose office.


though of little use, was still filled up in the more ancient
establishments. ''I saw him myself, once, but I shook
until the very flesh seemed to crawl over my bones. They
say he neither eats nor drinks, but is kept alive in the
body by glamour and witchcraft. He'll stay here until
his time is done, and then his tormentors will fetch him to
his prison-house again. Ye should not have tarried in the
wood after sunset."

" That would I not," sharply replied Agnes : " but the
child, poor thing, would look at the daylight as it lingered
on the hill-top, and I thought no harm in't."

" Like enough. He dares not abroad, if so much as the
value or size of my thumbnail of the sun's rim were left
above the hill ! "

"Come, Gaffer, strike up a merry trowl;" said a thin
squeaking voice, from a personage almost hidden behind
a copious supper of broken meat and pastry. But
whether the party thus addressed was too much alarmed
to let the current of his spirit run bubbling from the
spring of either mirth or minstrelsy, or he was too deeply
buried in his own thoughts, it were needless to enquire.
The request for a while passed by unheeded.

Gaffer Gee was the ballad-monger of the whole district.
He kept on a comfortable and vagabond sort of existence,
by visiting the different mansions where good cheer was
to be had, and where he was generally a welcome guest,
both in bower and hall. His legendary lore seemed in-
exhaustible ; and, indeed, his memory was like an old
chest full of scraps continually rummaged. He knew all
the scandal and family secrets throughout the parish, and
had a quick eye at detecting either a love affair or a feud.



He composed a number of the wild ballads that he sang
or recited, or at least put them into that jingling and
quaint rhythm, acquired by habitual intercourse with the
phraseology peculiar to these popular descants. On
hearing a story, he could readily shape it into verse,
extempore, too, upon occasion ; and many were the
jokes that rebounded from his theme, whether in hall or
kitchen. It was pleasant to watch his little grey eye, and
the twinkling lashes, as they rose and fell, varying the ex-
pression of his lips. A slight lisp gave an air of simplicity
to his ditties, which never failed to charm his auditors.

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