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 Of ILLINOIS 
 
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 THE 
 
 LAST EARL OF DESMOND: 
 
 Atonal Jkmaitte 
 
 OP 
 
 1599-1603. 
 
 " On peut tirer un fruit prScieux du malheur : une personne sensible, pieuse, 
 et reflechie, doit necessairement dans l'infortune perfectionner son esprit et son 
 caractere. Ciceron a dit des hommes : • lis sont comme les vins ; l'age aigrit les 
 mauvais, et rend meilleurs les bons.' " — French Essay. 
 
 "Bona rerum secundarum optabilia, adversarum mirabilia."— Seneca. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 DUBLIN: 
 HODGES AND SMITH, 104, GRAETON- STREET. 
 
 1854.
 
 DUBLIN : 
 
 PRINTED BY J. M. o'TOOLE, 
 
 13, HAWKINS'-STREET.
 
 TO 
 
 { 
 
 SIR DENHAM JEPHSON NORREYS, 
 
 BARONET, M.P. 
 
 t 
 
 Dear Sir Denham Norreys, 
 
 Having taken possession of the fine 
 old castle in your demesne, for the purpose of 
 
 ■ 
 
 introducing the first set of my dramatis 
 persona? to the reader, it is fit and proper 
 they should make their bow to the lord of the 
 manor. 
 
 Allow me, therefore, the pleasure of dedi- 
 cating to you a historical romance, the first 
 chapters of which contain an account of some 
 r of your own ancestors, of whom honourable 
 mention is made by the Poet Spenser (Vide 
 Vol. I. p. 310, Note C), and by the Four 
 Masters, who, to say the least, had no English 
 prejudices. They style Sir Henry Norreys,
 
 IV DEDICATION. 
 
 who fell in battle by the side of the Earl of 
 Essex, near Adare, " A noble knight of great 
 name and honour." And the good Sir 
 Thomas Norreys, the Lord President of 
 Munster, who also received his death-wound 
 on the field, contrasts most favourably with 
 his successor, the scheming and politic Sir 
 George Carew, whose chicanery is so mi- 
 nutely recorded in the Facala Hibernia. 
 
 I believe I am correct in stating that Sir 
 John Jephson (who married Elizabeth Nor- 
 reys, the only daughter of Sir Thomas), and 
 whom I call " Captain Jephson," did not 
 receive his patent of knighthood till 1611. 
 I find this statement in the MS. (containing 
 the account of Sylvanus Spenser, the poet's 
 son, and the disposal of the Kilcoleman pro- 
 perty) which you were kind enough to for- 
 ward to me. 
 
 A friend in Cork, on whose authority 
 I can rely, has just written to me to say 
 that "Edmond Spenser, the great-great-great 
 grandson of the poet Spenser, was a resident
 
 DEDICATION. V 
 
 in the town of Mallow for many years^ where 
 he died somewhere about 1790-91." You 
 will find the melancholy epitaph, which he 
 is said to have left for his tomb-stone, in Note 
 E. Vol. II. Supposing he might be interred 
 in Mallow church-yard, I spent some time 
 in examining the inscriptions, but found no 
 stone with his name. Two or three persons, 
 residents of the town, who joined me in the 
 search, say they remember having seen the 
 name. 
 
 I am not disposed to think there is any- 
 thing in your MS. — part of which, only, I 
 
 have given in a note (Vide Vol. II. p. 368) — 
 to cast a doubt on the story of Spenser's death, 
 
 as told by Ben Jonson, who says, " He died 
 
 for lake of bred, in King's-street [London] ; 
 
 and refused twenty pieces sent to him by the 
 
 Lord of Essex," saying, " He was sorrie he 
 
 had no time to spend them." The son, Syl- 
 
 vanus, inherited part of the property ; but 
 
 the Irish having burned out the father, it 
 
 was of course unproductive from the time
 
 VI DEDICATION. 
 
 of the burning to the death of the poet, a 
 period of fierce anarchy and bloodshed, dur- 
 ing which your noble relatives, Sir Henry 
 and Sir Thomas Norreys, were slain.* 
 
 I have the honor to remain, 
 
 Dear Sir Denham Norreys, 
 Your most obedient humble Servant, 
 
 The Author. 
 
 Mallow, August 3rd, 1854. 
 
 * Vide Annals of Ireland, a.d. 1559.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 An author seeking the materials of a new novel is 
 like an astronomer looking for a new star. If the 
 novel is to be historical, he fixes his mind upon 
 some definite period of history, as the astronomer 
 does his eye upon some given space in the heavens, 
 until the object sought breaks upon his view. 
 
 The astronomer has his own wise reasons for 
 deciding that there should be a new star, planet, or 
 satellite, within the field of vision to which he 
 points his telescope, — whether it be within or 
 without the orbits of the earth or moon ; and the 
 writer of Historical Romance imagines that he, 
 also, has wise and cogent reasons for deciding on 
 the period and place most likely to produce the 
 materials of a story. 
 
 I have chosen for the date of my story the 
 period intervening between the years 1599 and
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 1603, and for the field of my mental operations or 
 discoveries, the province of Munster, in the South 
 of Ireland; visited, just before, and about that 
 time, by some of the most distinguished men of 
 Queen Elizabeth's reign; among whom we meet 
 that gallant soldier, handsome courtier, and versa- 
 tile philosopher, Sir Walter Kaleigh ; and his 
 friend, that "bright particular star," Edmund 
 Spenser, the Poet. In a word, I have confined 
 my observations to the " Constellation of Virgo? 
 which cast such lurid and malignant rays athwart 
 this portion of the Virgin Queen's dominions. 
 
 Periods of deep historical interest seem, at first 
 view, to furnish abundant material for works of the 
 imagination ; but the unsuitableness of the material 
 appears, when you attempt to work it into a story. 
 To combine fact with fiction, or weave them into 
 the same web, is as strongly forbidden by the canons 
 of criticism, as was the mixing of woollen and linen 
 in the same garment, by the laws of Moses. Nor 
 are historical events the stuff that novels are made 
 of ; they do not please the taste of the reader as 
 much as do the finer tissues of the imagination.
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 They lack novelty; and the writer of histori- 
 cal romance, in his attempts to supply this want, 
 is not allowed, by any literary clipping, paring, or 
 patching, to make old facts — as mothers do old 
 clothes — appear almost as good as new.* The 
 evils resulting from the dissemination of histo- 
 rical untruth would be too high a penalty for the 
 pleasure of producing works of the imagination. 
 Works of this kind, belonging to the present day, 
 are supposed to contain a large quantity of general 
 truth, or philosophy, if you please — but I doubt 
 whether this is cheaply purchased by the circulation 
 of particular falsehoods. 
 
 As the wholesome state of public feeling on this 
 subject must considerably circumscribe the pro- 
 vince of the writer of historical romance, the prin- 
 cipal advantage of this kind of novel would seem 
 to result from the historical association which it 
 derives from the period, place, and characters of the 
 story. This is something — for association not only 
 
 * " The mother, wi' her needle and her shears, 
 Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new." 
 
 The Cotter's Saturday Night. 
 
 a 2
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 prepares the mind of the reader to relish the book, 
 but it also influences and exalts the mind and style 
 of the writer, tinges and illuminates his pages, and 
 renders his story far more interesting to those 
 acquainted with the circumstances whence it took 
 its origin, than it would otherwise be. 
 
 But it requires much tact and caution to pre- 
 serve all the advantages of this association, and, at 
 the same time, to keep at a safe sailing distance 
 from the iron-bound coast of history, that is, to 
 take advantage of both the land and sea breezes. 
 Knowing the danger of such navigation, and the 
 merciless character of the wreckers on the coast, 
 sensible, too, of my own want of skill, and being, 
 withal, a most timid, modest man, I have resolved 
 to follow the example of Columbus, who struck 
 directly out to sea, and out of sight of the old world, 
 when he went in search of a new one. 
 
 Whether I shall succeed in discovering a new 
 world remains to be proved. So far as I have 
 gone, I have met with nothing but sea-weed, and 
 have seen nothing distinctly but a few barren rocks, 
 rising amidst a wide waste of waters ; but I think
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 there is something like land looming a-head in the 
 distance. It may be no more than a fog-bank, but 
 it may be an island, or the continent. Who can 
 tell ? We shall see. 
 
 Those who have read my story before they have 
 read this preface, will discover that I could not 
 have finished my first volume at the time I wrote 
 the foregoing paragraphs, in which I speak so 
 heroically of following in the track of Columbus, 
 and keeping clear of the iron-bound coast of history. 
 
 Ah ! it is easy enough to plan and imagine — 
 though no — not to imagine, for that is just where 
 I have failed — but it is easy enough to lay down 
 rules for the hero of your tale, and decide before- 
 hand, that he shall not wander an inch beyond the 
 magic circle within which you have placed him ; 
 but when he grows up, and " comes out strong" he 
 will follow his bent, and have his way, and not you, 
 yours. 
 
 I had resolved, before I had finished my first 
 volume, to confine my hero to some beautiful terra 
 incognita ; I therefore carried him, after writing the
 
 Xll PREFACE. 
 
 first two or three chapters, into a lovely, wild 
 mountain district ; but 1 found it impossible to 
 confine him to that Paradise, although I brought 
 him a beautiful bride, to bear him company. He, 
 being a warrior by profession, " longed to follow to 
 the field f and, like his war-horse, champed his 
 bit, or pressed his bride, till she loosed the rein, 
 and let him run into the heart of Munster, and the 
 hottest part of the Irish Rebellion. 
 
 To drop all figures, and speak in plain terms — as 
 a writer should do in his preface, — I find that 
 having chosen as my hero, James Fitz-Thomas, the 
 "Last Earl of Desmond" I could not do anything 
 like justice to his character or conduct, had I 
 removed him too far from the field of action in 
 which he took so prominent a part ; I was there- 
 fore of necessity compelled to encroach more on the 
 province of the historian than I had at first 
 contemplated. I am not aware that, in doing so, I 
 have misstated any historical event, or misrepre- 
 sented any historical character. I confess to 
 having added a few years to a young lady's age; 
 but this the young lady herself would forgive,
 
 PREFACE. Xlll 
 
 as it put her in her " teens," and hastened her 
 
 marriage. 
 
 u Yes, but, sir author, there are some other little 
 matters besides, some ingenious weaving of fact 
 and fiction in the same web, which you first condemn 
 and then practise." 
 
 Oh, I remember; — I see I have very foolishly 
 drawn up a canon of criticism, which will now be 
 used against myself. — I had better run my pen 
 across that part. — No I won't. — Hang the critics ! 
 let it stand. Fire away, gentlemen. 
 
 A word remains respecting the poetry in 
 this book. The Last Earl of Desmond had a 
 harper, Dermot O'Dugan, mentioned in the Pacata 
 Hibernia as " One Dermond Odogan, a Harper 
 dwelling at Garryduffe, who used to harbour the 
 Arch-rebell." This Dermot once saved the Earl's 
 life in a wood (when hotly pursued by his ene- 
 mies), by adopting what the Lord President called 
 the " lapwing's policie." The incident is recorded 
 in its proper place in the story. I could not pass 
 by so interesting a character as this ; neither could 
 I think of introducing an Irish harper without
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 his harp; hence the necessity for poetry or song. 
 But I could meet with nothing exactly to suit 
 my purpose. In this dilemma I consulted a lite- 
 rary friend, who told me I must "make it." 
 
 "Make itP I exclaimed, in horror. 
 
 " Yes, why not ?" 
 
 I did so. The reader must decide with what 
 success. 
 
 There is one piece (see Vol. I., pp. 115-16) which 
 is only, in part, original; and in part paraphrased 
 from Mr. Eugene Curry's translation of "The Pearl 
 of the White Breast," commencing in Irish 
 thus : — 
 
 9Xz'A CA]ljT) beAf ATI) CflAb" 
 
 Le bt^A&Ajt) ^5vr le l&« 
 
 For Mr. Curry's correct and poetical translation 
 of the original, I beg to refer the reader to the 
 Prospectus of the "Society for the Preservation and 
 Publication of the Melodies of Ireland." I believe 
 it is Dr. Petrie who has written in the prospectus 
 of the Society, of which he is President. 
 
 In Yol. I. p. 163, of my story, the reader will 
 meet this mysterious line : — 
 
 "Da nobis haec otia fecit."
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 The proper word, as every tiro in Latin knows, 
 is Deus. But as it was a goddess, or a woman, 
 who gave the otia to the old priest, Father Caven- 
 dish took the liberty of changing the gender, saying, 
 
 " Dea nobis hsec otia fecit." 
 
 But, lo and behold, one of the printer's Sainovia 
 changed the priest's Dea into a Da. It is only 
 fair to say that, when I asked for an explanation, 
 I was informed I had run my pen "over the 
 letter e. n 
 
 My frequent quotations from Spenser's Faerie 
 Queene may strike the eye of a cursory reader as a 
 peculiar feature, if not an imperfection, in a histo- 
 rical romance. Were the preface the place for 
 unravelling the plot, I might, in a few words, 
 explain the fitness and propriety of introducing 
 these passages ; but the attentive reader will see 
 and understand all this. Suffice it here to say, 
 that some of the most interesting incidents in the 
 tale seem to arise out of these quotations, or to 
 have an intimate connexion with them. They are 
 not introduced to " fill an empty void," nor for the 
 sake of mere ornament.
 
 XVI PREFACE. 
 
 I believe I have made a discovery in the Faerie 
 Queene; but as I am not well read in the glossaries 
 of this divine allegory, it becomes me to speak 
 with caution. It is possible, perhaps probable, 
 that what I think is a new discovery is as old as 
 the book. 
 
 There is no doubt that Spenser intends to de- 
 scribe Sir Philip Sidney under the title of Astro- 
 phel, and that he calls Sir Walter Ealeigh the 
 " Shepherd of the Ocean ;" but I have never heard 
 it stated that he meant Sir Walter by the Knight 
 Marinell. I believe this to be the case, and that 
 Marinell's combat with Britomart — whom he 
 " strokes upon the breast" — is descriptive of an 
 affaire de coeur between Raleigh and the Queen. 
 But for the further elucidation of this interesting 
 passage of arms, I beg to refer the reader to my 
 observations in the latter part of the second 
 volume.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 M Of their names, in heavenly records now, 
 Is no memorial ; blotted out, and raz'd, 
 By their rebellion, from the book of life." — Milton. 
 
 There were, in all, eighteen Anglo-Norman Earls 
 of Desmond. They traced their descent from the 
 Dukes of Tuscany.* They came from Florence! to 
 Normandy, and from Normandy to England with 
 William the Conqueror. Maurice Fitzgerald, from* 
 whom the Earls of Desmond were descended, came to 
 Ireland with Robert Fitzstephen, and other Anglo- 
 Norman chiefs, in a.d. 1169, and assisted Strongbow in 
 the reduction of Ireland. We take the following descrip- 
 tion of this noble knight from Cambrensis and Holling- 
 shed: — " A man he was, both honest and wise; and, for 
 truth and valour, very noble and famous ; a man of his 
 word, of constant mind, and of a certain bashfulness : 
 
 * They were descended from Otho, an Italian Baron. — Lodge's Peerage, 
 Nichols, M'Geoghegan. 
 
 f The Earl of Surrey says of his ladye-love, Geraldine (Lady Elizabeth, 
 the daughter of Gerald Fitzgerald, the Ninth Earl of Kildare) : — 
 
 " From Tuscane came my lady's worthy race ; 
 Fair Florence was some time their ancient seat. 
 Fostered she was with milk of Irish breast ; 
 Her sire an earl, her dame of princes' blood."
 
 XV111 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 well coloured, and of good countenance ; of middle sta- 
 ture, and compact at all points ; courteous, gentle, and 
 moderate ; a pattern of sobriety, and good behaviour ; a 
 man of few words ; his speeches more full of wit and 
 reason than of words; more wisdom he had than elo- 
 quence ; in martial affairs bold, stout, and valiant, and 
 yet not hasty to run headlong into any adventure ; but, 
 when an attempt was once taken in hand, he would 
 strictly pursue and follow the same." 
 
 The history of this family is full of incident, and some 
 of it of the most poetical and thrilling character, and of 
 curious genealogical lore. 
 
 Gerald, or Garrett, the Fourth Earl, was a famous 
 poet — I mean famous in his day ; but he disappeared from 
 the stage of life in some mysterious manner, in the year 
 1397. Whether he buried himself in a cave, in order 
 to cultivate the Muses to more perfection, or that the next- 
 of-kin buried him, in order to cultivate his inheritance, is a 
 question which I must leave to be settled by his biographer. 
 All I can say in explanation or elucidation of the mystery 
 is, that Sir John, the Fifth Earl, who succeeded the poet, 
 was drowned two years after, in a.d. 1399.* 
 
 * Macgeoghegan, in his translation of the Annals of Clonmacnois, says the 
 poet "died penitently, after receipt of the sacraments of the holy Church, 
 in proper form;" and the "Annals of the Kingdom of Ireland" (see 
 the edition published by Hodges and SmitK) state that the poet "died 
 after the victory of penance ;" so that after all there may be no truth 
 in the statements of other learned men respecting his mysterious disappear- 
 ance. But, on the other hand, we are told by a very eminent Irish scholar 
 and antiquarian, Dr. O'Donovan, that " Tradition still vividly remembers this 
 Garrett ; and it is said his spirit appears once in seven years on Lough 
 Gur, where he had a castle." This certainly looks suspicious.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 Thomas, the Sixth Earl, died in exile in 1420. Here 
 we have a sadly interesting tale, which I am honest enough 
 to confess, gave me the first idea — but that is all — of the 
 story of my book. 
 
 This young nobleman, when hunting on the banks of 
 the River Feal, near the town of Listowel, in Kerry, 
 strayed from his companions, and lost his way ; and, being 
 benighted, took shelter in the house of Mac Cormac, one 
 of his dependants. Mac Cormac had a fair daughter, 
 with whom the young Earl became suddenly enamoured. 
 He wooed and won her heart, and married her ; but his 
 alliance with the humble maiden excited the brutal pride 
 of his followers, who regarded the indulgence of his 
 honourable love as an unpardonable offence ; they, there- 
 fore, deserted his person and pennon, and selected his 
 uncle as leader and chief. He, with a broken heart, 
 fled with his beautiful bride to Rouen, in France, where 
 he died. It is to the honour of the heroic and chival- 
 rous Henry V. of England, who was then in France, that 
 he expressed his admiration of the young Earl's character, 
 conduct, and choice, by attending, as chief mourner, at 
 his grave. Moore has immortalized the memory of the 
 banished Earl, whom he represents as thus addressing 
 his followers : — 
 
 " You who call it dishonour 
 
 To bow to this flame — 
 If you've eyes — look but on her — 
 
 And blush while you blame. 
 Hath the pearl less whiteness, 
 
 Because of its birth ? 
 Hath the violet less brightness, 
 
 For growing near earth ?"
 
 XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 James, the uncle of Thomas, and called the " Usurper" 
 was the Seventh Earl. He lived longer than he deserved, 
 and died in 1462, after a reign* of forty years. 
 
 Thomas, the Eighth Earl of Desmond, was beheaded in 
 the town of Drogheda, in 1468, by Tiptoft, Earl of 
 "Worcester, who was at that time Lord Deputy of Ireland. 
 It is said by Leland and Cox that this nobleman lost his 
 head for calling the Queen of Edward IV. a " Tailor's 
 wife," or widow. But his fault was far more serious 
 than this. This Lord Thomas, Earl of Desmond,f 
 was greatly beloved by Edward IV., who appointed him 
 to the government of Ireland. Before the two friends 
 parted (on the Earl's leaving England to assume the 
 office of Irish Deputy), King Edward asked him, and 
 entreated him to say, " whether he saw aught amiss in 
 his conduct, or in the administration of the offices of his 
 kingdom?" The Earl assured him he knew of nothing 
 but his unwise marriage with the beautiful widow of 
 Woodville, Lady Elizabeth, whom the king had clan- 
 destinely espoused ; " wherefore, I think," said the Earl 
 to his Majesty, " you would do well in divorcing the 
 present Queen, and forming a new alliance with some 
 powerful princess." This advice, which the King took 
 
 * These Earls were sometimes called Kings, and were said to "reign." 
 f Dowling states that this Thomas, whom the Four Masters laud as " the 
 most illustrious of his tribe, for his comeliness, stature, hospitality, chivalry, 
 humanity, bounteousness in bestowing jewels and riches on the laity, clergy, 
 and poets," was not Earl of Desmond, because his father (Garrett, the 
 son of James) was still living. "Vide pedegrew Desmondie quod non fuit 
 comes, pater turn nevebat, et cetera." Usurping his father's title, and going 
 to TredafF, he [I.e. his father] " gave him his curse, and said, 'Thou shalt 
 have an ill end.' " — See Annals of Ireland ((J Donovan* s) a.d. 1468.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXI 
 
 in good part, afterwards cost this Earl Thomas his 
 head. For during some bitter altercation with his 
 Queen, the King said to her: — " Had I hearkened to 
 my cousin Desmond's advice, I should have humbled 
 thy proud spirit." 
 
 "What advice?" said she. 
 
 " It matters not now," said he. 
 
 "But it does matter, and I must know it: dare 
 that Irish rebel interfere, and make mischief betwixt 
 man and wife, and they, too, his rightful sovereigns ! 
 What was it?" 
 
 She pressed him so hard, that he told her all, for 
 he deemed his friend Desmond, who was then the 
 Deputy of Ireland, safe from her hands. But in the 
 course of time she obtained his removal, and had my 
 Lord of Worcester — a friend of her own — appointed 
 in his place ; who, on his arrival, arraigned the Earls of 
 Desmond and Kildare of " alliance, fosterage, et alter- 
 age avecq les Irois enemies du Roy comme en donnant 
 a eux chevaulx et harneis et armors et supportant eux 
 en vers les foilax sujects du Roy." 
 
 Finding him guilty of treason on all these counts, 
 they brought the order for beheading him to the King, 
 who refused to sign it; but the Queen, who hated 
 Desmond as bitterly as Herodias did John the Baptist — 
 and with far better reason — obtained the signet by 
 stealth, and placed it with her own fair hand on the pa- 
 per, and sent it to Worcester, who instantly acted on it, 
 as he laid claim to some of the Earl's estates. Desmond's
 
 XX11 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 brother, and his five sons — when they heard of the Earl's 
 death — all rose in rebellion. 
 
 When Edward IV. was made acquainted with the 
 treachery, he became so enraged with the Queen, that 
 she had to leave the court, and fly to a place of safety. 
 Worcester was shortly after beheaded himself. Kildare 
 boldly repaired to Edward, who received him kindly, 
 and had his attainder reversed. 
 
 The Earl of Ormond thus describes the effect of the 
 murder of this Earl — for we can call it nothing else — 
 upon his followers: — " They have such a cankered mali- 
 cious rebellion rooted in them, evyr sithens the putting to 
 execution of one Thomas, Erie of Desmond, at Drogheda, 
 that they ben as far separated from the knowledge of any 
 duty of allegiance that a subject oght to owe his prince, 
 as a Turke is to believe Christianity. Thei blaspheme 
 the king, and have their ears and eies open every day 
 gaping to have assistance in this open rebellion out 
 of Spain." It must be borne in mind, that allegiance to 
 the King demanded a belief of Protestantism, which they 
 hated as much as they did Mahommedanism. 
 
 James, the Ninth Earl of Desmond, was murdered in 
 1487. He was set upon and slain by his own followers, in 
 Rathkeale, in the County of Limerick. They were in- 
 stigated to this barbarity by John, the Earl's brother. 
 The murderers were all expelled by Maurice, the Earl's 
 son. 
 
 Maurice, the Tenth Earl, died in the year 1520, after 
 a reign of thirty-one years.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XX111 
 
 Sir Thomas, the Twelfth Earl, died in 1534. He 
 was famous as the husband of the " Old Countess of 
 Desmond," who lived to the age of one hundred and 
 forty-five years. Some would make her one hundred 
 and sixty-two, or three. " I knew the old Countess," 
 says Sir Walter Raleigh — in his History of the World — 
 " who lived in the year 1589, and many years since, and 
 who was married in Edward IV.'s time ; and held her 
 jointure from all the Earls of Desmond, since then; and, 
 that this is true, all the noblemen and gentlemen in 
 Minister can witness." 
 
 If she was married, even at the early age of fifteen, in 
 the last year of Edward IV.; and if she died in 1612, 
 about two years before the publication of the History of 
 World ; she must have been no less than one hundred 
 and forty-five years of age — that is, the same age as Old 
 Parr. 
 
 There is a story current that she danced with Richard 
 III. And she always affirmed that " he was the hand- 
 somest man in the room, except his brother, Edward ; 
 and he was very well made." A writer in the Quarterly 
 Review* to whom I am indebted for most of my informa- 
 tion respecting this old countess says, " A certain Sir 
 Walter St. John, and a certain old Lady Dacre, were said 
 to have conversed with our ultra-venerable Countess; 
 and from her oral declaration to have handed down this 
 judicium, in refutation of the spretce injuria for nice of the 
 
 * See a Keview on " An Inquiry into the Person and Age of the Long-lived 
 Countess of Desmond. By the Hon. Horace Walpole, Strawberry-Hill, 
 1758."
 
 XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 calumniated prince," the Duke of Gloucester, afterwards 
 Richard III. 
 
 The death of this famous old lady is ascribed to an 
 accident: — "She might have lived much longer, had she 
 not mett with a kind of violent death, for shee must 
 needs climb a nutt-tree, to gather nutts ; soe falling down, 
 shee hurt her thigh, which brought on fever, and that 
 brought death." 
 
 But tradition, and merry poets, assert that it was not 
 from a nut, but from a " cherry-tree" in Sir "Walter 
 Raleigh's garden in Youghal, that she fell ; having been 
 tempted, like her mother Eve, by the beautiful fruit. 
 
 "And as old 
 As the Countess of Desmond, of whom I've been told 
 That she lived so much more than a hundred and ten, 
 And was killed by a fall from a cherry-tree then ! 
 What a frisky old girl !" 
 
 Mr. Herbert, of Mucross Abbey, near Killarney, has 
 in his possession a portrait of the old Countess, stated 
 to have been executed during her final visit to London. 
 The following appears to have been painted on the 
 back of the picture, the time the likeness was taken : — 
 " Catherine, Countess of Desmond, as she appeared at 
 ye court of our Sovreign Lord, King James, in this pre- 
 sent year, a.d. 1614; and in ye 140th yeare of her age. 
 Thither she came from Bristol, to seek relief, ye house of 
 Desmond having been ruined by attainder. She was mar- 
 ried in ye reigne of King Edward IV. and in ye course 
 of her long pilgrimage, renewed her teeth twice.* Her 
 
 * The writer has been credibly informed of a Major Atkins, near Mallow, 
 who renewed his teeth after he was ninety.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXV 
 
 principal residence is at Inchiquin, in Munster, whither 
 she undauntedlie proposeth (her purpose accomplished) 
 incontinentlie to return : Laus Deo." 
 
 Sir Thomas, the husband of the old Countess, was ce- 
 lebrated by the bards as " The Victorious." " In nine 
 battles he won the palm." He engaged to make war 
 against Henry VIII. as soon as a French army should 
 land. He promised, on his own account, to send an army 
 often thousand foot, and four hundred horse into the field. 
 In a government despatch, it is reported of him: — 
 " Albeit his years require th quietness and rest, yet 
 intendeth he as much trouble as ever did any of his 
 nation." 
 
 He commanded the horse under the Lord Lieutenant, 
 in a battle with the Irish under O'Brien, in 1510. 
 
 In a battle at Mourne, he lost eighteen banners of gul- 
 lowglasses* each standard followed by eighty men ; and 
 twenty-four banners of horse, each banner having from 
 twenty to fifty men. He lost in all about two thousand 
 of his best men, without reckoning his " light-armed skip- 
 ping hemes." This battle was fought September, 1520. 
 The historian of the Geral dines observes, that " this defeat 
 was the first dimming of his glory." The same authority 
 afterwards records it, as a subject for gratulation, that the 
 Earl, on that occasion, slew his wife's father with his own 
 hand. This was before he was Earl, and the man whom he 
 slew was not the father of his " reigning wife" for on attain- 
 ing the title in 1529, he made a grant in perpetuity of the 
 
 * The gallowglasses were the heavy-armed soldiers ; the kerne, the light- 
 armed. 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 XXVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 country of the Decies, to his " reigning wife's father," 
 Sir John Fitzgerald, of Dromond.* 
 
 In a letter to the King, dated May 5th, 1532, he ex- 
 cuses himself for his non-performance of his promise to 
 send his son to the Court of Henry VIII., on the plea, 
 " that he himself was well stricken in age, while his heir 
 was of tender years ; that he had sundry mortall enemies, 
 and moche adowe for to kipe owr owne." He afterwards 
 consented to send the boy, and sad were the conse- 
 quences. 
 
 Thomas, called the " Court Page" was properly the 
 Thirteenth Earl of Desmond. He was the grandson of 
 Thomas, the Twelfth Earl, the husband of the old Coun- 
 tess. He was sent, when young, as we have seen, to the 
 Court of Henry VIII. Hence his title of Court Page. 
 He was sent there under the plea of being educated, but 
 in reality as a hostage or pledge for the old man's good 
 behaviour. 
 
 On returning home at his grandfather's death, to take 
 possession of his estates, the grandson found that they had 
 been all seized by an old savage grand-uncle, called Sir 
 John Desmond, who urged, in justification of his conduct, 
 that his grand-nephew, the Court Page, " spekes very 
 good Ynglyshe, and keepith his hair and cap after the 
 Ynglysh fashion." 
 
 The followers and tenants of the young Earl sat as a 
 jury on this charge, and brought in a verdict against the 
 young man of guilty. His estates were accordingly con- 
 fiscated, and handed over to the uncle. 
 
 * The Earl's second wife, Catherine Fitzgerald, a daughter of the Fitz- 
 geralds of Dromona in the County of Waterford, was the " Old Countess."
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXV11 
 
 The young Earl, who appears to have had some Irish 
 cunning in his head, notwithstanding the English fashion 
 of his cap, married an Irish wife, the daughter of the Mac 
 Carthy Mor,* a descendant of the Irish Earls of Desmond, 
 or Kings of Munster. But he did not succeed in recover- 
 ing either his estates or title, notwithstanding the power 
 of his wife's family and followers. 
 
 The old grand-uncle assumed the title of the Fourteenth 
 Earl of Desmond. This wicked old man murdered his 
 own brother, When he was required by the Lord De- 
 puty to go to London, and try his claim with his grand- 
 nephew, before the King, he replied: — " What should I 
 do in England, to meet a boy there ? But give me the 
 Yrish horson, Morac Oge, and I will go." We may con- 
 clude that he got the " Yrish horson, Morac Oge," for 
 which he endangered life as well as " kingdom"^ for a 
 State Letter, dated Waterford, 1535, reports: — " This 
 day, came Sir John Desmond. He is an old man, and 
 can speak very good Ynglysche," one of the charges he 
 brought against his grand-nephew. He died in 1536. 
 
 The grand-nephew made a last attempt, just before the 
 death of the old man, to regain his rights. He first went 
 to London, where he had his claims fully acknowledged 
 by the English monarch, who sent him over to take 
 possession, providing him with ships, and a body-guard. 
 His title was disputed and opposed by James, his cousin, 
 the eldest son of old Sir John. If he were ever rein- 
 stated, which is doubtful, his enjoyment of his estates 
 
 * This word is generally spelt More, but Mdr is the Irish spelling, from 
 SUott, "big." 
 
 t "A horse ! a horse ! My kingdom for a horse." — Shakspeare.
 
 XXV111 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and title must have been of very short duration ; for we 
 find the State Counsel reporting to the King the following 
 year: — " Your Grace's servant, James Fitzmaurice, who 
 claimed to be Earl of Desmond, was cruelly slain on 
 Friday, before Palm Sunday, by Maurice Fitz John, bro- 
 ther of James, the Usurper of the Earldom." 
 
 James, the Fifteenth Earl of Desmond, was called the 
 Traitor. This James was afterwards received at Hamp- 
 ton Court, as the Fifteenth Peer, and transmitted the 
 title to his second son, Gerald, or Garrett, as he is more 
 frequently called — the " Great Earl of Desmond," uncle 
 to the hero of my tale. 
 
 Garrett, the Sixteenth Earl of Desmond, has been 
 styled one of the greatest subjects of Europe. He held 
 the rank of Prince Palatine, and exercised all the autho- 
 rity of King over his immense possessions, in the counties 
 of Limerick, Cork, and Kerry. 
 
 The Earls of Desmond, and the whole Geraldine 
 family, were always hard to govern. They adopted, 
 from an early period, the language, manners, and cus- 
 toms of the Irish, and were said to have been Hibernis 
 ipsis Hiberniores — " More Irish than the Irish them- 
 selves." 
 
 A Young Irelander speaks of those Old Irelanders, or 
 Anglo-Irelanders, thus : — 
 
 " Those Geraldines, those Geraldines, not long our air they breathed, 
 Not long they fed on venison, in Irish water seethed, 
 Not often had their children been by Irish mothers nursed, 
 When from their full and genial hearts, an Irish feeling burst. 
 The English monarch strove in vain, by law, and force, and bribe, 
 To win from Irish thoughts and ways, this more than Irish tribe ; 
 For still they clung to fosterage, to brehon, cloke and bard ; 
 What king dare say to Geraldine, your Irish wife discard ?" 

 
 INTRODUCTION. XXIX 
 
 The Earls of Desmond were the stern opponents of 
 the doctrine of the Reformation, the "Maccabees" of the 
 Irish Church, as they have been styled by the Irish his- 
 torian, the Abbe Mac Geoghegan. 
 
 During the entire reign of Queen Elizabeth, a period 
 of forty- five years, fierce and incessant wars were waged 
 by her Government against the Earls of Desmond, in 
 Munster, and the O'Neills in Ulster, the Great Northern 
 and Southern princes or potentates of Ireland, who re- 
 sisted the establishment of the Reformation to the death. 
 During the last fifteen years of the Queen's reign, the 
 war was cruel and exterminating. It is called by O'Sul- 
 livan Beare, Bellum Quindecim Annorum, or " Fifteen 
 Years' War." 
 
 It cost millions of money, and the lives of hundreds of 
 thousands of men, besides an enormous destruction of pro- 
 perty, of cattle, corn, castles, monasteries, and towns. It 
 is supposed that the total expenditure of English money 
 was about three millions, which has been estimated as 
 equal to thirty millions of money of the present day — an 
 enormous sum, considering the limited extent and re- 
 sources of the British empire at that time. About a 
 hundred thousand men are supposed to have fallen at 
 each side. A number of English Generals and Lord 
 Deputies were killed and wounded in these wars. 
 
 Garrett, the Great Earl of Desmond, was called the 
 " Ingens Rebellibus Exemplar ;" but he was as wily 
 and as cunning as a fox, and preserved a fair face to 
 the Queen and her Deputies, as long as it was possible or 
 convenient to do so. When Sir William Drury was Go- 
 
 b 2 '
 
 XXX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 vernor, lie invited the Deputy to visit him at his castle 
 at Tralee. Sir William came with only a hundred and 
 twenty men. The Earl assembled eight hundred fol- 
 lowers to surprise his unsuspecting guest, and instead of 
 giving him a "bene venu" or welcome, into the country, en- 
 deavoured to cut him off on his way ; but the small force of 
 Sir William scattered the kerne and gallowglasses of the 
 Earl among the woods. On riding up to the house for an 
 explanation of such conduct, the Deputy was met by the 
 Countess, who went on her knees to propitiate the anger 
 of the Englishman, and declared to him that the men 
 had assembled on a hunting party to welcome him as 
 Lord President. " And she so wiselie and modestlie did 
 behave hirself," that Drury believed, or seemed to be- 
 lieve her explanation. 
 
 The Earl was known to be deeply compromised in the 
 two landings of Spanish and Italian forces on the south- 
 western coast of Ireland. The first expedition was con- 
 ducted by the Earl's cousin, Fitzmaurice, but it turned 
 out a complete failure, from the circumstance of the fa- 
 mous Tom Stukely, called by Miss Porter, in her Don 
 Sebastian, " Sir Thomas Stukely," deserting the Irish 
 leader, and embarking his forces, with those of the Por- 
 tuguese monarch, for the coast of Africa, where he fell at 
 the battle of Alcazar. Maurice, therefore, had to return 
 to Ireland with but three ships and one hundred men ; 
 but he landed three famous churchmen, Doctor Saun- 
 ders, as Papal Nuncio, the Jesuit Allen, and O'Mulrian, 
 Titular Bishop of Killaloe, in full canonicals, with 
 crozier and mitre, before whom marched two friars,
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXI 
 
 bearing the Pope's standard, a banner especially conse- 
 crated for the expedition. Watch-fires blazed on the 
 mountains, and heralds ran through the country, bearing 
 the most exaggerated stories of the number, power, and 
 riches of the Papal auxiliaries. Their banner had a pic- 
 ture of the crucifixion, and their new slogan or war-cry 
 was Papa aboo ! 
 
 Fitzmaurice attacked Tralee, put Henry Davells, 
 Carter, and other chiefs to the sword, and dispersed the 
 rest of the English forces. He then marched towards 
 Connaught with a small force, to prevail on some friends 
 there to join him ; but on his way he was attacked by 
 Theobald Burke, the son of Sir William Burke, of Castle- 
 Connell. Finding it impossible to avoid an engagement, 
 he resolved to conquer or die. During the heat of the 
 battle he was shot in the breast by a musket ball ; the 
 wound was mortal, but it fired him to a last effort. So, 
 clearing a passage through the enemy's forces, he rushed 
 up to Theobald, and with one blow of his sword clove 
 his head in twain. Queen Elizabeth, to express her 
 grateful sense of the services of the younger Burke, settled 
 a yearly pension of two hundred marks on the father ; she 
 also created him a peer of the realm, under the title of 
 Lord Baron of Castle Connell. We are told by MacGeo- 
 ghegan that the old man " died through excess of joy 
 for the new title." He must have thought it of more 
 worth than his son's head. 
 
 The next expedition landed at Ardnacant or Smer- 
 wicke, on the coast of Kerry, in the September of 1580.
 
 XXX11 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It consisted of about eight hundred Italians and Spaniards, 
 under the command of Sebastian de St. Joseph. 
 
 To repel this force, the Deputy sent to England for 
 aid, and told Burleigh he must " stand stoutly to the 
 helm, for a great storm was at hand, and he could only 
 borrow two hundred pounds in Dublin, on the security of 
 the State." But, said he, " I will visit the guests at the 
 adventure of my life." 
 
 Lord Arthur Grey, of Wilton, who was accompanied 
 to this country by Sir Walter Raleigh, and by the poet 
 Spenser, as secretary, led a force of eight hundred men 
 against these Spaniards and Italians. They invested 
 the fort (into which they had thrown themselves) by 
 land and sea, and summoned the garrison to surrender. 
 Admiral Winter, who lay with some ships off the coast, 
 landed some of his large cannon for the assistance of 
 the besieging party. The siege lasted forty days, 
 for the place was bravely defended. At the end of this 
 time, the Deputy, Lord Grey, sent a gentleman named 
 Plunkett, with a flag of truce to the Spanish Governor. 
 St. Joseph, the governor of the fort, accompanied Plun- 
 kett to the Deputy's camp, to treat of a surrender. The 
 soldiers, tired of the siege, agreed to lay down their arms 
 on condition of safety, " sworn" (says Mac Geoghegan) 
 by Lord Grey ; but as soon as they relinquished their 
 arms, they were all cruelly slaughtered. "It is not 
 without pain," says Leland, " we find a service so horrid 
 and detestable committed to Sir Walter Raleigh." But 
 the same historian adds, "Elizabeth expressed the utmost 
 concern and displeasure at this barbarous execution."
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXX1U 
 
 They say that proofs of the Earl of Desmond's com- 
 plicity in these expeditions were found on the corpse of 
 the Jesuit Allen. 
 
 As the Earl kept himself in the back-ground, and re- 
 fused to join the Queen's forces against the foreigners — 
 for as Prince Palatine, he claimed the right of refusing to 
 do so, " unless he listed" — his castle at Askeaton was 
 assailed; the very tombs of his ancestors, in the adjoin- 
 ing abbey, were desecrated and destroyed, and he himself 
 proclaimed a " Traitor." 
 
 On the issuing of this proclamation, he had to flee to 
 the woods and wild mountains and glens of Kerry for 
 protection, where he collected around him a band of 
 fierce followers, who were called " the Old Evil Chil- 
 dren of the Wood." 
 
 After he had fully committed himself by overt-acts wof 
 rebellion, the Countess, his wife, sent her only son to the 
 English Queen, to appease her fury against her husband. 
 In order to plead his cause more fully, she resolved to go 
 herself to the very throne of Elizabeth; and therefore 
 wrote to Ormond to obtain permission of Sir William 
 Pelham, the Viceroy, adding, that " she meant to sell 
 her kine, to provide the means of travelling," 
 
 Her request being forwarded, Sir William replied : — 
 " I considered my ladie of Desmond's letter, and I truly 
 take it for a dream ; for if my ladie can be a traitor and 
 a true woman at her pleasure, and enjoy her husband's 
 goods and lands, and her own liberty, as if no offence 
 had been committed, she hath the best hap of any ladie 
 living; therefore, I pray your Lordships stay your hand
 
 XXXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 from this her vain petition till our meeting, and answer 
 her letter in silence, as it deserveth none other." 
 
 The Lady Desmond, to her honour be it said, con- 
 tinued to accompany her husband, and share all his 
 misery among the morasses and mountains of Kerry. 
 
 Pelham writes to the Queen, dating his despatch from 
 Desmond's castle at Askeaton : — " The Earl, without rest 
 anywhere, neeth from place to place, and maketh media- 
 tion for peace by the Countess, who, yesterday, I licensed 
 to have speech of with me here, whose abondance of 
 tears bewrayed sufncientlie the miserable state both of 
 herself, her husband, and their followers." Again : — " The 
 Earl is unhowsed of all his goods, and must noe tread 
 the woods and bogs, which he will do as unwieldily as 
 any man in the world of his age. He shrowded himself 
 in glyns and swamps, and in the winter of 1582, kept a 
 cold Christmas in Kilgueg "Woods." 
 
 On the 4th of January, 1583, his hiding-place was 
 discovered. He was now stricken down with palsy and 
 ague. The hovel in which he and his lady slept was 
 surrounded. He narrowly escaped in his shirt, and 
 both he and she remained all night under the bank of the 
 neighbouring river, up to their chins in water.* 
 
 * The Four Masters, whose authority is not always to be relied on, state, that 
 " Even his own married wife, children, and friends, began to separate from 
 him, when he had to go from one cavern of a rock, or hollow of a tree, to 
 another." They here do a foul injustice to the memory of this noble woman, 
 of which we have afforded the reader abundant evidence in the text. These 
 four learned scribes do not seem to have held the Anglo-Norman Desmonds 
 in high repute. In describing the death of the old Earl, they say, " God 
 thought it time to suppress, close, and finish this war of the Geraldines." 
 And again : " It was no wonder the vengeance of God should exterminate
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXV 
 
 Lurking in wild desert places, and feeding on horse- 
 flesh and carrion, the famishing Earl sent a party of 
 kern to seize on some cattle in the neighbourhood. 
 The plunderers stripped the wife and children of the 
 owner, who, obtaining the assistance of some soldiers 
 from Castlemain Fort, went in pursuit. 
 
 After a weary chase, the military refused to proceed 
 any further; but on being promised two beeves of the 
 prey, they went forward. " The track was followed by 
 day-light to Balliore, and by the moonshine to Glena- 
 yinty, under Sliavloghra, where the chasers climbed the 
 hill above the glinne, to spy whether they might see 
 onie fire in the wood, or hear onie stir ; and when they 
 got to the top, they saw a fire beneath them. One stole 
 down, and saw a cabin with a number of men asleep. 
 As day dawned, the whole party descended, and entered 
 the cabin with a great cry. Those within rushed out, 
 leaving an infirm old man behind." One of the soldiers, 
 Kelly, struck at him, and almost severed his hand from 
 his body. He again raised his sword to despatch him, 
 when the old man cried out, " I am the Earl of Des- 
 mond: spare my life /" He was then carried ofT alive, 
 on the backs of his captors ; but the men being weary, 
 and fearing a rescue, held a council, at which they 
 
 the Geraldines, for their opposition to their sovereign." We do not know 
 whether most to admire the piety or loyalty of these men. Ah ! Brother 
 Michael O'Clery and Co., you do not speak thus loyally and piously in 
 describing the rebellious practices of Hugh O'Neill, or your favourite hero, 
 Hugh Roe O'Donnell. He wa3 a "sweet-sounding trumpet," although the 
 " vigorous, stern, irresistible destroyer of his English and Irish opposers." 
 Be consistent in your loyalty, and impartial in your piety, gentlemen.
 
 XXXVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 resolved to despatch him. Having laid him on the 
 ground, and held him there, Kelly* cut his head from 
 his body, for which there was ten thousand pounds 
 reward. 
 
 The head was taken to the Black Earl of Ormond, 
 the Earl of Desmond's son-in-law, who had it pickled, 
 placed in a pipkin, and forwarded, as a present, 
 to the Queen. It was afterwards impaled on London 
 Bridge. 
 
 When the property of the old Earl was confiscated, 
 Raleigh and Spenser received grants of lands in the 
 County Cork. The poet got the Castle of Kilcoleman, 
 and about three thousand acres of rich land around it. 
 
 Here it was that he wrote his "Faery Queene;" and 
 here he was visited by his friend, Raleigh, whom he 
 styled the " Shepherd of the Ocean." But he did not long 
 enjoy these grants of the old Earl's forfeited estates, for, 
 after a very few years, his castle was attacked by the 
 rebels, and burned to the ground, his child perishing — it 
 is supposed — in the flames. Shortly after this, my tale 
 commences. 
 
 * O'Daly writes : — " It unfortunately happened that those who were sent 
 by the Earl [of Desmond] to seize the prey, barbarously robbed a noble 
 matron, whom they left naked on the field. When this fact came to the 
 knowledge of her kindred, they collected a party of men, led by a foster- 
 brother of the Earl [Owen O'Moriarty], approached his hiding-place, and 
 a soldier, named Daniel 0' Kelly, smashed the Earl's right arm with a stroke 
 of the sword, and, by a second blow, cut off one of his ears ; then dragged 
 him out, and brutally separated the head from the body." — Vide Four 
 Masters, Notes by Dr. O'Donovan, A. D., 1583 ; Hooker and Cox's Hibernia 
 Anglicana.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine ; 
 When, in requital of my hest endeavours, 
 You treacherously practised to undo me, 
 And seduce my only child, and steal her." 
 
 Deyden. 
 
 " He rose, and cast his garment down : 
 That instant, in his cloak, I wrapt me round." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Should any of my readers ever visit the far-famed 
 Lakes of Killarney, they will most probably pass 
 near the picturesque town of Mallow, which lies in 
 the valley of the Blackwater — decidedly the most 
 beautiful river in Ireland. Here I would invite 
 them to halt ; and, if they have a true taste for fine 
 scenery, and should like to catch one of the best 
 views of that river, to walk to the end of the town, 
 and look down the stream, from the " Old Bridge." 
 I say down, not up, for there is no planting above 
 the bridge ; and, I say, the Old, and not the new 
 VOL. i. B
 
 2 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 (Railway) Bridge. The best view of all is obtained 
 from what is called Jephsorts Rock, in Sir Denham 
 Norreys' demesne. 
 
 But there is no object, either viewed from the 
 Old Bridge, or from the demesne, which strikes the 
 eye and impresses the mind with deeper interest 
 than the Old Castle of the " Great Earl of Des- 
 mond." As viewed from the bridge, it stands out 
 well on a green knoll, which rises abruptly, but not 
 ruggedly, from the dark river that flows at its side. 
 Its walls are both high and extensive. That which 
 looks towards the town is flanked by three square 
 towers. The north-western tower is still complete, 
 and is about fifty feet in height. Judging from 
 the ruins, I should say the castle must have once 
 covered nearly an acre of ground. The site is now 
 overgrown with grass, and the old walls are thickly 
 clothed, to the highest turrets, with ivy. There it 
 stands, on a green mound, overlooking the town, 
 like the guardian of the place ; or, looking up and 
 down the river, and the green fields along its banks, 
 like a tall shepherd watching his flocks. There it 
 stands, large and strong, an emblem of the old out- 
 lawed Earl who sometimes dwelt within it, and 
 around whose memory — notwithstanding his faults 
 — the associations of the neighbourhood have grown 
 as thick and green as the foliage that envelopes his
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 3 
 
 castle, and covers over more than half its weak and 
 vulnerable points. 
 
 In the year 1599, when our story commences, 
 this castle was occupied by Sir Thomas Norreys, the 
 Lord President of Munster. The knight, with his 
 daughter — a very lovely woman — and a man named 
 John Nugent, were seated in a large room of the 
 castle, one evening in the month of May, in the year 
 just mentioned. John Nugent was dark and high- 
 shouldered, with a proud and bad expression of face. 
 It would be difficult to state what was his proper 
 position in society, or the exact relation in which 
 he stood to the knight : it was something between 
 a confidential servant and an humble friend. He 
 sat in the same room, and at the same table, with 
 the Lord President and his daughter ; but he kept 
 at a respectful — or civil distance, shall I say ? I am 
 at a loss for the right word, for a stranger, who 
 did not know which was the master and which the 
 servant, might find himself at fault in arriving at 
 a satisfactory conclusion, from the quiet bearing of 
 the superior, and the cold hauteur of the subor- 
 dinate. It would seem as if it were John Nugent 
 who kept his master, and not the master who kept 
 John Nugent, at a distance. 
 
 The state of feeling between the lady and 
 Nugent appeared the very reverse of this ; for
 
 4 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 when she deigned to notice his presence — which was 
 but seldom — it was, as she imagined, with the most 
 supreme contempt. But here she mistook the 
 nature of her own feelings, for there is no such 
 thing as supreme contempt ; it is a contradic- 
 tion in terms. There may be supreme hatred; 
 and where this exists there cannot be contempt. 
 Elizabeth Norreys hated John Nugent as she did 
 the foul fiend ; still she dared not express this in 
 so many words, for he knew her secret — that she 
 loved another — a young English officer, named 
 John Jephson ; of which love affair the old knight 
 was in a state of blissful ignorance. Nugent was 
 too old — he was over forty — too debauched, and 
 too bad a man to feel much inconvenience from a 
 disappointment in love ; but it chagrined him to 
 think another should pluck ripe fruit, although 
 he was now unable to estimate the richness of its 
 flavour. 
 
 As the clock struck ten, the lady rose, kissed her 
 father's cheek, and retired, without deigning to 
 notice John Nugent, who had addressed to her, 
 during the evening, more impertinent interroga- 
 tories respecting the miscarriage of letters, and 
 cast upon her more meaning and malignant glances 
 than usual ; which, to do her credit, she paid back 
 with all the fierce artillery of fine eyes, mouth, and
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 5 
 
 nose, any one of which would have silenced the 
 battery of a man who had a heart to be destroyed 
 or burned up by it, in five minutes. 
 
 As she left the room, Nugent drew a letter from 
 his bosom and laid it on the table before Sir 
 Thomas. 
 
 " What is this, Nugent ?" said Sir Thomas, 
 taking up the letter. 
 
 " A letter, Sir Thomas." 
 
 " Why not give it me before ?" 
 
 " I thought you might not wish to read it before 
 Miss Norreys." 
 
 " Nonsense !" said the President, cutting the 
 silk thread, without reading the address on the 
 envelope. 
 
 " Why what perfumed dainty billet is this ? I 
 wonder from whom it comes. Who gave it you ?" 
 
 " I found it." 
 
 " Found it ! where ? — What in the saint's name 
 is this? c My thrice adored Elizabeth! 1 Why this 
 letter is not for me !" 
 
 Nugent grinned with malignant pleasure, as he 
 replied, "I thought you might, notwithstanding, 
 wish to see it, as it is addressed to Miss Norreys." 
 
 " Miss Norreys ! Who is it from ?" inquired the 
 knight, fumbling, with agitation, to make out the 
 name.
 
 6 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " From Captain Jephson, if I do not mistake the 
 writing," replied Nugent. 
 
 " Captain Jephson ! How dare he write such a 
 letter to my daughter ?" 
 
 " These English officers are not deficient in 
 boldness on occasions like this, especially if they 
 receive encouragement from the lady." 
 
 " What ! do you mean to say that my daughter 
 has given him any encouragement ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " You do ?" 
 
 " Decidedly." 
 
 " How ? where ?" 
 
 " Here, and elsewhere ; both by word and letter." 
 
 " Here ? In this castle she met him but once or 
 twice, — and I am not aware that they ever met out 
 of Mallow." 
 
 " I did not say they did ; but in Mallow they 
 met frequently." 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " In Mallow church." 
 
 "Nonsense !" 
 
 " You may think so, Sir Thomas, but it was 
 there the courtship was conducted; and there is no 
 place where a pretty woman looks more interesting, 
 or religion more lovely." 
 
 '" I must inquire into this matter at once," said
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 7 
 
 the President, hastening out of the room, and 
 sending for his daughter. 
 
 Miss Norreys having just stepped into bed, as 
 her maid knocked at her door and called her, her 
 father had to leave the explanation till the next 
 day, — which was fortunate for both parties, as he 
 had a night to cool down, and she to think over 
 the matter. 
 
 " What could my father have wanted with me 
 at this hour?" thought Elizabeth, as she lay awake, 
 musing on the events of the day. " I cannot ima- 
 gine the cause of John's silence : I expected a letter 
 to-day. There was something more than usual in 
 the expression of Nugent's eye this evening. Does 
 he suspect? If I thought so, I would tell my father 
 all: perhaps I should never have kept the secret 
 from him ; but it is not more than ten days since 
 John made a formal declaration of his love." 
 
 The fair daughter of Sir Thomas Norreys closed 
 her eyes in slumber, with these thoughts flitting 
 through her mind. By-and-by, a sweet smile play- 
 ed around her beautiful mouth, while indistinct 
 but silvery whispering escaped through her half 
 closed lips. To whom does she attempt to speak ? 
 To her lover, whom she sees in her dream, bending 
 over her ; his fair and luxuriant locks falling on 
 her cheek, and his blue eyes reading the passion of
 
 8 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 her soul. But why does she start? what has 
 changed the expression of her face ? The face 
 which bends over her has changed also ; it is no 
 longer the fair face of John Jephson, but that of 
 John Nugent ; and its expression is dark, malig- 
 nant, and fiendish. 
 
 Sir Thomas Norreys was in a calmer mood in the 
 morning, when he sought the explanation. 
 
 " Elizabeth," said he, handing her the letter — 
 he called her Elizabeth, on state and important 
 occasions — " Elizabeth, I believe this letter is for 
 you." 
 
 " You need have no doubt of that, father," said 
 Elizabeth, who was a girl of great courage, " for I 
 see you have cut the thread, and read it." 
 
 " Yes," said the knight, a little confused, for he 
 was a man of very nice honour ; " I conceived it 
 my duty to do so, as you have concealed this cor- 
 respondence from me." 
 
 Elizabeth held down her head. 
 
 " Bessy, I have none but you," said the old man, 
 softening, " and I do not think it necessary to tell 
 you, that your happiness is as dear to me, if not 
 dearer, than life. Tell me now, candidly, my child, 
 do you love this young man, Captain Jephson ?" 
 
 " I do, father." 
 
 " Then you shall have him ; it shall never be
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 9 
 
 said that I made my only child miserable, by oppos- 
 ing the object of her choice ; and I think Captain 
 Jephson an honourable young fellow, and a good 
 officer." 
 
 Elizabeth was melted into tears by her father's 
 kindness; but she was not so overpowered as to 
 suppress her curiosity to know how he procured 
 the letter ; she therefore asked him, before she 
 retired, " where he got it ?" 
 
 " Nugent gave it me." 
 
 " I thought so," said she ; " and I have now 
 another favour to ask you." 
 
 " What is it, Bessy ?" 
 
 " That you will dismiss that man the castle, 
 for I hate him." 
 
 " I shall do so, for I do not like him, lately, my- 
 self ; but you must wait till I get a fair opportu- 
 nity." 
 
 "He will not be long in affording you that," 
 replied Elizabeth. 
 
 " You never prophesied more truly, madam, 1 ' said 
 Nugent to himself, walking away from the door, 
 where he had overheard the conversation between 
 the knight and his daughter. 
 
 We learn from the poet Spenser, that Furor, or 
 Rage, is always accompanied by an ugly old hag, 
 called Occasion. We are told by learned divines, 
 
 b2
 
 10 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 that the devil never baulks us, for want of an 
 opportunity, when we are in the humour to do his 
 work. I know not how true this may be, but 
 Nugent paced his room all that day, and part of 
 the next, like the unclean spirit in the Gospels, who 
 wandered about in dry places, seeking rest, and 
 finding none. He thought of various modes of 
 revenge ; one was to murder Sir Thomas, and carry 
 off his daughter ; another, to murder Captain 
 Jephson ; a third, to set fire to the castle ; and a 
 fourth, to take advantage of his position, and 
 befriend the party in rebellion, by giving them 
 information of the President's movements. Here 
 he followed the wise example of the unjust steward ; 
 who, when he found he could be no longer steward, 
 endeavoured to make friends of his lord's debtors. 
 The last appeared the wisest and most practicable 
 measure, at least for the present ; Nugent there- 
 fore resolved to adopt it. 
 
 Nor had he to wait long for an opportunity of 
 shewing his willingness to serve the rebels. The 
 President, about this time, had frequent skirmishes 
 with the party in rebellion, and often exchanged 
 hard blows with them — sometimes losing men and 
 spoil, and sometimes taking both prey and prisoners. 
 On one of these occasions he returned to Mallow, 
 bearing with him, as a prisoner, a tall, handsome
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 11 
 
 man, of noble bearing and reserved manner, whom 
 he confined in the south-western tower of the castle. 
 
 " A prisoner, and in one of my own castles, — 
 while my cousin lies confined in the Tower of Lon- 
 don ! But I apprehended this ; and was warned of 
 it by my friends, as the penalty of my neutrality." 
 Thus mused the Last Earl of Desmond, as he paced 
 the room, and now and then looked down on the 
 dark river, which flowed at the base of the build- 
 ing. " It is a hard fortune," continued he, " which 
 forces a man into rebellion against his will and 
 convictions, and compels him, in self-protection, to 
 employ the sword, when he knows the hopes of 
 success to be desperate, and the remedy worse than 
 the disease. The conduct of the Lord President 
 in this affair will compel me, should I ever escape 
 from this place, to buckle it on again; and if 
 I do so, he has nothing to expect at my hands. 
 When I am for peace, they are for war. I have 
 resisted, for the last three or four years, the entrea- 
 ties of O'Neill and all my friends and followers to 
 take the field — and this is my reward !" 
 
 From these musings of the imprisoned Earl of 
 Desmond the reader may form some idea of the 
 state of Munster at this time, and the policy of 
 England respecting it. 
 
 He had, as he said — or soliloquised— -resisted the
 
 12 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 entreaties of his friends to take the field ; but the 
 President was not sure that he would be able to 
 continue in this good course, and preserve a strict 
 neutrality ; and knowing that he was the ablest 
 general in Munster, Sir Thomas Norreys acted with 
 respect to him, as Lord Nelson did with the Danish 
 fleet after the battle of Copenhagen, which he 
 seized, and placed out of harm's way. The justice 
 of this kidnapping policy, with respect to neutral 
 fleets, was questioned in the year 1801 ; but the 
 propriety of kidnapping and imprisoning Irish no- 
 blemen, in the year 1599, was never questioned: 
 " Catch him and keep him 11 expressed the ordinary 
 policy of the Governments and Lords President 
 of that period. 
 
 " I think I ought to know that horseman," said 
 the Earl, looking from the window of the tower 
 towards the bridge, upon which a full moon cast a 
 flood of light. " It surely is my cousin, Fitzgibbon 
 Blanc. It surprises me he should adventure within 
 the town. He has heard of my imprisonment, and 
 comes, poor fellow ! to plead with the President on 
 my behalf. He approaches the gate. Fitzgibbon, 
 I am sorry thy friendship has led thee to this 
 rashness, for Sir Thomas will detain thee a pri- 
 soner, too." 
 
 It was near twelve o'clock, and about an hour
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 13 
 
 after the arrival of Fitzgibbon, that a man, with a 
 lamp in his hand, the light of which was covered, 
 quietly and cautiously approached the Earl's door, 
 unlocked it, and walked in. 
 
 "Who comes here?" said the Earl, who could 
 not see the face of his midnight visitor. 
 
 " A friend," said Nugent, in a low voice. 
 
 " Is it Fitzgibbon ?" said the Earl. 
 
 " No," said Nugent, with a fiendish chuckle : 
 " Fitzgibbon Blanc is not thy friend ; he is a 
 traitor." 
 
 " Who dares to call the White Knight traitor, 
 to his friend's face ?" 
 
 " I do. And I dare more than this — to beard 
 the lion in his den ; and not only so, but to lead 
 him out." 
 
 " Who are you?" 
 
 " Some call me a servant of Sir Thomas Norreys ; 
 others, his friend. I call myself, John Nugent." 
 
 " John Nugent — I have heard of thee before ;" 
 and, to judge from the expression of the Earl's 
 face, it would not appear that the announcement 
 of the name had improved the impression formed of 
 the man who bore it. " But what is this thou 
 sayest of my cousin, Fitzgibbon Blanc, the White 
 Knight ?" 
 
 " That he is a traitor ; and now sits with the
 
 14 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 President, arranging his submission, and that of 
 his people, to the Queen. I left him laughing 
 heartily, as Sir Thomas related the scheme by 
 which he entrapped thee." 
 
 " If this be true " 
 
 " Come, and thou shalt see, and hear for thyself. 
 Do not hesitate ; I can conduct thee to a safe place, 
 where thou canst see and hear all, unobserved." 
 
 The Earl hesitated, not from fear of detection, but 
 he did not like to act the eavesdropper, even towards 
 a foe or a treacherous friend ; still, on the other 
 hand, if he did not adopt the only expedient which 
 Nugent offered, he would be compelled to hold his 
 friend false, on the word of a stranger, when he 
 had the opportunity of forming his opinion on 
 sufficient evidence. 
 
 " Come," said he, turning to Nugent, after satis- 
 fying himself that his conduct would not be out 
 of square with the strict requirements of knightly 
 honour ; " for Fitzgibbon's sake, as well as for 
 my own satisfaction, I will hear and see of this 
 treachery for myself." 
 
 " Stay," said Nugent, standing before him, to bar 
 his passage ; " I have not yet arranged with thee 
 the terms on which I grant thee thy liberty." 
 
 " Mention them," said the Earl. 
 
 " In the first place, I seek a captaincy in one of
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 15 
 
 thy troops," said he, eyeing the Earl, and pausing 
 to see what he thought of it, before he advanced 
 to the second proposition. 
 
 " Proceed," said the Earl. 
 
 " In the second place, I shall expect the aid of 
 some of thy people to arrange a matter, on which I 
 have set my heart, and which must be accomplished 
 this night. A party of thy men can be here in 
 two hours, for they are lying, as thou knowest, 
 within a few miles of the castle. They can ford 
 the river, near the ' Bock] and I shall admit them 
 by the small postern." 
 
 " What is the object for which you require this 
 force ?" calmly inquired the Earl. 
 
 "It is a petite affaire de cceur, to accomplish 
 which I must use a little gentle violence with the 
 lady. I have also an account to settle with Sir 
 Thomas ; after which, I promise thee, he will give 
 thee but little trouble." 
 
 " In plain words," said the Earl, " it is your 
 intention to murder the Lord President, your 
 master, and carry off his daughter." 
 
 " Yes, to speak plainly, that is my object." 
 
 " And dare you, accursed scoundrel, ask assist- 
 ance from me to accomplish a diabolical murder 
 and abduction V 
 
 " As this is the style in which you receive my
 
 16 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 offers of service, I shall leave you," said Nugent, 
 moving towards the door, with the keys in his hand. 
 Perhaps a few weeks' confinement may bring you 
 to a calmer way of judging of my proposal." 
 
 " Ha ! damned villain !" exclaimed the Earl, 
 springing on him, and seizing him by the throat, 
 which he griped so closely, that Nugent was unable 
 to call for assistance. " I will teach thee to beard 
 the lion in his den, as thou dost call it. Art 
 caught in thine own trap, thou cunning fox ? Let 
 go those keys !" cried he, wrenching them from his 
 feeble grasp, for Nugent was now growing giddy 
 and black in the face. " There — lie there !" he ex- 
 claimed, flinging him from him, and dashing him 
 against the wall of the room with violence. 
 
 To seize the lamp, and lock the door on Nugent, 
 was the work of an instant. In descending, he 
 passed an anteroom, next to that in which the Pre- 
 sident and White Knight were seated, in social and 
 friendly converse. Within this anteroom lay the 
 White Knight's cloak, beaver, and sword. 
 
 " Fortune seems to favour my escape," said the 
 Earl, as he wrapped the cloak around him, and 
 pressed the beaver over his brow. a Ah ! it's 
 too true what the scoundrel, Nugent, said about 
 Fitzgibbon's treachery. They seem as cordial as 
 friends of long standing," continued he, as he heard
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 17 
 
 their friendly chat and merry laughter from the 
 adjoining room : " the treason of such a scoundrel 
 as that up stairs should not surprise us, with such 
 examples before our eyes as this" 
 
 With these meditations, he descended to the 
 courtyard, where he encountered Fitzgibbon's 
 groom, who asked him " If he wanted his horse ?" 
 
 11 This instant," replied the Earl. 
 
 The voice sounded strange on the groom's ear, 
 and caused him to turn about, to see if he had 
 mistaken the person of his master ; but as the 
 White Knight and the Earl were the same height, 
 the second look only confirmed him in his first 
 false impression. 
 
 The groom brought out his master's horse, upon 
 which the Earl mounted, — and then his own; and 
 both rode through the castle gate. 
 
 The servant waited till they were clear of the 
 town, and then drawing closer to the Earl of 
 Desmond, said, " Did the President tell you any- 
 thing of the Earl ?" 
 
 "He has escaped," said Desmond, turning full 
 upon him. 
 
 The man almost dropped from his saddle as 
 he caught the eagle glance of the Earl's eye. The 
 Earl was a dark complexioned man ; the White 
 Knight was fair, with blue eyes.
 
 18 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 When the groom had recovered sufficient pre- 
 sence of mind, he attempted to turn his horse's 
 head in flight ; but, before he could do so, the 
 Earl seized the reins, and said to him, as he smiled 
 at his trepidation : — 
 
 " This way, if you please ; I shall give you the 
 lead ; — and keep a steady, even pace." 
 
 The man obeyed ; and dismounted in the midst 
 of the rebel camp. 
 
 " Keep this man in close custody," said the Earl 
 to the officer in command, " and let no one know of 
 his apprehension." 
 
 " I will, my Lord," said the officer, bowing low, 
 and leading off his prisoner. 
 
 The Earl and the White Knight's groom had not 
 left the castle more than half an hour, before Fitz- 
 gibbon rose to take his departure. 
 
 " What are you looking for ?" inquired Sir Tho- 
 mas : — " your cloak and beaver ?" 
 
 " Yes, I left them here." 
 
 " I shall call Nugent." 
 
 He called, and rang, and called again, but no 
 Nugent answered. 
 
 " Where can the fellow have gone ?" 
 
 The echo of the silent castle — for all the other 
 servants were in bed — answered " where ?" 
 
 The knights descended to the courtyard, and the
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 19 
 
 Lord President inquired of the sentry on guard, 
 " If he had seen Nugent." 
 
 " No, my Lord." 
 
 " Where is the White Knight's groom ?" 
 
 " He rode forth with his master about half-an- 
 hour ago, my Lord." 
 
 " With his master?" exclaimed Fitzgibbon. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Why, fellow, I'm his master — Tm the White 
 Knight /" 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure, sir." 
 
 " Don't know ? but I am, man !" 
 
 " I have no doubt on it, sir, as you say so ; but 
 the groom rode off with a gentleman, most uncom- 
 mon like you, — just your hoight, I should say, to 
 a hinch." 
 
 "What height was Nugent?" said Fitzgibbon, 
 turning to Sir Thomas, who was only less amazed 
 than his guest. 
 
 " About your height." 
 
 "There is treachery here; what kind of man is 
 this Nugent?" 
 
 " A man of whom I have some suspicions; so 
 much so, that I intended to dismiss him." 
 
 " Did he know of this ?" 
 
 " I am not aware; I think not." 
 
 " He has heard it, and intends mischief; but I
 
 20 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 cannot account for the conduct of my groom. Can 
 you lend me a horse and cloak ? I must also borrow 
 a beaver, and sword." 
 
 " You shall have them, with pleasure." 
 
 The horse was brought out; — Fitzgibbon mount- 
 ed, shook hands with the President, and rode forth, 
 at speed. 
 
 As the President sat at breakfast with his daugh- 
 ter the following morning, he mused with himself, 
 and spoke with her over the events of the past 
 night, and the mysterious flight of Nugent with 
 Fitzgibbon's groom. "That fellow will work some 
 evil to somebody, beneath the White Knight's cloak : 
 take my word for it, Bessy, he meditates mischief." 
 
 " He was always doing that, father," replied Miss 
 Norreys. 
 
 " But he intends some master-stroke now, or he 
 would never leave my service so suddenly, with a 
 sum of money due to him." 
 
 One of the castle guard entered the room, as 
 the knight and his daughter were about to rise 
 from the breakfast table, and said that the prisoner 
 who was confined in the fourth story of the south- 
 western tower was knocking violently at the door 
 from within. 
 
 "Go and see what he wants, then," said Sir 
 Thomas.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 21 
 
 " We can't find the keys, my Lord." 
 
 " As I live, Nugent has stolen the keys ! what 
 a consummate scoundrel !" 
 
 " Take care he has robbed you of nothing else, 
 sir," said the daughter. 
 
 " That's true : go, Bessy, to my room, and see 
 if my escrutoire be plundered ; there are not only 
 money, but important papers there." 
 
 Miss Norreys did so ; and returned to say that 
 everything appeared undisturbed. 
 
 " What are we to do with the prisoner, my Lord ? 
 he is making a terrible noise at the door," said the 
 man. 
 
 " That's true : you must force the door ; — but 
 stay, I have a master-key — here it is ; go now, 
 and let him have his breakfast : I dare say he is 
 hungry, by this time." 
 
 " It's that, no doubt, my Lord. He wants his 
 breakfast, for it's late now." 
 
 " Well, go ; and bring me your report." 
 
 Sir Thomas was reading when the door opened. 
 
 " Well," said he, without raising his eyes, " was 
 the Earl knocking for his breakfast ?" 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 Sir Thomas looked up, and started ; — for before 
 him stood John Nugent — pale, mangled, and bloody 
 — with the collar torn from his vest.
 
 22 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " What ! Nugent ! where, in the name of wonder, 
 have you come from ? What carried you off last 
 night, with Fitzgibbon's groom and horse ?" 
 
 "I did not stir," replied Nugent, who looked 
 stupid and confused. 
 
 " Who was it, then, that made away with his 
 horse and cloak, and rode off with his groom, 
 about one o'clock this morning ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Where did you spend the night ? Give an 
 account of yourself." 
 
 " In the south-western tower." 
 
 " Where ? in what ward ?" 
 
 " In the ward where the Earl of Desmond was 
 confined." 
 
 " What ! you spent the night with the Earl ? 
 What — what — what is all this about? I don't 
 understand you. What were you and my prisoner 
 doing ? hatching mischief together, I suppose." 
 
 " I was not with the prisoner." 
 
 a Didn't you say so this instant ?" 
 
 " No : the Earl's not there." 
 
 " Not there ? why, he has been thundering at 
 his door for the last hour." 
 
 " It was I that was thundering." 
 
 " You ! What need had you to thunder ?" 
 
 "I was locked up."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 23 
 
 " Locked up ?" 
 
 a Yes, locked up." 
 
 " Who locked you up ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Don't know ! Have you lost your senses ? 
 You are like that old ' Ignorance,' in Spenser s 
 Faerie Queene, who always said, '/ cannot tell J 
 What's the matter with your face ? It is covered 
 with blood. Can you give any explanation of 
 that ?" 
 
 " Not much. The last thing I remember, last 
 night, was getting a blow on the back of the 
 head." 
 
 " Well, that is something to remember, how- 
 ever." 
 
 " Yes ; I don't think I shall soon forget it," said 
 Nugent, showing his strong-set teeth. 
 
 " Let me hear the whole story ?" 
 
 " I heard a knocking at the prisoner's door about 
 half-past twelve o'clock last night, and went up with 
 the keys and a lantern to inquire the cause. The 
 key was scarcely in the door, when I got a heavy 
 blow on the back of the head [here shewing the 
 place where his hair was clotted with blood], I fell, 
 and — I think — but I am not sure — that I struggled 
 with a man ; but my head was so confused that 
 I cannot be certain what happened after that."
 
 24 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Who was it struck you ?" 
 
 " I don't know ; but I think it was the White 
 Knight." 
 
 " The White Knight ? Nonsense. Besides, that 
 would be impossible, for he never left my presence, 
 till he departed the castle." 
 
 " Then it must have been his groom." 
 
 " His groom T 
 
 " Yes, his groom." 
 
 " Ha !" said the President, putting his finger to 
 his forehead, in deep thought. 
 
 " There was no one else to do it," said Nugent. 
 
 " Was he in the castle ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I see it all," said Sir Thomas. " It is as clear 
 as day. The Earl, you say, has escaped ?" 
 
 " He is not in the south-western tower." 
 
 " A deep scheme of the White Knight, this. 
 I did not give him credit for so much daring and 
 genius. I must keep a close eye on that man for 
 the future. And did you hear that he carried off 
 my best horse V 
 
 " No : — how was that ?" 
 
 " And that he borrowed my beaver, cloak, and 
 even sword?" 
 
 " And you lent him those things ? You sur- 
 prise me. — Why ?"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 25 
 
 " To go in pursuit of thee." 
 
 " In pursuit of me ?" 
 
 " Yes, man, of thee ; we thought thou hadst fled, 
 under the guise of the White Knight's cloak — 
 or, more correctly, /thought so — for he must have 
 known full well that it was the Earl who escaped. 
 Cunning scoundrel ! with what seeming honesty 
 he railed, and rated, and insisted on his personal 
 identity with the guard, telling him that ' he was 
 the White Knight !' It would have deceived the 
 Father of lies himself. These Munster rebels have 
 the vviliness of the Old Serpent." 
 
 " He did not deceive me" said Nugent. " I sus- 
 pected him from the moment he entered the castle. 
 I knew him to be not only the cousin, but the 
 sworn friend of the Earl." 
 
 u And why not mention it, and put me on my 
 guard ?" 
 
 " You asked me to retire, as he entered ; — and 
 I never offer advice where it is not asked." 
 
 " More prudent than kind; but how was it, then, 
 that, suspecting him, you allowed yourself to be en- 
 trapped ? Why, man, thou wert more thoroughly 
 duped than even I. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Nugent, thou 
 hast nothing to boast of in this affair, in the way 
 of superior cunning ; for if the master outwitted 
 me, the groom bamboozled thee. He has left thee 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 26 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 marks thou wilt carry to the grave : — but go now, 
 dress thy wounds, and take some refreshment, for 
 thou must require it. We will talk over this 
 matter again." 
 
 As Nugent was retiring, he saw for the first 
 time that Miss Norreys was in the room, standing 
 in the recess of one of the windows. He bowed 
 low to her as he passed, which she acknowledged 
 by throwing up her head in disdain. 
 
 " Well, Bessy, what think you of the matter 
 now ?" said Sir Thomas, addressing his daughter, 
 as soon as Nugent had retired. 
 
 " I know not what to think, sir," replied Miss 
 Norreys, walking up to where her father stood, 
 " but I hold that man to be false ; however, there 
 is a mystery about the whole affair, which I cannot 
 unravel." 
 
 " Mystery! — the whole affair is now as clear as 
 day, to me ; there was a mystery before, but what 
 Nugent says explains it fully." 
 
 " You heard his words, but did not mark the 
 expression of his face. He knew not that I was in 
 the room ; but had you marked his countenance, 
 when your head was down, and its sudden change 
 when you looked up " 
 
 " What kind of expression was it ?" 
 
 " It would be hard to describe it to you, in words,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 27 
 
 but it was one of vindictive triumph, the triumph 
 of a man who felt he had thoroughly deceived you." 
 
 " Nonsense, child, you are deceived yourself ; he 
 could not deceive me. No, I am too old for that ; 
 you, it is, who deceive yourself by placing too much 
 reliance on the testimony of a face." 
 
 u I could not be deceived in that face." 
 
 " What object could he have, in letting the Earl 
 escape ?" 
 
 " I cannot imagine." 
 
 " Or taking his place in his prison-room ?" 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " Or cutting or bruising his person ?" 
 
 " I cannot say ; but I don't believe his explana- 
 tion of the matter." 
 
 " Well, thou art a strange girl. Know you not, 
 Elizabeth, that when we see a plain and natural 
 explanation of a difficult affair, we should receive 
 it, rather than look for far-fetched explanations ? 
 We often err in judging of motives, and looking 
 too deeply into the heart. No one can read the 
 heart, but God." This was expressed with great 
 reverence of manner. 
 
 Elizabeth did not bow to this homily ; but re- 
 plied : — 
 
 a I have no doubt that you take the wisest view 
 of the matter, sir ; but if you saw the expression of
 
 28 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 that man's face, as I did, when he thought no one 
 was looking at him, you might perhaps agree with 
 me." 
 
 " There it is again, i expression of face !' Why, 
 Bessy, thou art a proficient in the art of reading 
 countenances. Was it by thy skill in this way, 
 thou didst manage to read John Jephson's heart ?" 
 As the knight spoke, he looked into her own fine 
 face, with roguish humour, trying what badinage 
 would do to silence her, as philosophy and religion 
 had failed. 
 
 " Now, sir, if you go on that way " 
 
 " Hear me, my love ; — I am curious to know 
 how these things are arranged, for I was not aware 
 that you had ever exchanged half a dozen words 
 with John Jephson. 1 remember he used to sit 
 near you in church ; and now, I think of it, T once 
 or twice caught him throwing sly glances at " 
 
 " For shame, sir — this is too bad ; I really 
 cannot bear it any longer," said she, blushing up 
 to the eyes, gathering up her knitting, and making 
 towards the door. 
 
 a Bessy ! Bessy ! stop, come back. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 ha !" 
 
 " No, I won't." 
 
 " Bessy, come back, I say ; I want to speak to 
 you ; ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! She could not bear being
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 29 
 
 laughed at. I verily believe there is some truth 
 after all in what Nugent says, about this courtship 
 being conducted in church !" So saying, the good 
 Sir Thomas wiped away the tears which ran down 
 his cheeks, from merry laughter. 
 
 As Miss Norreys left the room, a servant entered 
 with a letter for the Lord President. It was from 
 the Earl of Desmond to Sir Thomas Norreys. 
 
 u From the Camp, May, 1599. 
 " My Lord President, 
 
 " I owe your lordship but small favour for 
 my seizure and imprisonment in my own castle at 
 Mallow ; I therefore believe you will not doubt my 
 sincerity in writing you this hasty letter, to place 
 you on your guard against a confidential servant 
 of yours, named John Nugent. He is not to be 
 trusted ; he meditates mischief not only against 
 your own person, but, I have reason to believe, 
 against the honour of your daughter. Cave canem. 
 
 " James Desmond." 
 
 " Audacious villain ! I will dismiss him this 
 day. This is kind and noble of the Earl. I am 
 sorry I seized him. Bessy was right, after all, in 
 her opinion of Nugent, and I was wrong, though 
 I laughed at her. Shall I show her this letter ? 
 I think not — she would have the laugh against
 
 30 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 me ; besides, its contents might distress her. I 
 will say nothing about it, to her, for the present," 
 he added, folding the letter and locking it up in a 
 safe place. 
 
 Nugent entered, much improved in appearance, 
 as the President was returning the key to his 
 pocket; and inquired particularly for Miss Norreys. 
 
 " Nugent," said Sir Thomas, addressing him 
 with suppressed passion, " I am sorry to have good 
 reason for believing you to be a black and most 
 damnable traitor. 11 
 
 The first part of this sentence was delivered in 
 calm, measured terms, like the deliberate and firm 
 tread of British soldiers, advancing, with pointed 
 bayonets and reserved fire, to the teeth of the 
 enemy ; but the words " black and damnable traitor 11 
 were awful " charges 11 and tremendous explosions. 
 
 Nugent was staggered and driven back by them. 
 He turned pale and hesitated, but at length ral- 
 lied, and summoned sufficient courage to ask, " On 
 whose authority, Sir Thomas, do you make these 
 charges against me ?" 
 
 a On the authority of an honourable man, and 
 a high-minded nobleman, James Fitz-Thomas, the 
 Earl of Desmond." 
 
 a On the word of your escaped prisoner ? What 
 says he ?"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 31 
 
 " That matters not, sir." 
 
 " But it does matter, Sir Thomas," replied Nu- 
 gent, with increasing boldness ; " for you have made 
 charges against me which demand better proof than 
 you have yet given." 
 
 " I desire no better evidence than the word of 
 an honourable man and a high-minded nobleman." 
 
 " You did not, Sir Thomas, always speak of your 
 informant in this high-flown style. He was once 
 a rebel — a damnable traitor — and, at best, a Sugane 
 Earl, or man of straw." 
 
 " Bandy not words with me, sir ; for by what- 
 ever name I may have called him, I hold you, for 
 the future, as a false friend and perjured traitor. 
 There, I believe, is the sum I owe you for your 
 services ; take it and depart, and let me never see 
 your face within these castle walls again." 
 
 Nugent looked at the money — fifty crowns — 
 which the Lord President had laid upon the table, 
 and first thought of leaving them there ; but re- 
 venge was stronger within his heart than pride, 
 and he bethought him that the money might 
 enable him to gratify that passion : he therefore 
 took up the fifty crowns, and walked out, muttering, 
 as he left the room, " We shall meet outside the 
 castle walls, Sir Thomas ; and when we do "
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Hereditary bondsmen, know ye not, 
 
 Who would be free, themselves mnst strike the blow } 
 By their right arms the conquest must be bought." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 John Nugent had not left the castle more than 
 three weeks, when Sir Thomas heard that a young 
 man, named Thomas Burke — brother of the Baron 
 of Castleconnell — had left the Queen's service and 
 joined the rebels, who were lying in force near 
 Clanwilliam, in Tipperary. Thither Sir Thomas 
 hastened, with an army of two thousand infantry 
 and two hundred horse ; when he, for the first 
 time, crossed swords with the Earl of Desmond, 
 who drove him back, and took a number of his 
 people prisoners. In retreating, with a force re- 
 duced to twelve hundred men, he fell into an 
 ambush at Kilteele, where he received his death 
 wound. Some of the chroniclers of these Irish 
 wars state he was " struck by the thrust of a pike, 
 which he received beneath the jaw-bone, by a 
 young man, named John Burke." There is no 
 doubt he was wounded in the jaw by a pike ; but
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 33 
 
 he received the death blow from the hand of Nugent, 
 who thrust his dagger into the back of his neck. 
 
 He was carried home, where he lingered in 
 great agony for three weeks ; his daughter watch- 
 ing over him with tender affection, both night and 
 day. A few days before he died, he called her to 
 his side, and thus addressed her : " Bessy, it seems 
 to be the will of God, that I should die of this 
 wound. Before I leave you, I should like to see 
 you married." 
 
 " Oh, father !" said the weeping girl, " do not 
 think of such a thing, now." 
 
 " But, Bessy, my child, I should die happy if I 
 saw you the wife of a kind and brave man, who 
 would watch over you, I fear for you, my child, 
 while that demon, Nugent, goes about, like a de- 
 stroying spirit ; I know it was from his hand that I 
 received my death-wound." 
 
 " What makes you think so, father ?" 
 
 " It appears like a dream, for I was stunned and 
 insensible by the fall from my horse, and weak 
 from loss of blood ; but still I know I was not 
 dreaming. As I lay upon my back on the road 
 I could almost swear that it was he, for " 
 
 " Well, father ?" 
 
 " I was almost blind, but the moon was shining 
 as I saw his dark face bending over me. I knew 
 
 c 2
 
 34 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 him by his large white teeth and long black hair, 
 which seemed to touch my face. I felt his very 
 breath upon me, as he stooped down to see if I 
 was dead." 
 
 Elizabeth raised her hand to her eyes to shut 
 out the horrible vision, so like her dream. 
 
 " I believe Captain Jephson is now in Limerick ; 
 was it not there you heard from him last?" inquired 
 the wounded knight. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, my child, write to him at once, and tell 
 him to come hither, without delay ; that I want to 
 see him, on an affair of importance, before I die. 
 Go now, and write the letter." 
 
 Captain Jephson, on receipt of the letter, hastened 
 to the death-bed of the Lord President of Munster. 
 Sir Thomas had only strength enough left to place 
 his daughter's hand within that of the young soldier, 
 and to say to him : — 
 
 " Jephson, I have left you, with this girl, all I 
 possess in the world.* I commit her to your care ; 
 watch over her. Bessy, kiss me. God bless you 
 both, my children." 
 
 He died about an hour after this, in Mallow 
 Castle.t 
 
 The good news of Sir Thomas Norreys' death was 
 
 * See Note A at end of volume. f See Note B.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 35 
 
 soon bruited through the rebel camps, and wafted 
 over the country like the zephyrs of the South, till it 
 reached the ears of Hugh O'Neill, the Earl of 
 Tyrone, the great rebel of the North ; who, on 
 hearing it, hastened to Munster, to arrange a 
 general plan of insurrection, and adopt decided 
 measures for giving the new Lord President a 
 warm reception. 
 
 Hugh O'Neill, Earl of Tyrone, was, at this time, 
 esteemed the ablest general and bravest soldier in 
 Ireland. He had, but two years before, beaten Sir 
 John Norreys* (brother of Sir Thomas), an English 
 officer of tried experience ; and driven him, crest- 
 fallen and broken-hearted, from the North to the 
 South, where he died of his wounds and chagrin. 
 
 O'Neill's march from Ulster to Munster — not- 
 withstanding the presence of the English Deputy, 
 the Earl of Essex, in the country — was that of a 
 triumphant conqueror. His army proceeded, we 
 are told, " from one encampment to another, until 
 he arrived at the gate of the monastery of Holy- 
 Cross. They were not long there, when the holy 
 cross was brought to them, to shield and protect 
 them ; and the Irish gave large presents, alms, and 
 many offerings, to its conservators and monks, in 
 honour of the Almighty God ; and they protected 
 
 * See Note C.
 
 36 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 and respected the monastery, with its buildings, 
 the lands appropriated for its use, and its inhabit- 
 ants in general." After this he marched to the gates 
 of Cashel. where he met the Earl of Desmond. 
 
 From hence these two distinguished generals 
 advanced through Roche's country, in the Barony 
 of Fermoy ; thence to the neighbourhood of Cork, 
 where they crossed the Lee, and then the Bandon 
 Eiver ; and from the Bandon River, through the 
 borders of Muskerry, and into Carbery, where they 
 had appointed to meet the Southern chiefs of the 
 rebellion. 
 
 It is not necessary, for the elucidation of my 
 storv, that I should mention the names of more 
 than two of the rebel leaders who assembled on 
 this occasion to meet the Earls of Tyrone and 
 Desmond : these were, Florence McCarthy, and 
 Fitzgibbon, the White Knight. 
 
 Florence M'Carthy was an Irish giant, near 
 seven feet high. He stood, as we are told by an 
 Irish writer of the time, "like Saul, a head and 
 shoulders above his brethren." He had a small, 
 cunning eye, which had not an unkind expression. 
 He was the descendant of the Kinsrs of Munster, 
 and possessed, at this time — with the exception of 
 the Earl of Desmond — the largest " following" of 
 any chieftain in the province.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 37 
 
 He attended this meeting in order to be installed 
 as the M'Carthy Mor, or More, or " M'Carthy the 
 Great," which title the Queen had most inappropri- 
 ately — and, as he thought, most unjustly — con- 
 ferred upon a Lilliputian and illegitimate cousin, 
 whom, he declared, " he would have had no diffi- 
 culty in putting into the pocket of his doublet : 
 yes, I could," said Florence ; " and it's a damnation 
 shame." 
 
 I must here advertise my readers, that Florence 
 M'Carthy was in the habit of using this ugly word, 
 " damnation" very frequently, and that, even when 
 writing, he scarcely ever commenced or concluded 
 a letter without it. Let this be borne in mind, 
 for I do not wish to be made responsible for all his 
 " damnable blasphemies," as Sir George Carew calls 
 them. 
 
 The ceremony of inauguration was opened with 
 High Mass ; after which, Florence was well sprin- 
 kled with holy water ; but I am sorry to say, it 
 had no effect in driving the demon of blasphemy out 
 of him, for when mounted on the shield, upon which 
 twelve Irish chiefs endeavoured to raise him — and 
 to do so, it required " a long pull, and a strong 
 pull, and a pull altogether" — he cried out, " Dam- 
 nation ! boys, take care, and don't let me fall." 
 He was dubbed " M'Carthy More" by the Earl of
 
 38 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Tyrone. He then received the homage of his tribe ; 
 after which, he made a characteristic speech to 
 the assembled chiefs and people. The ceremony 
 was concluded by " Three cheers for Mac Carthy 
 More ; three cheers for Hugh O'Neill, the Earl of 
 Tyrone ; and three cheers for James Fitz Thomas, 
 the Earl of Desmond." " And, damnation ! three 
 cheers more for Old Ireland" called out Flo- 
 rence. " Hurrah, boys ! Hurrah, boys ! Hurrah, 
 boys !" 
 
 " Now, my Lords, and fellow-countrymen," said 
 O'Neill, who was elected president of this warlike 
 conclave, " I have to call your attention to graver 
 matters." 
 
 The wild cheers of the Carbery and Muskerry 
 peasantry were speedily hushed, while ten thousand 
 faces were directed, with calm earnestness and 
 fixed attention, towards the platform, on which 
 stood the warlike Earl, with the Earl of Desmond 
 on his right, and Mac Carthy More on his left. 
 Near the Earl of Desmond stood a churchman, 
 with a calm grey eye, and a high intellectual brow. 
 That churchman was Archer, the Jesuit, the " Secret 
 Agenf of the Court of Rome. 
 
 Silence — a silence like a spell — seized hold of 
 every tongue and limb of that talking, laughing, 
 moving mass, as Hugh O'Neill stood before them.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 39 
 
 A deep scar across the brow marked that warlike 
 chief, the Robert Bruce of Irish history. 
 
 "My Lords, and fellow-countrymen," said Tyrone, 
 " we are here assembled to decide, and to decide 
 promptly, on the wisest and most effective measures 
 for resisting our English enemies. They are now 
 down, and we must keep them down." 
 
 " A has les Anglais /" muttered Archer, between 
 his teeth. 
 
 " I understand that, in a few weeks, a new Lord 
 President will be sent to Munster. You must do 
 your best to keep him out ; but if he gets in, you 
 must do your utmost to drive him out, by making 
 Munster too hot for him." 
 
 " Hear him!" cried Florence Mac Carthy. 
 
 " Or send him to a hotter place," said, a man in 
 the crowd. 
 
 " As your lordship did Sir John Norreys," said 
 another. 
 
 " And as the Earl of Desmond and Burke did 
 his brother Thomas," said a third. 
 
 " Thank God, we are rid of them," said a fourth. 
 
 " May the devil keep his own, now he's got 
 them," said a fifth. 
 
 " Silence !" said a sixth, " the Earl has more to 
 
 , sa y-" 
 
 " I know something," continued O'Neill, " of the
 
 40 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 newly appointed Lord President, Sir George Carew. 
 He is a shrewd, wily statesman, who will come to 
 you with words of peace on his lips, but with the 
 poison of asps under his tongue. Hear him not." 
 
 " Hear him !" said Florence Mac Carthy. 
 
 Tyrone smiled, and continued. " Make no terms 
 with him, good or bad." 
 
 " Hear him !" exclaimed Florence. 
 
 " But meet him at the point of the sword, and 
 drive him back whence he came." 
 
 " Hear him !" said Florence. 
 
 " I need not say, that any assistance I can give 
 you, you shall have with a hand and a heart ; for, to 
 tell you the honest truth, there is nothing I like 
 better than crossing swords with these English 
 knights and generals ; and from intelligence I have 
 lately received from my ambassadors in Italy and 
 Spain, I reckon confidently on speedy and effective 
 aid, in men and arms, from the Holy Father, and 
 His Highness, the King of Spain." 
 
 " Hear him !" said Archer, the Jesuit. 
 
 "I am a soldier, and unused to make long 
 speeches, but before I conclude, allow me to con- 
 gratulate you on the unity and good feeling which 
 exist among you. l Divide and conquer 1 is the 
 motto of our foes ; be one, in mind and deed, and 
 the victory will be yours."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 41 
 
 O'Neill concluded this harangue amidst " thun- 
 ders of applause."* 
 
 The eyes of the assembled multitude were then 
 turned to the Earl of Desmond, who was expected 
 to speak next. Archer held him for some moments 
 in private converse. When he rose, there was a 
 perplexed and troubled expression on his brow. 
 
 " My Lord," said Desmond, turning to Tyrone, 
 " I informed you of my opinions before I came to 
 this assembly ; nor can I say that your eloquent 
 words have altered them much." 
 
 O'Neill bent his head. 
 
 " I have still my doubts of the wisdom or 
 policy of meeting the new Lord President at the 
 point of the sword. I should rather hear him first, 
 and strike afterwards. If his measures be good, 
 let us accept them ; if evil, let us reject them. 
 Let us hear, before we strike." 
 
 "Hear him !" said Florence Mac Carthy. 
 
 O'Neill turned, and looked at Mac Carthy. 
 
 Mac Carthy returned the look with so comical 
 a glance that Tyrone was compelled to smile, in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 Archer the Jesuit, who seemed fidgetty and chap- 
 fain, here whispered something in Desmond's ear. 
 
 * See Note D.
 
 42 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " I am aware," continued the Earl of Desmond, 
 " of the great and paramount importance of unity 
 of purpose and action, on this occasion ; but as we 
 have now met in council, to devise the best means 
 of promoting Ireland's interest, — which I am sure 
 we all have at heart, — I have felt it my duty to 
 offer you this my deliberate opinion. It may not 
 be deemed wise, but it is sincere." 
 
 " Hear him !" said Hugh O'Neill. 
 
 Fitzgibbon, the White Knight, rose next, and 
 said with a great degree of sarcasm of tone and 
 manner : — " If, my Lord, and fellow-countrymen, 
 we had not been previously acquainted with the 
 loyalty, — the Irish loyalty I mean — for this word is 
 used in two opposite senses, — if we had not been 
 previously acquainted with the loyalty of the Earl 
 of Desmond, we might have formed an unfavour- 
 able impression of it, from the words he has just 
 uttered ; but, no doubt, Desmond is an honourable 
 man." 
 
 " Hear him !" said Florence Mac Carthy, in a 
 corresponding tone. 
 
 " But I am surprised, and grieved, that one, 
 assuming the title of Desmond, should speak of 
 peace with those who have ever shown themselves 
 our foes. I cannot account for this English preju- 
 dice, or imagine whence it arises."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 43 
 
 The Earl of Desmond rose with indignant fury 
 to reply to this insult. The Jesuit Archer at- 
 tempted to dissuade him, but it was no use : he 
 would speak. 
 
 " I beg to inform the White Knight," replied the 
 Earl, with fierce and burning sarcasm on his lips 
 and brow, a that I did not acquire my English 
 prejudices in Mallow Castle." 
 
 The White Knight grew pale the instant he 
 heard the Earl mention Mallow Castle, for he had 
 concluded,' as the matter had never been breathed 
 before, that his visit to Sir Thomas Norreys re- 
 mained an undivulged secret. The Earl proceeded : 
 
 " I was taken, as a prisoner, to that castle, bufc 
 never went there, of my own accord, to arrange 
 terms of peace, by the compromise of my country's 
 interests and honour." 
 
 The Earl of Tyrone, and the chiefs around him, 
 looked at each other, amazed and thunderstruck. 
 
 " The Geraldines have ever been held as Hibernis 
 ipsis Hiberniores — more Irish than the Irish them- 
 selves. Irish in language, heart, and custom — 
 Irish from their beaver to their brogue. And now 
 that my cousin reminds me of an incident, which, 
 for the sake of peace, I have struggled to forget, 
 may I ask him whether the fashion of his cloak 
 and beaver be English or Irish? for methinks
 
 44 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Sir Thomas Norreys, the late Lord President, in- 
 troduced that style into Munster." 
 
 Fitzgibbon actually trembled, while the eyes of 
 all in that vast assembly turned upon him. 
 
 " To you, my Lord," said Desmond, turning to 
 Tyrone, " and to all in this assembly, with the ex- 
 ception of my friend, here," — turning to Archer, 
 the Jesuit, — " I speak enigmas." 
 
 " You do, indeed," said O'Neill. 
 
 " Then I must explain." 
 
 The Earl accordingly made a full expose of the 
 White Knight's treachery, and stated, in conclu- 
 sion, that if he denied the facts, he was prepared 
 to establish them, not only by the production of 
 the servant, but by the cloak and beaver which he 
 wore. 
 
 But Fitzgibbon denied nothing ; he knew it was 
 in vain. 
 
 O'Neill then rose, and said, with a quiet, sar- 
 castic smile, " Friend, Fitzgibbon, thou art as 
 mute and speechless as the man in the Scriptures, 
 ' who had not on the wedding garment .' I wonder 
 much thou shouldst dare come hither, to charge 
 thy noble cousin with a treachery of which thou, 
 and thou only, art guilty. A Latin poet says that 
 ' Whom God intends to destroy, he first makes mad.' 
 This would seem to be true in thy case ; but per-
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 45 
 
 haps thou didst hope, by thy zeal in accusing ano- 
 ther, to render thyself invulnerable to accusation. 
 Thou art caught in thine own trap. Burke, come 
 hither," said he, addressing one of the chiefs ; 
 " take this traitor hence, and bind him, hand and 
 foot." 
 
 This was literally handing him over to " Satan, 
 to torment him ;" for Redmond Burke was a demon, 
 who put him in hand-locks, and carried him through 
 the country, " making him lackey it by his horse's 
 side, like a common horse-boy." After detaining 
 him a prisoner for three months — during which 
 period he heaped every kind of indignity upon 
 him — he compelled him to pay two hundred 
 pounds for his liberty. After this, as the White 
 Knight said, " It might be well believed, I had 
 small cause to doe favours to James Fitz-Thomas," 
 the Earl of Desmond. 
 
 The White Knight having been removed from 
 the assembly in the custody of Redmond Burke, 
 the Earl of Tyrone turned to the M'Carthy More, 
 and said, " We have not yet heard your lordship's 
 opinion." 
 
 " Why, damnation ! my Lord," said Florence, 
 " I am like the holy Apostle, St. Peter, ' in a strait 
 betwixt two.' As I heard you speak, I thought we 
 should make no terms with the new Lord Presi-
 
 46 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 dent of Minister, and I am much of that way of 
 thinking still ; but then, when I heard my young 
 friend the Earl of Desmond, I thought with him, 
 that we should get all we could out of him first — 
 that we should squeeze the orange before we threw 
 it away, as they do in Spain." 
 
 " Well, what do you decide on doing now V 
 " Oh, damnation ! do you decide, and I'll act." 
 The general decision of the assembly was, that 
 the new Lord President should be met at the point 
 of the sword. With this understanding the war- 
 like conclave broke up, and a few days after the 
 Earl of Tyrone turned his footsteps to the North.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " More danger now from man alone we find, 
 Than from the rocks, the billows, and the wind." 
 
 Waller. 
 
 " Already we have conquered half the war, 
 And the less dangerous part is left behind." 
 
 Deyden. 
 
 " Restless and impatient, he hunts a phantom he can never 
 catch." — Rogees. 
 
 Sir George Carew, Knight, the newly-appointed 
 Lord President of Munster, landed at Howth Har- 
 bour, from Beaumaris, on the twenty-third of Fe- 
 bruary, in the year one thousand six hundred. He 
 rode from Howth to Dublin, and was hospitably 
 received at Dublin Castle by Lord Mountjoy, the 
 Irish Lord Lieutenant, or rather, Deputy, as he 
 was styled. But the state of the Province of 
 Munster, at this time, required that the Lord Pre- 
 sident should hasten to the South. 
 
 It was on a fine morning in early spring, that 
 Sir George Carew rode out of the yard of Dublin 
 Castle, and took the road towards Naas, en route 
 for Cork. He was followed by a guard of seven 
 hundred foot, and one hundred horse.
 
 48 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 He was accompanied as far as Chapelizod by his 
 friend, Lord Mountjoy, the Lord Deputy. 
 
 " Here, Sir George, we must part," said his lord- 
 ship to the knight ; " and let me now commit you 
 to the care of God and these brave men, and en- 
 treat you, for your friends' sake, and for the sake 
 of your country and sovereign, to have a care of 
 yourself. Let the fate of Sir Thomas Norreys, 
 and Sir William St. Leger, warn you against ad- 
 venturing too far into danger." 
 
 " Thank you, my good Lord, and kind friend, I 
 shall be on my guard." 
 
 Sir George Carew was at this time about fifty 
 years of age ; he was a well-made and strongly- 
 built man, with a frame more firmly knit than the 
 joints of his mailed coat. His forehead was intel- 
 lectual, and the expression of his face determined, 
 shrewd, and somewhat sinister. He was, of course, 
 a brave knight — for arms was his profession — but 
 he was more cautious than brave. As they jour- 
 neyed southward, he rode in full armour, in front 
 of his troops, marking everything around him with 
 the closest scrutiny. He could see a hare hiding 
 behind a furze-bush. 
 
 The President was accompanied to the South by 
 the Earl of Thomond and Lord Audley, who were 
 members of his council. His groom, a low-sized
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 49 
 
 man, with very long arms and very short legs, and 
 an immense breadth of chest, rode close behind his 
 master. 
 
 They lodged the first night at Naas, and the next 
 at Carlow, and advanced the following day within 
 a few miles of Kilkenny, without any incident 
 worthy of remark occurring. But, just as the high 
 walls of Ormond Castle hove in view, the President 
 turned round to his servant, and said, " Maurice 
 Stack, dost thou observe anything in that thicket, 
 yonder, near the river ? Methinks I see something 
 moving — it is red." 
 
 " Aye, aye, my Lord, I see it all, clear enough," 
 said Maurice, leaping his horse across the ditch, 
 and spurring it up to the thicket to which his 
 master pointed. He had advanced to within twenty 
 yards of it, when a tall and lank young man, with 
 red hair and wild-looking eyes, sprang out of cover. 
 Maurice gave chase, but the wild man dodged and 
 doubled about until he got his pursuer's horse up 
 to its belly in a bog. He then turned round, put 
 his arms akimbo, and began to dance, and grin, and 
 whoop, till the horseman, losing all patience, 
 drew a pistol from his holster, and fired at him, 
 when he wheeled round and fled with outstretched 
 neck and arms, screeching, and skimming the 
 margin of the lake like a wounded crane. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 "D n you," said the servant, wiping the 
 
 muzzle of his pistol, as he floundered, as well as 
 he could, out of the mire, " I think I have winged 
 you, or hit you somewhere." 
 
 He was reproved by the knight for his haste 
 and folly, and complimented by his companions on 
 the success of his enterprise. 
 
 " Maurice has won a pair of mud-boots," said one, 
 looking down on his dirty legs. 
 
 Another said, " Such an adventure should win 
 him his spurs !" 
 
 " Maurice has a leg for a boot !" said a third, 
 with a look of contempt at his short legs. 
 
 " I say, my companions, no more of your jibing ; 
 though I have short legs, I have long arms, so if 
 you don't mind to measure the length on them, keep 
 a civil tongue between your teeth — that's all." 
 
 " Peace !" said the Lord President, " here we 
 approach the castle." 
 
 Ormond Castle was then, and is still, an immense 
 pile of lofty buildings, commanding the city of Kil- 
 kenny. The outer walls of the castle are, for the 
 most part, protected by the river, which makes a 
 bend round them. 
 
 Sir George Carew was met at the gate of the 
 castle by the Black Earl of Ormond, who was one 
 of the Council of the Province, and the General-in-
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 51 
 
 Chief of her Majesty's forces in Ireland ; who had, 
 on more than one occasion, distinguished himself 
 by his zeal for his sovereign, and his cruelty to the 
 party in rebellion. 
 
 " Welcome, my Lord President ! welcome to my 
 poor castle of Kilkenny ! Welcome my Lord Tho- 
 moncl ! Welcome, my Lord Audley !" 
 
 " Thanks, my good Lord," replied Sir George, 
 " it is some years since we met. I hope your fair 
 lady and daughter are well ?" 
 
 " They wait to welcome you ; so follow me." 
 Saying which, Lord Ormond led the way to the 
 withdrawing-room. 
 
 Lady Ormond had once been a very beautiful 
 woman; and was beautiful still. She was, I should 
 say — for I have no dates to refer to for the exact 
 ages of the ladies whom I may introduce to the 
 notice of my readers — she was, I should say, judg- 
 ing from the appearance of her daughter, a lovely 
 girl, or woman, standing at her side — about forty. 
 She looked much less than this ; but she could not 
 be much under forty. She received the Lord Pre- 
 sident most cordially. He had been at one time a 
 suitor for her fair hand, which perhaps emboldened 
 the English knight to kiss the cheek of the 
 daughter. It is said that the nurse, or mother, is 
 sometimes kissed for the sake of the child : in this 
 
 UNIVERSE OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 case it was vice versa — the child for the sake of the 
 mother. 
 
 As it is not my intention to make a heroine of 
 either Lady Ormond or her daughter, and as I shall 
 not often require their presence, or aid, in the de- 
 velopment of my story, I need say no more of their 
 age or personal appearance. It is not pleasant to 
 lose the company of agreeable people, after making 
 their acquaintance, or after hearing much about 
 them. The reader must, therefore, be satisfied 
 with this introduction, en passant. 
 
 " But as you have introduced them at all," ex- 
 claims one of my fair readers, "be pleased to tell me 
 the age of the young lady ; you did not mention this." 
 
 Just nineteen. 
 
 " What coloured eyes and hair had she ?" 
 
 Black, like her father's — the Black Ormond. 
 
 " Was she tall ?" 
 
 Not too tall. 
 
 " Aquiline nose ?" 
 
 No, a little cocked. 
 
 " Cocked ! then she was not beautiful." 
 
 Indeed she was, gentle reader. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, she was not." 
 
 Well, I shall not dispute your taste ; but I 
 think I could guess to the shape of your own nose, 
 Miss Malapert.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 53 
 
 " Well, what shape is it ? I will tell you if you 
 are right." 
 
 Retrousse? 
 
 " No." 
 
 Roman ? 
 
 " No." 
 
 Grecian ? 
 
 " No." 
 
 Well, I can't imagine ; for I am sure it is not 
 snubbed. 
 
 " Snubbed ! No ; Circassian." 
 
 " Circassian !" I never heard of Circassian noses 
 before. 
 
 "Then you never travelled in the East, for the. 
 Circassian women are the most beautiful in the 
 world." 
 
 What shaped noses have they ? 
 
 " Straight — but not quite straight, either." 
 
 I see ; I am sure the shape of your nose must be 
 most beautiful, and only hope its sensitive powers 
 do not equal its beautiful appearance. 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 Because I want you to accompany me from the 
 withdrawing-room to the stables of Ormond Castle, 
 where I shall detain you but five or six minutes. 
 
 " Horrible ! but go on ; I shall keep my hand- 
 kerchief to my face."
 
 54 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Maurice Stack was in the stable, engaged in 
 drawing off his mud boots ; or, to speak without a 
 figure, in scraping the mud from his legs, by the 
 aid of a dagger, which he wiped against the door- 
 post. As he did so, he cursed and " damned," and 
 " confounded," all Irish men, and Irish bogs. 
 
 He had one leg scraped, and Avas commencing 
 operations on the other, when he dropped his dagger 
 in the straw, and as he stooped, and turned about, 
 to take it up, he caught the flash of the fiery eyes 
 of the young man, who had enticed him into the 
 bog, peeping at him, from beneath the belly of his 
 horse. 
 
 " You're there, you devil's limb, are you ? — I'll 
 make you pay for it all now," said he, closing the 
 stable door. 
 
 The wild lad could hardly have reckoned on this 
 movement, for he roared out " murder !" when he 
 found himself shut into the dark stable, with his 
 short-legged and long-armed antagonist. 
 
 Almost every new move or position in life, though 
 it should appear, at first sight, ever so much for the 
 worse, presents some advantage, which we did not 
 discover in the old one. Some unexpected light is 
 almost sure to arise in the midst of darkness. Under 
 present circumstances, the increased darkness, re- 
 sulting from the closing of the stable door, was
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 55 
 
 for the young man's advantage. It was some time 
 before Maurice, who went feeling about, with his 
 dagger, in the dark, caught the flash of his wild 
 eyes. When he did, he stealthily approached, but 
 when within two yards of him, the lad made a bound, 
 like a wild cat, to the other end of the stable. 
 
 " You shan't escape, notwithstanding," said 
 Maurice, rushing towards the door, to see that it 
 was bolted, as well as latched ; " come, you may as 
 well give over, or by all the saints in your d — d 
 Irish calendar, 111 skiver you through the liver and 
 lights. Look at my boots, you villain," 
 
 Receiving no reply to this remark, he advanced 
 to the centre of the stable, and stooping down, 
 looked about under the mangers and the bellies of 
 the horses, to catch another glimpse of the red head 
 and wild eyes. Just above him, there was a trap- 
 door to the loft, which he did not see ; but the 
 young man, who was crouching behind him, did ; 
 and in order to gain it, made a spring from the 
 ground on Maurice's back, which he used as a step- 
 ladder, and from his back, in through the trap-door, 
 which he immediately closed. In accomplishing 
 this feat, he drove Maurice's face against the rack 
 with so much violence, that the fire flashed from 
 his eyes. When he recovered, the strange being 
 had disappearedc But where ? That was more
 
 56 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 than Maurice could say. His impression was, that 
 he had vanished in a flash of lightning. All he 
 was conscious of was that of getting a heavy thump 
 on the back, which threw him forward, and a 
 smart blow on the face, which threw him back 
 again. 
 
 After rubbing his eyes, and straightening his 
 back, and looking about him in vain, he opened 
 the stable door, and re-commenced operations on 
 the second leg ; and as he did so, said, " Well, if 
 that isn't funny, my name isn't Maurice Stack. 
 Well, it's prowoking, and I havin' him so nice." 
 
 "Him would have slaine, when lo, a darksome clowd 
 Upon him fell ; he no where doth appeare, 
 But vanisht is. The Elfe him calls alowd, 
 But answer none receives, the darknes him does 
 shrowd."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " He hath commanded 
 To-morrow morning, to the council-board." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " Oh ! how comely is the wisdom of old men, and under- 
 standing and counsel of men of honour." — Eccles. xxv. 5. 
 
 "Dissimulation is but a faint kind of policy, or wisdom; 
 for it asketh a strong wit and a strong heart to know when to 
 tell truth, and to do it : therefore it is the weaker sort of poli- 
 ticians that are the greatest dissemblers." — Bacon's Essays. 
 
 The morning after the arrival of the party de- 
 scribed in the foregoing chapter, the Lord President 
 (Sir George Carew) and the Earl of Ormond were 
 seated together, in a private apartment of the 
 castle. 
 
 " My Lord Ormond," said the President, " I was 
 instructed by the Lord Deputy, before leaving Dub- 
 lin, as also by the Secretary of State, and even by 
 Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen, on my leav- 
 ing Hampton Court, to consult with you regarding 
 the affairs of Munster — you being a nobleman most 
 distinguished for wisdom and loyalty, and, withal, 
 better versed in the state of the country than any 
 
 d 2
 
 58 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 other person in this part of Her Majesty's domi- 
 
 nions." 
 
 " I am deeply impressed, my Lord President," 
 replied the Black Earl of Ormond, " with the high 
 confidence reposed in me by Her Most Gracious 
 Majesty, and for the flattering opinion of my little 
 skill in Irish affairs held by my Lord Mountjoy, 
 and the Secretary of State, and shall do my best 
 to serve your lordship with my poor advice. You 
 have heard, no doubt, in passing through Dublin, 
 of the death of Sir William St. Leger, your deputy 
 in Cork ?" 
 
 " I did, and it distressed me sore to hear it. 
 Will you recount the particulars of how he was 
 slain, for reports are various ?" 
 
 " It happened thus : that arch-rebel of the 
 North, Tyrone, was lately in Munster, with his 
 hell-hounds. Some of them were not far from 
 Cork, of which Sir William St. Leger not being 
 duly advertised, rode out about a mile from the 
 city for recreation, accompanied by about sixty 
 horsemen ; when Hugh Maguire, the Lord of Fer- 
 managh — a commander of cavalry under Hugh 
 O'Neill, and, withal, a daring horseman and valiant 
 rebel — met St. Leger in a narrow pass of the road." 
 
 " What followers had Maguire ?" 
 
 " Only a few men. St. Leger rode up, and dis-
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 59 
 
 charged his pistol at him, when Maguire, though 
 mortally wounded by the shot, rushed upon St. 
 Leger, like a lion, and cleft his head through his 
 helmet ; of which wound he soon died." 
 
 " Well, what happened Maguire ?" 
 
 " He escaped, but died of his wound the same 
 day." 
 
 " Made you no attempt to cut off the retreat of 
 that most diabolical rebel, O'Neill ?" exclaimed the 
 President. 
 
 " I did, my Lord," replied the Earl of Ormond. 
 " I went out, with a competent force, to meet him 
 in his retreat ; but by some accident I missed of 
 meeting him — it being a hard matter to fight an 
 enemy who wishes not to put anything to the 
 hazard of the sword." 
 
 " True, and I learn that he slipped, with the 
 same cunning, through the fingers of the Lord 
 Deputy, who went out after him into Westmeath." 
 
 " So I learn ; he is as wily as a fox." 
 
 " What policy does your lordship recommend for 
 the apprehending of that vile rebel of the South, 
 James Fitz-Thomas, or the Sugane Earl, as he is 
 called ?" inquired the Lord President. 
 
 " I should say, put a goodly price on his head, 
 as we did upon his uncle's, the Great Earl ; but I 
 doubt whether you will catch the young bird with
 
 60 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 the same lime-twigs with which we caught the 
 old one." 
 
 " Had your lordship, then, any hand in the cap- 
 turing of the old Earl of Desmond V 
 
 " Not exactly in capturing him. He was taken 
 by one Kelly, an Irish soldier, in a glen near 
 Castleisland, in the County Kerry. This Kelly 
 cut off his head, and brought it to me, to Cork ; 
 and I had it pickled, and sent in a pipkin to Her 
 Most Gracious Majesty, the Queen. I could shew 
 your lordship a letter, written by Her Majesty's 
 own hand, thanking me for it." 
 
 " I thought there was some relationship between 
 Garrett, the Great Earl of Desmond, and your 
 lordship ?" said the President. 
 
 " He married my mother," replied the Black 
 Earl, with a grim smile. 
 
 " The devil, he did ! and you pickled the head 
 of your stepfather, and sent it as a present to the 
 Queen !" 
 
 " Yes," said the Black Earl, in a positive and 
 determined sort of way, giving a threatening nod 
 of his head, which seemed to ask, " What have you 
 to say against it ?" 
 
 " Humph !" said the knight, bending down on 
 the handle of his sword, taking the leathern strap 
 between his teeth, apparently in deep thought.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 61 
 
 Perhaps he was thinking what sort of a thing an 
 earl's head, pickled, and packed in a pipkin, might 
 be ; or was considering whether it would make as 
 good a dish as a wild boar's head, or be as tough 
 as the leather in his mouth ; or was trying to ima- 
 gine what sort of taste Queen Elizabeth might 
 have, to relish such a present ; or what might be 
 the degree of the Black Earl's affection for his 
 stepfather. As he looked serious and wise — or 
 tried to look so — I conclude that no thoughts less 
 pious or profound were passing through his mind. 
 He seemed at first, by raising one eyebrow to his 
 forehead, and bending the other toward his chin, in 
 the Roman style (" Respondes altero ad frontem 
 sublato, altero ad mentum depresso supercilio"), to 
 make this reply to the Norman nod of the Black 
 Earl : " Cruelty or inhumanity is always displeasing 
 to me, my Lord, especially unnatural cruelty, like 
 thine, which the very Irish style Jiongail."* He 
 wished to look both wise and righteously indig- 
 nant, and say all this, by looking it ; but he had 
 cunning enough to discover that if he played off 
 any of these airs of office in that presence, the 
 rough old Earl would trample him and his pearls 
 of morality, or state policy, beneath his feet, and 
 
 * Fiongail is murder aggravated by relationship.
 
 62 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 turn again and rend him. He therefore cleared 
 his brow of its thunders, as he raised his head to 
 reply, in a somewhat different tone. Nor had the 
 obsequious Lord President of Munster much diffi- 
 culty in lighting up his countenance : he could do 
 it with as much ease as you, gentle reader, could 
 light your lamp. His change of tone was only 
 feigned, or from the feigned to the natural ; for 
 his own tastes and feelings were not the most re- 
 fined in the world — even as the world was then. 
 All he required was habit, or use, to give him an 
 actual relish, or gout, for the bon morceau which 
 the Earl had packed in the pipkin, although, at 
 first, he made an ugly mouth at it, as ladies do at 
 strong cordials. Even then, and notwithstanding 
 his attempts to look grave and severe, the whole 
 transaction struck him as more comical than cruel. 
 
 " It is, therefore, your counsel, my Lord," said 
 he, addressing Ormond, with a smile, " that if I 
 can catch this James Fitz-Thomas, the Sugane Earl, 
 I should pickle his head, and send it to Hampton 
 Court to the Queen ?" 
 
 " I should most certainly do so, if I had the 
 opportunity ; and I believe it would be reckoned a 
 more delicate morsel at court, than the head of 
 Garrett, the uncle." 
 
 " What does your lordship think should be the
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 63 
 
 nature of my general policy, for the suppression of 
 this rebellion ; for I am resolved to do my utmost, 
 to put it down. On this object Her Gracious 
 Majesty has set her heart, and I would give my 
 life to serve her in this matter, and have inscribed 
 on her tomb, P ac at a Hibernia." 
 
 " That's a motto that must be written on Ireland's 
 tomb, for like the Canaanites, who inherited the 
 Land of Promise, nothing will quiet them, but the 
 sword. To cure the leprosy, you must pull clown 
 the house ; but I would strongly recommend for 
 your lordship's consideration, a far wiser and more 
 practical motto than you have chosen." 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 " Divide et vince. This is my motto, and I re- 
 commend it for your adoption. I never feel that 
 the state is secure, till I see these Romish rebels at 
 each others throats." 
 
 " A wise motto, truly. Are they at variance, or 
 peace, among themselves now ?" 
 
 " At variance, I am happy to say, my Lord. I 
 hear almost every day of the burning of a castle, 
 or the taking a prey ; the Lord be praised for it ! 
 If it were not so, we could not hold our own, or 
 raise our heads in this country: Serpens nisi 
 serpentem comederit non sit draco." 
 
 We are in the habit of associating honour and
 
 64 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 ambition, as if they always existed together, in the 
 same mind. The objects of ambition are generally 
 great, and often grand and noble, but there is as 
 marked a distinction between ambition and honour 
 as there is between the means and the object. The 
 President, as we have seen, was an ambitious, but 
 not an honourable man. " A soldier without 
 ambition is like a knight without his spurs." He 
 pressed forward to the object which lay before him, 
 the Pacata Hibernia, but he was not over-scrupu- 
 lous, as we shall see, about the means, and hence 
 adopted both these mottoes, " Divide and conquer," 
 and " Except the serpent eat the serpent there can 
 be no dragon," with all alacrity and pleasure ; and 
 the more so, as they were in Latin, for which he 
 had some taste. 
 
 " What may be the principal cause of contention 
 just now?" inquired the President; "for knowing 
 this, I may be the better able to take measures to 
 put it down." 
 
 " Not to put it down, but to put them down ; 
 mark the distinction, for it is worth remembering." 
 
 " I understand you, and shall not forget it." 
 
 "As regards causes, you will find no difficulty 
 in discovering them, for their name is Legion ; but 
 where one does not exist to suit your purpose — for 
 seizing, say, one of the rebel chiefs — you can take
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 65 
 
 another, or make, or invent one. You look surprised, 
 but of this you may rest assured, that you can 
 never accuse them of a crime against the State 
 which they either have not committed, or will not 
 commit, if you give them the opportunity. When- 
 ever you are able, therefore, seize them, and bind 
 them fast, for prevention is better than cure. 
 But, as I said before, you will always find them 
 fighting among themselves ; for, in truth, they are 
 never at rest, except when they are fighting." 
 
 " Are they fighting in Munster now V 
 
 " Of course they are." 
 
 " What about ?" 
 
 " God only knows — about a thousand things. If- 
 one has more ground, or a finer horse, or a prettier 
 wife than another, they will fight about it." 
 
 " What ! would they fight about each other's 
 wives ?" 
 
 " As soon as look at them." 
 
 " God bless my soul ! they are worse than the 
 Trojans," said the knight. 
 
 " You may say that. It was a dispute about a 
 pretty woman, which first put Ireland into the 
 hands of us English, so we cannot quarrel with 
 them for fighting." 
 
 " I have heard something about that ; what were 
 the particulars ?"
 
 66 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Dervorgilla, the wife of O'Eourke, the Prince 
 of Brefney, was supposed to have been the most beau- 
 tiful woman in Ireland. She was seduced, and carried 
 off by Dermod Mac Murrough, the King of Leinster. 
 Her husband, to win her back, and avenge the 
 wrong done him, sought the aid of O'Conor, King 
 of Connaught, who invaded Mac Murrough's terri- 
 tory. Mac Murrough fled to England, and threw 
 himself at the feet of Henry II., and offered, if he 
 helped him out of his great straits, to become his 
 liegeman, and to hold under him as Lord Pa- 
 ramount." 
 
 " It was at this time your lordship's ancestors 
 came to Ireland, if I mistake not ?" said the Pre- 
 sident. 
 
 " It was so. My ancestors came to England 
 with William Duke of Normandy. The family 
 name was Fitz-Walter. Theobald Fitzwalter came 
 to Ireland with Henry II., and had the office of 
 ' Chief Butler 1 conferred upon him. We derived 
 our present family name, i Butler, from our office 
 in the royal household ; as did the Stuarts of 
 Scotland, under the Braces. It is the privilege of 
 our house to present the first cup of wine to the 
 Kings of England, on their coronation." 
 
 " I suppose we may also conclude, that the Earls 
 of Desmond have held the office of Chief Baker?"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 67 
 
 " It would appear so," said the Earl of Ormond, 
 with a smile, " for they have been most unfortunate, 
 their heads never being safe on their shoulders." 
 
 " They came to Ireland, I believe, about the same 
 time as your ancestors, and are also of high Norman 
 descent ?" 
 
 " There is no disputing their nobility," replied 
 the Earl ; " the first of them that came to Ireland 
 was Maurice Fitz-Geralcl, a wise and brave knight." 
 
 " The old Earl, and your lordship, have always 
 been at variance." 
 
 " We have, though I once spared his life ; but he 
 did the same by me, on another occasion, though, in 
 the end, I sent his head to the Queen." 
 
 " When was it that you spared his life ?" 
 
 " It was at Boharma, where we met on the 
 borders of Limerick : he fought valiantly till he 
 received a pistol shot from my cousin, Edward 
 Butler, which broke his thigh bone, and threw him 
 from his horse, when we made him prisoner, and 
 carried him to Clonmel ; but though badly wounded, 
 he never lost his courage." 
 
 " How so ?" inquired the President. 
 
 " As he could not ride, my men made a litter, 
 and carried him on their shoulders- As we were 
 taking him along, one of the gallowglasses that 
 were bearing him asked him with a sneer, ' Where
 
 68 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 is the great Earl of Desmond now T The moment 
 he said the word, the old Earl got up on his elbow, 
 and replied, ' He is where he ought to be, and was 
 often before.' 'Where is that?' said the gallowglass. 
 ' On the necks of the Ormonds,' said he, laughing, 
 and lying down. The old Earl," continued Ormond, 
 " was as headstrong as a wild bull ; but if re- 
 port be true, his nephew, the Sugane Earl, now in 
 rebellion, is as prudent as he is brave, and more 
 beloved by his followers than was his uncle." 
 
 " It will, therefore, be the more difficult to take 
 him," said the President. 
 
 " So I expect, my Lord President ; but I doubt 
 not you will succeed, if only the half be true of 
 what I hear of your policy and wisdom ; and from 
 what I see, I may say, with the Queen of Sheba, 
 'that only the half has been told me.'" 
 
 The Lord President was in the act of replying 
 to this handsome compliment, when the door of the 
 room in which the Earl and the Knight sat was 
 noiselessly opened, and a red head protruded for- 
 ward, from which sparkled two wild eyes. But the 
 intruder's mission requires a new chapter.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Along the winding corridors he prowls, 
 And when a stranger meets him, howls." 
 
 Nosbig. 
 
 " Thrice the brindled cat hath mew'd." 
 
 Shakspeaee. 
 
 " I did not for these ghastly visions send : 
 Their sudden coming does some ill portend." 
 
 Deyden. 
 
 " Alack, sir, he is mad. 
 'Tis the time's plague when madmen lead the blind." 
 
 Idem. 
 
 Aftek looking cunningly and suspiciously round 
 the room, and fixing his eyes, first on the old Earl, 
 whose back was towards the door, and then on Sir 
 George Carew, whose face was half turned towards 
 that of the intruder, the head was withdrawn, and 
 tjie door noiselessly closed. A few moments after 
 there was a wild scream, and a scuffle on the lobby, 
 and a cry of " Help ! help !" from Maurice Stack. 
 " Lend a hand, here, before this son of a wild cat 
 gets off again." 
 
 " What's the matter ?" " What was it you 
 saw T " A wild cat, did you say ?" " Which way
 
 70 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 did it run ?" " What colour was it — black or 
 white?" were a few of the questions, put by the 
 chamber-maids and serving-men of the castle, who 
 rushed, pell-mell, to the spot. 
 
 "Red! red!" said Maurice, answering the last 
 question, for he had no time to give the genus, 
 species, or " essential difference" of the animal, 
 homo ; " it ran in there." 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " Into that room." 
 
 " What ! into that room, down at the end of the 
 corridor ; why the door is shut, and that is his 
 lordship's study. Besides, he is in there this mo- 
 ment with your master, the English knight." 
 
 " Well, I see him bolt in there, shut or no shut ; 
 and whatsomever you may think to the contradic- 
 tory on it." 
 
 " Him ! it was a J^m-cat, then V 
 
 " Cat ! what makes you think it was a cat T 
 
 " You said so." 
 
 " When ?" 
 
 "This moment. But what is it, if it isn't a 
 Tom-cat ?" 
 
 " Why, he's a wild looking hanimal, with red 
 hair." 
 
 " Is it a man ?" 
 
 " Yes, of course ; what else ?"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 71 
 
 " Did you see anything at all ?" 
 
 " Did I see anythink, at all ? Of course I did. 
 Do you mean to tell me that I didn't see the tall 
 lantern-jawed chap as I chased into the bog?" 
 
 " It's something you saw before, then ?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " How often ?" 
 
 " Twice." 
 
 " Then this is the third time ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The interrogator shook his head, and asked, 
 " Where did you see it first ?" 
 
 " In the marches, near the castle walls, where 
 I got my oss up to his belly, in running hafter 
 it." 
 
 " Ah !" said the butler, as if he understood the 
 whole mystery, "that's where the Earl's grand- 
 uncle was murdered. Well, my man, what hap- 
 pened next ? You ran after it, you say — did you 
 catch it ?" 
 
 " No, not hexactly, for he turned round, and be- 
 gan to dance, and larf at me, and so over pro- 
 woked me, that I shot at it." 
 
 " I'll engage you didn't hit it though," said the 
 butler, who was held in high repute by the rest of 
 the servants, for wisdom and knowledge, in the in- 
 terpretation of supernatural appearances.
 
 72 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Why not ?" asked Maurice. 
 
 " Did you T 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I knew that : well, where did you see it the 
 second time ?" 
 
 " In the stable, a larfing and a grinnin' at me, 
 most horrible, from under the belly of my oss." 
 
 " Your what V said one of the maids. 
 
 "My oss." 
 
 " Your ass, is it ?" 
 
 " No, my oss. Can't you hunderstand Hing- 
 lish r 
 
 " His horse, he means," said the butler. " Well, 
 I don't like to predictate evil, my good friend," 
 continued the butler, looking round him with 
 considerable importance, " but oculist demon- 
 strators is uncontradictory evidence ; seeing is 
 believing, my good fellow ; and what you seen is 
 not lucky." 
 
 " Why not ?" said Stack, in a peremptory, hec- 
 toring way, like one screwing up his courage to 
 fight. 
 
 " Why? because it isn't," said the butler. 
 
 " But why not ? let me know that." 
 
 " Because it's not natural. It's not human." 
 
 " Natharal ! human ! didn't I feel it, and lay hold 
 on it ?"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 73 
 
 " That's all the worse for you." 
 
 " That's all confounded nonsense," said Maurice, 
 considerably chafed. " What do you want to make 
 on it ? Is it a ghost ?" 
 
 " Something worse nor that." 
 
 " What ! Worse than a ghost?" 
 
 u Yes, a Banshee" 
 
 u Banshee be d d. I'm too old a bird to be 
 
 caught by that chaff. I don't believe a word on 
 it." 
 
 But he did believe a great deal of what the but- 
 ler both said and hinted at ; and he felt a kind of 
 supernatural dread creeping round his heart as he 
 marked the pale faces of the servants, who shook 
 their heads at each other, and looked down on him 
 as a haunted and doomed man, as one who had 
 heard and seen the Banshee. 
 
 The apparition had rushed, as Stack said, into 
 the Earl's room, and somewhat disturbed, if it did 
 not startle, the two men there seated in private 
 counsel. 
 
 " Who the devil are you ; and what brought 
 you here V exclaimed the Black Earl, rising with a 
 thunder scowl on his brow. 
 
 " My broder sent me to Black Ormond," said the 
 intruder, retiring to a corner, out of reach of the 
 Earl's arm. 
 
 vol. I. E
 
 74 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Who is your brother, you scoundrel V asked 
 the Earl. 
 
 " Owny Mac Kory." 
 
 " Owny Mac Rory, eh ? What ! Did he send you 
 to me ? There is something in the wind, then. 
 What did he send you for ?" 
 
 " Wit dis," said the young man, drawing a 
 letter from his bosom, and holding it out, at arm's 
 length. 
 
 The Earl took the letter, and read it with pleased 
 attention. 
 
 " Here," said he, regardless of the presence of 
 the lad, " here is a letter from an Irish chief, as 
 thorough a rogue and rebel as there is in Ireland ; 
 but he writes me on a matter which may be useful 
 to the State." The letter ran as follows : — 
 
 " Right Honourable Lord, 
 
 " I would long ere this be a subject, but delayed 
 to do your lordship and the Queen a service, worthy 
 of my being accepted, of which I wrote your lordship 
 last autumn, and which I could never accomplish, 
 being a loyal subject. If you meet me with a force of 
 fifteen, or from that to twenty followers, in a place 
 called Carronnduff, near Beanlatharghat, on the 
 borders of the wood of Ydough, and come on us by 
 surprise, I will not fail to ensure to deliver the man
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 75 
 
 you seek into your lordship's hand, for he will be with 
 my company, provided that my father's lands be 
 seized for me by your honour, till my title be es- 
 tablished, of which you will give the bearer, my 
 brother, a written warranty. And thus requesting 
 your honour to accept my service and favour my 
 right, I take my leave, this ninth day of February, 
 1600. 
 
 " Mac Rory O'More." 
 
 " What is the service he offers ?" said the Pre- 
 sident, after reading the letter. 
 
 " To deliver up an infamous Jesuit, named 
 Archer, who has worked more mischief in this 
 part of the country than ten rebels like Owny 
 Mac Eory himself — and he has given us trouble 
 enough." 
 
 " Can you depend on Mac Eory O'More to do 
 as he says? For I hear the Irish are strongly at- 
 tached to their clergy ; and this would be, no 
 doubt, looked upon as black treachery." 
 
 " For which I give this fellow full credit. Had 
 he offered to do an honest thing, I would not have 
 trusted him." 
 
 " Well, you know them best. When do you 
 go?" 
 
 " To-morrow morning."
 
 76 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Will you permit me to accompany you V 
 
 " With great pleasure ; I should have asked you 
 to do so, had you not offered. It will give you a 
 good specimen of our manoeuvring in Munster. 
 It is not often we have a bagged fox like this ; I 
 think you will enjoy the sport. Here, boy, carry 
 this to your brother." 
 
 The boy took the letter, and hid it in his bosom. 
 He then advanced cautiously to the door, and 
 looked out, to see if the coast was clear, of which 
 having assured himself, he disappeared, with a 
 stealthy tread. 
 
 " Your friend, Owny Mac Rory, has employed 
 a strange messenger on a state affair," said the 
 knight. " I doubt if that lad has all his senses 
 about him." 
 
 " I believe he is a little light? replied the Earl ; 
 " but he makes up in caution and cunning what 
 he wants in intellect. He is, notwithstanding, 
 the best messenger the brother could send. You 
 saw how he hid the letter in his bosom. He has 
 the faithfulness of a dog and the caution of a cat. 
 Besides, no one would harm him. The common 
 people believe that those who have weak minds — 
 whom they call ' innocents' — are under the special 
 care of heaven." 
 
 " It was fortunate my groom did not catch him,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 77 
 
 for he has no such prejudice. I am sure he was 
 the innocent that led Maurice into the bog." 
 
 " Oh ! very likely, for they are as knowing and 
 mischievous as Old Nick. Well, my Lord," said 
 the Earl, breaking up the conference, " I may 
 expect you to accompany me to-morrow."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " The civilizers ! The disturbers, say ; 
 The robbers, the corrupters of mankind ; — 
 Proud vagabonds, who make the world their home, 
 And lord it where they have no right." 
 
 Philip's Beiton. 
 
 " I, who make the triumph of to-day, 
 
 May, of to-morrow's pomp, one part appear, 
 Bloody with wounds, or lifeless on the bier." 
 
 Peioe. 
 
 " A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine, 
 Ycladd in mightie armes, and silver shielde ; 
 Wherein old dints of deepe wounds did remaine, 
 The cruel markes of many a bloody fielde." 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 The cavaliers were in their saddles at seven o'clock 
 the next morning. The party consisted of the Earl 
 of Ormond, the Lord President, the Earl of Tho- 
 mond, Lord Audley, and about twenty mounted 
 followers. 
 
 The Lord President offered to take some of his 
 men along with him, but to this the Black Earl 
 objected, saying, " there was no necessity, and that 
 it would create suspicion." 
 
 " Who is this Owny Mac Kory, or Mac Rory 
 O'More, as he calls himself?" inquired the Presi-
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 79 
 
 dent, of Ormond, as they rode towards the place of 
 rendezvous. 
 
 "To do him justice, he is 'a brave scoundrel, 
 and has given the Queen's soldiers some trouble. 
 I heard he distinguished himself against the Earl 
 of Essex, at the Battle of the Plumes."* 
 
 " The Battle of the Plumes ! I never heard of 
 that battle." 
 
 " I dare say not, for it is not a title that a 
 loyalist would be likely to adopt, though one well 
 known to the Irish." 
 
 u How did the battle gain that name ?" 
 
 " From the number of English officers who were 
 
 slain in the fight, and from all the plumed bonnets 
 
 that were brought to the ground, or L Wigs oh the 
 
 green,' as they say in this country." 
 
 " A pretty name, the Battle of the Plumes ! and 
 
 it does credit to the officers of the army. But I in- 
 terrupted you. You were speaking of this MacRory." 
 u I have nothing more to say of him, than that he 
 is a man of abilities, and the head of a powerful clan 
 who has, and could still give us much trouble ; but 
 the Queen's troops have so often made their depreda- 
 tions upon his lands, and destroyed or carried off so 
 much of his property, and that of his people, that 
 he would be anxious to make peace on any terms. 
 
 * See Note E.
 
 80 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 My Lord Mountjoy has lately destroyed more than 
 ten thousand pounds worth of their corn, and 
 carried away a thousand cows, five hundred gar- 
 rons, and a great many sheep, and slaughtered a 
 reasonable number of the rebels. Those who re- 
 main will find it hard to keep soul and body toge- 
 ther till next harvest." 
 
 The morning was fine, and the part of the coun- 
 try through which they passed naturally fruitful, 
 but the fields were uncultivated, for a cruel and 
 exterminating civil war had been raging there for 
 the last twenty years.* 
 
 The houses of the peasants were either tenantless 
 and going to ruin, or razed to the ground. They 
 did not meet even one " Fortunate] Senex" during a 
 distance of eight Irish miles. In the mouth of a 
 cave, not far from the path, they saw the dead 
 body of a female, with a living child upon her 
 
 * Fines Moryson says, " Our captains and their common 
 soldiers did cut down, with, their swords, all the rebels' corn, 
 to the value of £10,000 and upwards, the only means they 
 had to live. It seemed incredible that by so barbarous inha- 
 bitants the ground should be so manured, the fields so orderly 
 fenced, paths so well beaten, and the towns so frequently 
 inhabited, as the Lord Deputy here found them. The reason 
 whereof was that the Queen' s forces, during these wars, never till 
 then came among them" Bather a candid admission for a man 
 like Moryson. 
 
 f Ecloga I. 47.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 81 
 
 bosom. The mouth of the dead woman was stained 
 green, and a bunch of nettles, from which she had 
 been trying to suck moisture, was in her hand. 
 The infant was evidently dying ; for the source 
 from which it was attempting to extract nutriment 
 was sealed up in death. 
 
 " We had better carry the child with us," said 
 the President to the Earl. 
 
 " What do you want with it V replied Lord Or- 
 mond, with a stare. 
 
 " I do not exactly want it," said the knight, a 
 little nonplussed for an answer ; " but we may as 
 well save its life." 
 
 " Remember your motto, my good Lord — 'Pacata 
 Hibernia] — and leave the young viper where it is. 
 It would only sting you, after you took the trouble 
 of rearing it. If it were a good hound, there 
 would be some reason in what you propose." 
 
 There was somewhat of dictation about the Earl's 
 manner, which annoyed and nettled Sir George 
 more than his inhumanity distressed him. He 
 therefore answered him with a silent and super- 
 cilious bow, and rode on. 
 
 Lord Ormond, who knew that it was his brusque- 
 rie, and not his brutality, which had given offence, 
 thought it wise to mistake the cause, and say, with 
 a smile, " I fear you will take me for an Irish 
 
 E 2
 
 82 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 ogre, my Lord ; but what can you expect from the 
 man who pickled the head of his stepfather ? But if 
 if I thought you would make as much by the young 
 viper we left in that den, as I did by the head of Des- 
 mond, I should have carried it home for you myself." 
 
 " Thank you, my Lord. How much was that ?" 
 replied the knight, whose brow began to clear." 
 
 " Ten thousand pounds." 
 
 " I thought your lordship said it was Kelly who 
 got the money ?" 
 
 " I gave him five hundred of it." 
 
 " And you cleared, therefore, nine thousand live 
 hundred by the transaction ?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " I see your lordship sets a proper value on your 
 relatives." 
 
 " We are commanded to honour our father and 
 mother, that our days may be long in the land." 
 
 They went on chatting and joking in this heart- 
 less and profane way, till they entered the glen 
 appointed for the meeting with O'More. 
 
 Mac Rory, who was a tall, broad-shouldered 
 man, with black hair and small eyes, was waiting 
 for the Earl, with a larger company than that 
 nobleman had expected ; but as they were all 
 footmen, and nearly all kerns, Ormond seemed to 
 despise them.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 83 
 
 " Where is thy friend Archer?" inquired the Earl 
 of Mac Rory. " Thou dost not dare to parley 
 without the advice of that counsellor." 
 
 " He will be here in less than five minutes, my 
 Lord," said Mac Rory, shuffling about for something 
 to say, to try and occupy the time. 
 
 " Send for him ; for I shall do nothing till he 
 comes." 
 
 Mac Rory sent a messenger for the priest, who 
 came forth from the wood before the five minutes 
 had expired. 
 
 As he approached, the Earl dismounted and 
 walked over to him, and asked him, " How he 
 dared to show his traitor face in the country ?" 
 
 " I understood," said the priest, with a smile, 
 " that your lordship desired to see it." 
 
 " Yes, upon the spikes of my castle gate. Think 
 you that I am ignorant of your hellish machina- 
 tions with the King of Spain and the Court of 
 Rome, against Her Majesty's throne, and the Pro- 
 testant religion ? I have a letter, written by 
 thine own hand, thou black snake ! Thou shalt 
 hang for it." 
 
 " I deny nothing that I have done, proud lord, 
 and should have no objection to lay down my life, 
 if it could save my country, and Christ's Church, 
 from tyrant hands like thine."
 
 84 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 The Lord President here rode up to the Earl, 
 and told him that more men were coming out of 
 the wood, and that he feared they might be over- 
 powered by numbers, if he delayed, and recommend- 
 ed him immediately to mount. 
 
 "Out upon thee, thou viper of hell!" continued the 
 Earl, addressing the Jesuit, without regarding the 
 warning of Sir George ; " I would crush thee beneath 
 my heel, if it were not for the pleasure of hanging 
 thee." 
 
 " I do not doubt your will, if you had the power," 
 retorted the Jesuit. 
 
 " Dost thou doubt my power?" said the Earl, with 
 a sneer. M Come, we shall see," laying a firm hold 
 of the broad leathern cincture which enclosed the 
 Jesuit's waist. 
 
 " Unhand me, base man," cried Archer, looking 
 round at Mac Rory O'More for assistance ; but Rory 
 did not move hand or foot to aid him. 
 
 " Yes, when I give thee over to the hangman," 
 said Ormond, pulling him over to the side of the 
 road where his party stood, mounted, and in a firm 
 phalanx, which seemed to deter Mac Rory's kerns 
 from attempting a rescue. 
 
 " Bring that empty saddle forward," cried the 
 Earl, to one of his men. 
 
 " Not so, my Lord ; my groom has a strong horse,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 85 
 
 and the prisoner will be safer with him, than on a 
 saddle by himself," said Sir George. 
 
 " Up with him, then, and let us be moving, for 
 I see this glen is getting as crowded as a fair." 
 
 Having seen Archer mounted, and firmly strapped 
 to Maurice's back, the Earl walked deliberately 
 over to his own horse, put his foot in the stirrup, 
 and was in the act of throwing the other over the 
 saddle, when one of Mac Rory's gallowglasses pushed 
 out a pike, upon the end of which there was a crook, 
 which caught the Earl by the collar, and brought 
 him on his back to the ground. 
 
 " You are my prisoner," said O'More, rushing 
 up, and seizing the Earl by the throat, as he at- 
 tempted to rise. 
 
 u Damnation !" exclaimed the Black Earl, strug- 
 gling hard to free himself ; but he struggled in vain. 
 The next moment he was surrounded by a dozen 
 men, brandishing their skeins in his face. 
 
 " Trumpet sound ! — to the rescue ! — charge !" 
 shouted Sir George, spurring his war-horse upon 
 a crowd of kerns, who scattered themselves, and 
 fled, leaping through the hedges, like a flock of 
 sheep suddenly pounced upon by a large mastiff. 
 
 " To horse, my Lord ; mount !" cried the President, 
 addressing the prostrate Earl. 
 
 " A Desmond ! — Papa aboo ! — To the rescue of
 
 86 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 the Soggarth F* were the war-cries by which the 
 Earl's party were now startled. 
 
 " Save yourself, my Lord ; I am wounded, and 
 cannot rise. These are the Desmond horse ; see, 
 they issue from the wood." 
 
 " Desmond aboof — To the rescue of the Soggarth! 
 — Papa aboo F 
 
 These wild Irish cheers, proceeding from the 
 throats of about two hundred horsemen, as they 
 broke from the wood, struck such terror into the 
 hearts of Lord Ormond's party, that they all fled, 
 without striking a blow for the Earl's life or liberty, 
 with the exception of the English knight, his 
 groom, and Lord Thomond, who was wounded with 
 a pike in the shoulder, which somewhat hastened 
 his retreat. Sir George Carew and his servant 
 were the last to leave the field ; but as they were 
 left alone, the only alternative was flight or cap- 
 ture. 
 
 " Ride on, my Lord," said the wounded Earl ; 
 " your capture or death would injure me more than 
 it would serve me." 
 
 " Ride on, Maurice," said the President to his 
 servant ; " we have now no choice but to follow 
 the example of those poltroons before us, who make 
 
 * Soggarth, a priest.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 87 
 
 better use of the steel at their heels, than the 
 swords at their sides." 
 
 " Maurice, who only wanted the word, broke 
 into a gallop, as he replied, " Poltroons, indeed, 
 my Lord !" Had he dared, he would have followed 
 the example of his poltroon companions, and left 
 his master, as well as the Earl, in the hands of the 
 enemy. Feeling the priest, who was behind him 
 in the saddle, an impediment to his flight, he asked 
 his master if he should cut him loose. 
 
 " No, the priest must not escape." 
 
 " I could cut his throat." 
 
 " By no means ; we must have man for man. 
 He may aid in the liberation of the Earl." 
 
 " At my cost," grumbled Maurice to himself. 
 
 " Not too fast, Maurice, or you will blow your 
 horse : I shall keep beside you. The horses of 
 these Irish fellows are small," said the knight, look- 
 ing back ; " we may beat them yet. That's it ; 
 keep up that steady, even pace." 
 
 " Do you hear them, my Lord ? hearken to that 
 screech. Are they cannibals ?" 
 
 " No, not, I believe, so bad as that." 
 
 "Almost, I suppose? What was that the old 
 Earl said about pickling the child, and carrying 
 it home for vour honour? What is this fellow 
 fumbling at behind me, your honour ? Has he a
 
 88 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 knife, or is he trying to undo the straps ? Hearken 
 to these devils again." 
 
 " I'm unused to such hard riding," said the poor 
 priest, who, having no stirrups, was cruelly bumped 
 on the back of the saddle. 
 
 " Are you? Are they gaining on us, my Lord V 
 said Maurice, after riding the first mile ; " I think 
 I hear them plainer." 
 
 " On the contrary, we are leaving them behind, 
 with the exception of their leader — as he seems to 
 be — a horseman with a black plume." 
 
 " Oh, is that all ? we can manage one man, 
 anyhow." 
 
 " I see another, some distance behind him," said 
 Sir George. 
 
 " Do you see any more, my Lord ?" 
 
 " No, I think not." 
 
 " Are you sure, my Lord ?" 
 
 « No— yes !" 
 
 " Eh ? Is it yes or no ?" 
 
 " Yes — I am sure." 
 
 " That there are more than two T 
 
 " No, that there are only two." 
 
 " Thank God ! Well, no matter, we can manage 
 two." 
 
 " Which will you take, Maurice ? — the man 
 coming up first, with the black plume ? or "
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 89 
 
 " 111 leave the black plume to you, my Lord." 
 
 " You will take the second, then V 
 
 " What is he like, my Lord ?" 
 
 " As well as I can see," said Sir George, standing 
 up in his stirrups, and looking back, " he is an out- 
 landish looking fellow." 
 
 " Outlandish — is he ? Do you think they will 
 overtake us ?" 
 
 " I think they will." 
 
 " Perhaps your lordship would have no objection 
 to take the Black Plume first, and the outlandish 
 fellow afterwards ?" 
 
 " That's rather more than my share, Maurice," 
 said the knight, with a smile ; " but we shall see. 
 Here comes the first, at any rate." 
 
 The horseman with the black plume was better 
 mounted, caparisoned, and armed, than any of his 
 troop, and appeared the finest man of the party. 
 His age was about thirty-five ; his face was flushed 
 with hard riding ; his hair, which was as black as 
 the feather in his helmet, fell in heavy ringlets on 
 his shoulders ; his dark hazel eyes were flashing 
 fire, like warriors' swords in battle, and a thunder- 
 scowl rested on his brow, as he pressed hard after 
 the Lord President and his groom. As his first 
 object appeared the rescue of the priest, he rode up 
 to the side of the servant, who feeling that a dis-
 
 90 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 courtesy was thus done his master, drew in his 
 rein, which brought the knight and the Irish leader 
 abreast. 
 
 " I claim the first honour," said the English 
 knight, pressing up to the dark horseman. " Mau- 
 rice, ride forward," said he, turning to his man. 
 
 Maurice replied by a plunge of his spurs into 
 the flanks of his horse — the Irish leader by a rapid 
 thrust of his sword at Sir George's breast, which 
 he barely parried. This was followed by as hearty 
 and as able a bout of sword exercise as any two 
 knights ever had the pleasure of being engaged in. 
 Like two lovers, who knew they must soon part, 
 they made the best use of their time : — 
 
 " Both stricken strike, and beaten both doe beat, 
 That from their shields forth fly nrie light ; 
 And helmets, hewen deepe, show marks of either' s might." 
 
 The Irish leader would have desired to prolong 
 the contest, but he could not think of allowing the 
 servant in front, to carry off the priest, while he 
 was dallying with the knight ; and the English 
 knight saw that the tete-a-tete would be soon 
 rudely interrupted by the Irish horsemen in the 
 rear. They were engaged but a few seconds, 
 when a young man with red hair, and a wild 
 aspect, riding a large grey mare, without a sad-
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 91 
 
 die, rushed by, like a whirlwind. Sir George, who 
 discovered from the Irish cheers behind, which 
 sounded in his ears like the yelling of five hun- 
 dred hungry wolves, that in two or three minutes 
 more, the whole pack would be up and on him, 
 drew a pistol and discharged it in the face of 
 his antagonist, and then turned about, in pursuit 
 of the wild horseman, whose object was evidently 
 the same as his leader's, the liberation of the Jesuit 
 Archer. 
 
 " Stay, false knight !" said the Irish leader, call- 
 ing after him. 
 
 Maurice Stack, hearing the clatter of a single 
 
 horseman, close behind him, looked back to see 
 
 whether it was his master, Sir George, or the 
 
 Irish leader. To his horror he beheld the wild 
 
 eyes, and elf-like locks, of what he was credibly 
 
 informed was either the banshee or the devil; 
 
 and which he now believed to be something more 
 
 than mortal. The next moment it was at his side. 
 
 Without knowing well what he was doing, he drew 
 
 his pistols from his holster, and attempted to fire 
 
 them in random haste at the sprite ; but both 
 
 pistols flashed in the pans, to the great amusement 
 
 of Mac Rory, who seemed to expect something of 
 
 the kind. A moment more, and the strap which 
 
 bound the priest was cut, and the Jesuit trans-
 
 92 THE LAST EARL OE DESMOND. 
 
 ferred from the back of Maurice's horse to the shoul- 
 ders of the grey mare, with a facility that appeared 
 magical. 
 
 " Hah ! hah ! hah !" said the wild brother of 
 Owny O'More, as he turned down a boreeri* on his 
 left. 
 
 " God be praised !" said Maurice Stack, " I shall 
 always think the better of the Protestant religion 
 after this. It was the priest, and not me he wanted." 
 
 " I wish you joy of your prize, man !" f 
 
 The Lord President and his servant had no 
 difficulty in making good their escape from their 
 pursuers, after the servant's horse had been relieved 
 of the additional burden ; but in turning round 
 an angle of the road, Sir George's horse shied, and 
 nearly backed its rider over a precipice. The 
 animal was frightened by an eagle which flapped 
 its wings in the horse's eyes, as it rose from the 
 mouth of the cave where the Ormond party had 
 seen the body of the woman, and the living child, 
 as they rode by in the morning. 
 
 " Stop, Maurice," said the knight — " dismount, 
 and see if the child be still alive, though I fear that 
 bird has destroyed it.'' 
 
 * Boreen, " a narrow green lane." f Burns.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 93 
 
 " L d !" said Maurice, going to the mouth 
 
 of the cave, and stooping over the bodies, "the bird 
 has picked the eyes out P 
 
 " Out of the child ?" inquired the knight, with 
 nervous interest. 
 
 " Out of both, niy Lord." 
 
 " Is the child still alive ?" 
 
 " No, my Lord." 
 
 " Dead ?" 
 
 " Quite, my Lord." 
 
 " Ride on, Maurice." 
 
 We do not envy the noble knight his medita- 
 tions. The blood of that innocent lay heavy on his 
 conscience. "It was cruel in me to leave that 
 infant to die in the way I did. God might have 
 avenged its blood on my head," said he, looking 
 down the fearful precipice, to the very edge of 
 which his horse had shied. " This has turned out 
 an unfortunate dav for the Earl of Ormond." In 
 this melancholy mood he alighted at the castle 
 gate, where he met Lady Ormond and her daughter, 
 inconsolable at the capture of the Earl. Here we 
 must leave them, in the midst of their sorrow, and 
 return to the priest and the horseman with the 
 black plume.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " And on his breast a bloody cross he bore. 
 The deare remembrance of his dying lord, 
 For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore, 
 And dead, as living, ever him ador'd ; 
 Upon his shield the like was also scor'd." 
 
 Spensek. 
 
 " The learned leech 
 His cunning hand 'gan to his wounds to lay, 
 And all things else the which his art did teach." 
 
 Idem. 
 
 When the horseman with the black plume rode up, 
 which he did leisurely, after the escape of the 
 English knight, he found the priest sitting in a 
 field, his back against a tree, with a smile of pleasure 
 on his pale face, as he marked the various antics of 
 the half maniac lad, who was dancing and laugh- 
 ing round him, like Robinson Crusoe's man Friday, 
 when he found it was his own father he had saved 
 from the hands of the savages. 
 
 " Thou art a noble fellow, O'More," said the Irish 
 leader, " the Soggarth has to thank thee, and not 
 me, for his escape." 
 
 " Not so, my Lord, I thank you both; but God
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 95 
 
 sometimes employs the humblest and most despised 
 instrumentality, for the accomplishment of his high 
 purposes, and the salvation of his poor Church ; it 
 was the cackling of a goose, which once aroused 
 the soldiers of ancient Kome to protect their walls 
 against invaders ; and, I verily believe, the wild 
 laughter of this lad affrighted the rude soldier to 
 whom I was bound, so that he offered no resistance 
 to my escape." 
 
 " Thou hast adventured thy safety too far in 
 this affair," replied the Earl of Desmond — for the 
 horseman with the black plume was the hero of 
 our story. 
 
 " I would willingly have given my life for the 
 capture of that cruel Earl ; but hast thou not ad- 
 ventured thine own life in the same noble enter- 
 prise, which is far more valuable to the cause than 
 mine ?" 
 
 " Yes, but not in the same way ; and the cases 
 are quite different : I am a soldier by profession ; 
 it is my proper business ; besides, I give as many 
 buffets as I receive. Thou art a man of peace ; 
 thine is a holy calling." 
 
 " My vocation," replied the priest, with calm 
 and solemn pride, "is to suffer like my Master, 
 who was led as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a 
 dumb sheep to the shearers."
 
 96 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 The Earl thought that, in the present instance, 
 the Jesuit had acted more like a decoy duck, for 
 the capture of the Earl, than an innocent lamb ; 
 but he replied : — 
 
 " To endure thus, I trow, demands a cooler 
 courage than I can boast." 
 
 " Yes, my son, courage is of a two-fold nature, 
 active and passive ; the former is thy province, the 
 latter mine ; but if thou hadst been up in time, I 
 had not been delivered to Black Ormond's men." 
 
 " I the more regret it," replied the Earl, " inas- 
 much as I opine that the knight with whom I 
 crossed swords in the road below, is none other 
 than Sir George Carew, the new Lord President of 
 Munster." 
 
 " Can that be possible T said the priest, rising 
 from his recumbent position, and looking along the 
 road (by which the English party fled), in well- 
 feigned surprise. " How knew you it was he ?" 
 
 " I knew him by the quarterings of his shield." 
 
 "Would thou hadst . captured him! though it 
 had left me in the hands of the heretics !" 
 
 " I did my best, but he had fire-arms." 
 
 " Surely, thou didst not fear them ?" said the 
 Jesuit, with surprise." 
 
 "Not till I felt them," replied the Earl, with a 
 smile.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 97 
 
 u Felt them I how? Art thou hurt — wounded? 
 Yes, surely thou lookest pale. Why not mention 
 this before ? Here is blood." 
 
 " It is nothing to regard, father. The b all from 
 Sir George's horse-pistol struck me on the shoulder. 
 If I did not tell thee of it before, I was but prac- 
 tising the passive courage of which thou speakest." 
 
 " That is not thy province, my Lord ; we, church- 
 men, are jealous of all our privileges ; but let me 
 see the wound ; I know something of the leech's art." 
 
 "And leechery is not your province, holy fa- 
 ther," said a merry-eyed, red-faced little man, pok- 
 ing his head from behind the tree. He was no 
 less important or privileged a personage than the 
 Earl's Harper, who had lately been elected to the 
 office of " Surgeon-General" of the troop. " Let 
 me see the wound, my Lord. Ah ! we will not 
 sing your dirge for this," said he, examining it 
 closely. " Mac Rory, hasten to your brother's 
 castle, and bring me, with all speed, the sheep-skin 
 bag, with my insthruments and bandages : not the 
 large sheep-skin, mind you, boy ; that has the harp." 
 
 " I think, Dermot," said the Earl, addressing the 
 harper, " we had better go than send, especially as 
 we have horses ; the ride will not hurt my arm. 
 You can take Father Archer behind you, or he can 
 ride Mac Ivory's grey mare." 
 
 VOL. I. f
 
 98 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " You spake wisely, my Lord ; it will save time ; 
 and I fear the poor lad might bring the wrong bag, 
 and do a mischief to the sthrings of the harp." 
 
 The Irish had two descriptions of harps — a 
 large one, containing from twenty to fifty strings, 
 called the " ceannaircruit" which was used on 
 public occasions, and sometimes at religious services ; 
 and a smaller one, called a " cruit" which was 
 carried about, like the violin or the pipes, by 
 itinerant musicians. It was the cruit, and not 
 the ceannaircruit, of which the harper seemed so 
 careful. 
 
 " I am glad to see you have not given up your 
 old profession for your new one, Dermot ; you 
 think more of the bag with the harp, than of that 
 with your leech's instruments," observed the Earl 
 of Desmond, as the party moved along the road. 
 
 " And why not, my Lord ? Isn't music the great 
 insthrument for exthracting all the ills of life, from 
 sowl and body. But the harp is as tinder, and as 
 asily hurt, as a young child, and would get cowld 
 and hoarse like, if I didn't cover it up well. Sure 
 I have it rowled in flannel all the winter." 
 
 " So I heard, indeed," said his lordship, with a 
 significant and comical smile. 
 
 " What did your lordship hear ?" said Der- 
 mot, with a curiosity which led him to push his
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 99 
 
 pony between the Earl's and the Jesuit's horse. 
 " What did your lordship hear about the flannel ?" 
 
 u Well, if you must know it, I was told that you 
 stole your wife's flannel petticoat, and stitched it 
 into a bag, for your harp." 
 
 " Your lordship is a quare man ; but there's 
 nothin' goes beyant flannel, for man or baste, or 
 musical insthruments." 
 
 " So your wife seemed to think, the morning she 
 found out the trick." 
 
 " The poor ignorant crathur ! what comprehinsion 
 could the likes of her have for musical insthruments ? 
 If that harp cotched a sevare cowld, the d — 1 a 
 dacent thune I could get out of it for a month." 
 
 " And if your wife got a cold, and lost her voice?" 
 
 " I wouldn't begrudge her, if it stopped her 
 tongue — though, God forgive me, I wouldn't wish 
 her harm ; she's a good-natured crathur, your ho- 
 nour, but that one failin'. But how did your 
 lordship hear about the flannel petticoat ?" 
 
 " Oh, that is a secret I cannot divulge," said the 
 Earl ; " besides, I would not like to make mischief 
 between a man and his wife." 
 
 " God forgive your honour ; but you have as 
 much mischief and divilment in you as any of the 
 family ; an' as for keeping sacrets, one of them 
 never could keep their own, let alone anybody else's."
 
 100 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " How dare you, you scoundrel ! — do you mean 
 to say " 
 
 " Nothing disrispictful to your lordship's family. 
 He's up now ; that's the blood — bow ! wow ! they're 
 as high as blazes. No one else dar' say half that 
 to him, but myself. — We all have our faults, your 
 honour." 
 
 Part of this was said to the priest, and part to 
 the Earl ; for the harper, having managed to keep 
 his pony between their horses, gave a nod, a wink, 
 and a word to each, as the occasion required. 
 
 " Well, what are my faults, Dermot ? for I sup- 
 pose I must hear you out." 
 
 " If I might make bould to tell you before his 
 rivirence, I'd say your honour was a thought too 
 open-like, and out-spoken." 
 
 " Too honest, you think ?" said the Earl. 
 
 u Undubitably so. I think your rivirence will 
 
 agree with me, that a little more a little more 
 
 what's that you call it — going round about 
 
 the bush, you know ?" 
 
 " Circumlocution ?" said the Jesuit. 
 
 " Circumlocution, I never heard that word before; 
 no it's not circumco/wtion, but " 
 
 " Deception ?" said the Earl. 
 
 " Yes, deciption — no, not exactly deciption out- 
 right either ; your rivirence knows what I mane."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 101 
 
 a a. 
 
 Sophistry ?" said the priest. 
 
 " No your rivirence, it's not that." 
 
 " Scheming?" said the Earl. 
 
 " No, it's not skaming ; sure your lordship knows 
 I don't approve of skaming. Is there such a word 
 your rivirence, as dubitation ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What does that mane ?" 
 
 " Doubting." 
 
 "That's not it then, but it's something like 
 that. It's something I think, belongin' to your 
 
 rivirence." 
 
 " Is it Jesuistry?" said the Earl, with a sly look 
 at the priest. 
 
 u That's the word, your honour. I think, your 
 rivirence, a little more Jesithry, would be very 
 useful to his lordship, in dealing with the bloody 
 Protestant rogues about here. Now, for eximple, 
 we have caught this old fox, the Earl of Ormond, 
 in his own trap, nately I say, and thanks to your 
 rivirence for it; and it's not to be fighting wid him, 
 or reproachin' him about our uncle, whose head he 
 sent to the Queen, may his sowl rest in peace ! or 
 tellin' him our mind, we ought to be ; but seein' 
 what we can make of his skin. Don't you agree 
 with me, your rivirence ?" 
 
 The Jesuit nodded.
 
 102 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Dermot," said the Earl, whose blood was rising, 
 " don't presume too far on my kindness." 
 
 " There it is again — Bow ! wow ! — It's the blood 
 of the Desmonds, your rivirence," turning to the 
 priest, — " your lordship is so warm." 
 
 " Warm ! do you mean to say Oh ! — Ugh ! 
 
 this shoulder ! it's getting painful." 
 
 "I mane nothing disrispictful to your honour's 
 noble house; and I'll say nothing more to anger 
 you, as the shoulder is tormentin' you, for a saint 
 couldn't be expicted to be as cool and as patient as 
 a cowcumber, whin it is peeled and sliced ; but 
 there's the ould castle now, and I'll put a plasther 
 on that for you, in no time." 
 
 It was thus that the witty harper turned off the 
 attack made upon himself, by turning the tables on 
 the Earl ; but the good old man had another object 
 in view, to wile away his master's pain, which he 
 did effectually by his amusing banter, which, on 
 this occasion, was as potent as his great " chirur- 
 gical insthrument," the harp!
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " He for that promised journey bids prepare 
 The smooth-haired horses, and the rapid car." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 "lam faint. My gashes cry for help. 
 So well thy words become thee as thy wounds : 
 They smack of honour, both." 
 
 Shakspeake. 
 
 The reader has now to learn, if he has not yet 
 discovered, that Dermot, the harper, and Archer, 
 the Jesuit, were two of the Earl's Prime Ministers. 
 It would not have suited a man, circumstanced like 
 the " Sugane? or " Straw Earl," to have been over- 
 fastidious in the choice of servants, or too imperious 
 in the manner of treating them. Like David in 
 the hold, he felt grateful to all who came and 
 enlisted themselves under his banner. But the 
 Jesuit, Archer, was no common man ; the councils 
 of kings have been directed by inferior minds; but 
 he was altogether devoted to the service of Kome. 
 Dermot was as much devoted to the Earl ; and 
 if he used the freedom, it was because he possessed 
 the faithfulness of a servant, who had known the
 
 104 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Earl from a boy, and had often carried him on his 
 back. 
 
 " Now, your lordship," said the harper, coming 
 to the Earl's bedside, the next morning, " me and 
 Father Archer has been holdin' a council of state 
 this morning, concernin' your farther movements." 
 
 " Oh ! indeed !" said the Earl. " Well, I should 
 have thought, as my movements were the subject 
 of discussion, you might have waited for my pre- 
 sence." 
 
 " Why, my Lord, your horse is de combat, and 
 therefore, could not be present." 
 
 " My horse ! what's the matter with my horse? 
 Is he hurt ?" 
 
 u No, my Lord ; but we did not like to wake you, 
 as you are hurt yourself, or horse de combat, as they 
 say in France." 
 
 " Hors de combat, you mean." 
 
 " Yes, I believe that's the word." 
 
 " That is no reason I should be put hors de con- 
 seil ; so you will be pleased to let me hear the 
 subject you have had, in your wisdom, under con- 
 sideration." 
 
 As the harper was about to explain and apolo- 
 gize for his impertinence, the Jesuit entered the 
 room, and inquired politely after the Earl's health, 
 and then said : —
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 105 
 
 " I was asking your servant, my Lord, when you 
 would be able to take the saddle, for I suppose it is 
 your intention to hasten after the Lord President 
 to the South ?" 
 
 " Has he departed, then ?" 
 
 " He departed early this morning. What may 
 your lordship's purpose respecting the Earl of Or- 
 mond be ?" 
 
 " To carry him with me." 
 
 " He is too badly wounded to travel, my Lord ; 
 and I understand Mac Eory O'More holds him as 
 his prisoner." 
 
 " What ! after sending for me. Does he think I 
 came here to run down game for him ? The Earl 
 shall be transported with me to Kerry. Send 
 O'More here." 
 
 " He is not here, my Lord. I understand he car- 
 ried off the Earl last night to his strong castle in 
 the glen." 
 
 " Deceived again ! Every one of these scoun- 
 drels acts for himself, and on his own responsibi- 
 lity. O'More shall repent this trick. We can do 
 nothing great against the Government, for want of 
 union. My journey goes for nothing, then ?" 
 
 " Not so, my Lord. Though O'More hold the 
 Earl, he is a man lost to the Lord President, and 
 the best man on his board." 
 
 F 2
 
 106 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Yes, if he hold him fast ; but I fear the fel- 
 low only holds him to make his own terms with 
 the Government." 
 
 " His conduct looks suspicious, but your lord- 
 ship had better appear not to see it ; but write to 
 him before you leave this, requesting him to keep 
 the Earl in safe custody for you." 
 
 " It sore distresses me to let such scoundrels 
 have their way ; but I believe your policy is the 
 best." 
 
 " Will your lordship be prepared to start to- 
 day ?" 
 
 " In one hour." 
 
 It was fully three hours after this conversation 
 before the Earl's cavalcade of wild horsemen were 
 mounted and prepared to march. This delay was 
 occasioned, in the first instance, by the Earl him- 
 self, who found his shoulder sorer and stiffer when 
 he began to dress than he expected, and, in the 
 second place, by the want of order and subordina- 
 tion in the troop, which contained as many officers 
 as men. 
 
 " We part here, for the present, my Lord," said 
 the Jesuit, approaching the Earl of Desmond, as 
 he was riding out of the gate of one of O'More's 
 wild mountain holds. 
 
 " How is this ? I thought you were to accompany 
 me."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 107 
 
 "I think it wiser to remain, my Lord." 
 
 44 How so ?" 
 
 " I have not much confidence in O'More," said 
 the Jesuit, in a whisper; "he might make his own 
 terms with the Government, by the liberation of the 
 Earl of Ormond ; and his safe detention is the best 
 security for your life, should you, like your uncle, 
 be unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of the 
 President ; who, if report be true, is a wily states- 
 man and cunning soldier." 
 
 " Would it not be wiser, then, for me to take 
 the Earl out of his hands, and carry him with 
 me ?" 
 
 " I doubt if you would be able. But it would 
 not be wise to do so, if you were. You .have 
 enemies enough, my Lord, without making more ; 
 but I have persuaded him to allow his brother to 
 join your troop. O'More will not be likely to 
 attempt treachery, while this innocent lad is in 
 your hands." 
 
 As they spoke, the chieftain's half-maniac brother 
 rode out on his grey mare, accompanied by the 
 harper, who had taken him under his especial pro- 
 tection. The " innocent " appeared delighted with 
 his tawdry regimentals. He wore a yellow jacket, 
 and a red bonnet. In the front of the bonnet he 
 displayed a bunch of feathers, plucked from the
 
 108 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 wing of a wild goose. He took his place, unbidden, 
 immediately behind the Earl. 
 
 " That's not your place Mac Rory," said the cap- 
 tain of the troop. " Wild geese do not fly with 
 eagles." 
 
 u Let him keep the place he has chosen," said the 
 Earl, who seemed pleased and flattered by the 
 partiality of the wild young man. 
 
 As this decision was in favour of an " innocent? 
 it excited no jealousy among the men ; on the 
 contrary, they all appeared to favour it. 
 
 " It was the object of the Earl to get before the 
 Lord President, who was hastening to Cork, with 
 a force of seven hundred foot and one hundred 
 horse. The Irish leader hoped to concentrate his 
 forces somewhere between Waterford and Youghal, 
 where he expected to meet the English forces. 
 This was the cause of his hasty movement from 
 the neighbourhood of Kilkenny, while his wound 
 was fresh and inflamed. 
 
 They had travelled about thirty Irish miles to- 
 wards the South, when the exercise of hard riding, 
 and the chafing of his armour, and heavy regi- 
 mentals, loosened the bandages, re-opened the wound, 
 and produced a fresh haemorrhage. 
 
 " I fear I shall not be able to proceed, at this 
 rate," said the Earl to the harper.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 109 
 
 " Is that blood running down your sleeve, my 
 Lord V 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, see what a thing it is to be over-persuaded. 
 I told his rivirence, you were not fit to thravel ; but 
 he said you were, and that you'd be the betther for 
 it. One should always hould their own way, when 
 they are right. All the world knows there's 
 nothing like rest for a wound. As the poet says : — 
 
 " The knight's an oaf, who, when his wounds are wide, 
 In saddle gets, and issues forth to ride." 
 
 " Is that your poetry ? ' An oaf] eh ?" 
 
 " A poet's license, my Lord." 
 
 "I fear I must soon leave the saddle, Dermot," 
 said the Earl, bending forward on his horse's ueck, 
 from excessive weakness. " Father Archer would 
 give all the blood in his body for the cause in 
 which we are engaged ; and I believe mine has 
 nearly all ebbed forth, for I feel as weak as water. 
 Where can I put up? The troop must push forward, 
 with Lieutenant Lacy. Nothing need be said of 
 my absence or wound." 
 
 " How many of the men do you wish to stay 
 with you, my Lord ?" 
 
 " No one but you, and Mac Rory." 
 
 " What does your lordship mane ? We are not 
 in a safe part of the counthry yet ; your honour is
 
 110 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 unknown to the people about here, who would 
 bethray you to the President for five pounds, or 
 less." 
 
 " For that very reason, it is necessary we should 
 remain unknown. You must seek out some quiet 
 resting-place ; and the sooner the better, for I can- 
 not advance much farther." 
 
 Having explained his condition and his inten- 
 tions to his trusty friend, Lieutenant Lacy, Lord of 
 Bruff, and commanded him to ride forward at the 
 head of the troop, he, Dermot, and young Mac 
 Eory, took the first mountain pass to the right, 
 expecting to find the shelter of a cave, or rest 
 beneath the shadow of a rock, for not a single human 
 abode could be seen. After ascending a hill, which 
 commanded a green and fruitful dell, through 
 which meandered a clear, pebbly, and rapid stream, 
 they looked around them for a habitation, but could 
 see nothing but an ivy-clad monastery in ruins. 
 " Let us rest a while on this green bank," said the 
 Earl, dismounting, " I shall be better able to pro- 
 ceed by-and-by." 
 
 Dermot and Mac Rory dismounted also. The 
 latter wandered at random, and ran hither and 
 thither, among the hills, with the thoughtless 
 delight of a young greyhound. 
 
 " What has caught that boy's eye now ? Look
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Ill 
 
 at him, my Lord. He sees something more than 
 common, from the top of that cliff, or he would not 
 stand so. But he sees we're lookin' at him, and 
 here he comes ; we will hear what it is. Mac, 
 what's that you're looking at, acushla f" 
 
 Mac Eory ran back with speed, approached the 
 Earl, and said in a whisper, putting his finger on 
 his mouth — " Come /" 
 
 " What is it, boy ?" said the harper, whose 
 curiosity appeared more excited than that of his 
 master. 
 
 " Come /" said Mac Rory, with a curious, and 
 knowing expression of face. 
 
 As the distance was not far, the green sward 
 soft beneath his feet, and as the haemorrhage of ^lood 
 had stopped, the Earl approached the spot to which 
 he pointed, and saw immediately beneath him, 
 seated on a bank starred with primroses and 
 mountain daisies, as lovely a girl as the Western 
 sun ever shone upon. u Hush /" said he to his 
 companions. " Do not disturb her for the world." 
 
 She wore a straw hat, with a wide leaf, which 
 shaded her fair neck ; the beautiful symmetry of 
 her bust was fully developed by a close-fitting 
 black velvet spencer. Her skirt of blue silk did 
 not descend low enough to conceal her small foot, 
 high instep, and well turned ankle. She was
 
 112 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 weaving a garland of flowers for the neck of a 
 fine Irish wolf-dog, who watched the progress of 
 the work with the attention of a young girl taking 
 a lesson in crochet stitch ; and with, I verily believe, 
 a deeper and closer interest than he would have 
 watched the mixing of a mess for his supper. He 
 seemed to have a sort of satisfied assurance that 
 the garland was intended to adorn his own fine 
 person. Though a brave dog, he had some of the 
 vanity of an Indian chief. A Spanish lute lay on 
 the grass, by the lady's side. 
 
 The harper, though an old man, about sixty years 
 of age, was so transfixed to the spot, in admiration 
 of the maiden's great beauty, that the Earl had to 
 pull him back by the skirts, from the rock which 
 overhung the primrose bank, on which this " Flower 
 of Flowers" was reclining. But Mac Rory, on 
 the contrary, left the place and treasure to his com- 
 panions, and went in search of something new, like 
 the cock in the fable, who found the diamond, the 
 value of which he did not understand. 
 
 u Isn't she beautiful ?" said the harper to the 
 Earl, drawing back with a sigh, as a greedy boy 
 does from a show-box, when compelled to make 
 way for a new-comer. 
 
 " Hush," said the Earl, taking the harper's place, 
 " she's divine." Having gazed in silence on this
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 113 
 
 beautiful vision, for about five minutes, he turned 
 to his companion, and whispered in his ear — " She 
 has taken up the lute. Hark! she is going to 
 sing." He was not mistaken, for immediately after 
 they heard a reverberation of sweet sounds running 
 along the hill sides, as if each jutting rock were a 
 lute or harp, or " musical stone" or as if Orpheus 
 himself were the performer. It was the echo, and 
 not the direct sounds of the lady's lute and voice 
 which struck their ears. She had chosen the spot 
 for the sake of the magical effect, with which she 
 seemed familiar. The Earl caught the four last 
 lines, which ran thus : — 
 
 " Ne let the same of any be en vide : 
 So Orpheus did for his owne bride ! 
 So I unto my- self e, alone, will sing ; 
 The woods shall to me answer, and my eccho ring." 
 
 The musician then moved further from the rock 
 on which our hero stood, out of the range of the 
 echo, and sang in a clear, deep, and most sweet-toned 
 voice, the following verses : — 
 
 'Midst mountains wild and lonely, 
 Where shepherds tend their sheep, 
 'Midst ruins grey and hoary, 
 Where bones of martyrs sleep ; 
 Among these wilds I wander, 
 Among these ruins stray, 
 And sometimes stop and wonder, 
 Or kneel me down and pray.
 
 114 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 God ! who made the mountains, 
 And spread the clouds on air, 
 God ! who made the fountains, 
 And all things good and fair ; 
 Above these lofty mountains, 
 Or mountains e'er so high, 
 The winged thought oft stretches 
 To regions in the sky : 
 
 And not alone the winged thought, 
 But soul and spirit wait, 
 "With faith and hope expecting, 
 To enter Heaven's gate ; 
 And 'midst the saints and angels, 
 Which throng the courts above, 
 To seek my long lost parents, 
 For whom o'er earth I'd rove. 
 
 " Who can the maiden be T exclaimed the Earl, 
 " an orphan it would seem, from her song." 
 
 " Will I answer her on the harp ?" inquired 
 Dermot, with enthusiasm. 
 
 " Stop, perhaps she will sing again," said his 
 master, laying his hand on his arm. "No, I believe 
 not — she is preparing to go ; perhaps you had 
 better. It will detain her for a moment, and 
 startle her less, in this strange place, than our 
 appearance, or the sound of our voices. Do." 
 
 " What will it be ?" 
 
 " Anything you can think of, but make haste, 
 for she is about to rise and depart."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 115 
 
 " Fiash fairgi tuile trie, 
 Desmond breo os Banbha blaith brie." 
 
 " English, man — English, Dermot," said the Earl, 
 interrupting the harper. 
 
 The harper shook his head, and began again 
 thus : — 
 
 " A raven of the sea of rapid flight, 
 Was Desmond, bravest in the fight ; 
 The fairest flower on Ireland's stem, 
 Was Erin's shield, and Mnnster's gem." 
 
 " Hold thee, there Dermot, no more of that non- 
 sense." 
 
 " Nonsense, my Lord !" 
 
 " Yes, cease now, and try something else." 
 
 " Whisht ! I have what will plase you now." 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " Something I made when I was coorting my- 
 self." 
 
 " Well, begin." 
 
 For a year, and for a day, 
 'Mong the meadows and the hay, 
 A coleen fair as May, 
 I strove to gain ; 
 There's no art of tongue and eye, 
 Which our sex with maidens try, 
 Along with tear and sigh, 
 But all in vain.
 
 116 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 She's a golden feathered dove, 
 To whom I gave my love, 
 And who left me in the grove, 
 Alone to mourn. 
 And if it's Heaven's decree, 
 That mine she cannot be, 
 I'll away upon the sea, 
 And ne'er return. 
 
 The maiden started to her feet at the first sounds 
 of Dermot's harp and voice, like a fawn startled 
 by the huntsman's horn and wild halloo. It would 
 be difficult to say whether she was more surprised 
 or alarmed. At the first sound of the instrument, 
 the brilliancy and protrusion of her fine eyes, and 
 the rapid advance of her foot for flight, showed 
 that fear was predominant. But as the minstrel 
 proceeded, the maiden's mouth partially opened, 
 and her head and neck were bent forward, and 
 turned somewhat aside, to catch the words, the 
 sudden cessation of which seemed to disappoint 
 her. She then looked around in utter astonishment; 
 the dog looking almost as much confounded as his 
 mistress. She at length concluded it must be 
 the doing of some itinerant harper, who intended 
 to afford her an agreeable surprise. How great, 
 therefore, was her astonishment, to see a tall, and 
 pre-eminently handsome man, in military costume, 
 advance to the point of the rock above her head,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 117 
 
 doff his helmet and black feather, bow low, and 
 thus address her : — " Lady, can you forgive a 
 stranger, and a wounded soldier, for practising 
 such a wile, in order to detain you, while he in- 
 quires for the nearest habitation, where he may 
 find rest and shelter for the night V 
 
 The dog bayed in reply to the stranger. 
 
 "Down, Brien," said the lady. " If you are a 
 stranger, and wounded," continued she, looking up 
 with confusion — she stopped and hesitated — " If 
 you are wounded, and a stranger" she reiterated, 
 laying emphasis on the words, and acquiring con- 
 fidence as she spoke, " you will, I doubt not, find 
 a friend and a skilful leech in my uncle, whose 
 house is near. But you are not alone ? You tltq 
 not the musician whose harp and voice I heard 
 just now ?" 
 
 " No, most fair and beauteous vargin," said the 
 harper, protruding his head beyond his master's 
 elbow, "it was I who attimpted to imitate the 
 heavenly sounds of your voice and lute ; his lor — " 
 " lordship," he was going to say. 
 
 " What the d — 1 are you about, man V said 
 the Earl in his ear, " you know I must lie concealed 
 in those parts." 
 
 " His honour, I mane, my master, is more skilled 
 in all martial ixercises than in musical insthru-
 
 118 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 merits. It is my privilege to rehearse his noble 
 deeds, in song ; but his honour plays incomparably 
 well himself, considerin' " 
 
 u Considering what, you fool? I pray you, lady, 
 excuse the bombast of my humble friend, who thinks 
 more of the deeds of a poor soldier, than they are 
 worth." 
 
 " My uncle's mansion," said the fair girl, " is 
 near at hand ; it lies concealed beyond that ruined 
 abbey. I shall now depart, and prepare him 
 for your reception. Whom have I the honour of 
 addressing ?" 
 
 " Captain Fitzgerald, at your service, lady ; but 
 give me the pleasure of accompanying you home. 
 Though my right arm is wounded, my left will 
 guard you safe. I can clamber down this rock," said 
 he, essaying to do so, before the lady could reply. 
 " Let you and Mac Kory," turning to Dermot, 
 " ride round with the horses." 
 
 " Are you mad ?" said Dermot, attempting to 
 seize him by the vest ; but he was too late ; the 
 Earl was out of his reach, and standing on a lower 
 projection of the rock. From that he leaped to a 
 second, and then to a third, grasping the branches 
 which grew from the fissures, with his left hand ; 
 descending to the bottom, with more speed than 
 prudence. The next instant he took the lady's
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 119 
 
 hand, and kissed it before she recovered from the 
 terror of his descent, or the apparent awkwardness 
 of her position. The dog, who followed close upon 
 his heel, appeared too puzzled to decide whether or 
 not he should interfere a second time. 
 
 " It's like them," said the harper, as the Earl 
 walked oif, with the beautiful girl by his side. 
 a Ould Nick himself wouldn't hould them back, whin 
 once they set their mind on a thing. His uncle, 
 the Great Earl, whin he was his age, would lep 
 into the pit of hell after a purty woman, or an 
 inimy, he didn't care which. Look at him now,, 
 how sthrong he walks, though half the blood is run 
 out of his body. He's goin' to help her over the 
 brook. Well done ! she's over before him. Be the 
 powers, she cleared it like a filly ; and beautiful 
 fetlocks she has of her own. He's more nor half 
 in love wid her as it is. Well, love is a quare 
 thing. Come, acushla, catch the horses, and let us 
 ride round, afther his lordship ; but mind, boy, 
 yer not to call him my Lord, for your life. Do you 
 hear now, child ; he don't want to be known in 
 these parts. He'd have too many friends callin' 
 to see him. His name is Fitzgerald, Captain 
 Fitzgerald. Do you understand me ?" 
 
 Mac Kory gave a nod, and a wink, and a signi- 
 ficant chuckle, which showed he knew what he was
 
 120 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 about, and the part he was to act, almost as well 
 as Dermot, the Earl's Prime Minister. Although 
 naturally silent, like the goose, whose feathers 
 adorned his cap, he seemed, at least occasionally, 
 like that bird, to think more soberly and shrewdly 
 than he got credit for.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Home is he brought, and laid in sumptuous bed, 
 Where many skilful leaches him abide, 
 To salve his hurts, that yet still freshly bled. 
 In wine and oyle they wash his woundes wide, 
 And softly gan embalme on everie side. 
 And all the while most heavenly melody 
 About the bed sweet musicke did divide, 
 Him to beguile of griefe and agony ; 
 And all the while Duessa wept full bitterly. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 The house to which the lady led the Earl was 
 large, gabled, ivy-clad, and of antique structure. 
 The internal appearance, furniture, and economy 
 displayed a curious union of the woodman's craft, 
 in close juxta-position with the female refinements 
 of that day : the labour of the bow and needle lay 
 side by side. In one panel, the head of an Irish 
 wolf grinned horribly at a flock of sheep and a 
 fair shepherdess ; a rusty sword, matchlock, and 
 skein, or Irish stabbing knife, hung, like the terrors 
 of the law, over the two tables of the command- 
 ments, wrought by the fair fingers of the young 
 hostess. The wolf-dog, with the garland of flowers 
 round his neck, lay down to rest on the skin of a 
 badger, which served as a hearth-rug. 
 
 VOL. I. g
 
 122 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 The host, who was old and feeble, had a calm and 
 thoughtful brow. His person, which was remarkably 
 spare, was bent, and his cheek and eye somewhat 
 sunk. 
 
 He received his visitor hospitably, and with 
 kindness ; but more like one who felt it was a duty 
 " to entertain strangers," than from any hope of 
 deriving pleasure from the visit ; but when the 
 guest removed his helmet, and revealed the noble 
 and fine features of his face, the old man's eye 
 lighted up with youthful fire, and his heart leaped 
 in his bosom. It was with difficulty that he re- 
 strained himself from rushing into the soldier's arms ; 
 but he concealed his feelings, while he said :— 
 " Your name, sir ? I ought to know that face." 
 
 " Fitzgerald," said the Earl ; " Captain Fitz- 
 gerald." 
 
 " I'm mistaken," said the old man sadly to him- 
 self; " the same family, but not the same branch. 
 But the family likeness is very strong. I thought 
 it was the boy I " 
 
 " What boy do you refer to, sir ?" inquired the 
 Earl, examining the features and person of the old 
 man, with close scrutiny. 
 
 "I mean the nephew of the Great Earl of 
 •Desmond — James Fitz Thomas, who is called the 
 Sugane Earl."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 123 
 
 "You knew him then," said the Earl, endea- 
 vouring to master some strong feeling in his own 
 bosom. 
 
 " Knew him ! yes, and loved him as if he were 
 my own son ; and he was worthy of it, for when a 
 boy, he saved my life ; though for this, perhaps, I 
 should not thank him." 
 
 " Why not ? the giving or saving of life is con- 
 sidered the greatest boon which one human being 
 can bestow upon another." 
 
 " By those to whom life is a boon, or who so 
 esteem it ; but this is not the case with all. When 
 the misfortunes of life outweigh its blessings, death 
 is gain ; the rest of the quiet grave to be desired. 
 Few men of sober thinking live to my age, who do 
 not see the wisdom and beauty of the preacher's 
 figures, in the Book of Ecclesiastes, where he com- 
 pares the declining years of an old man to the 
 darkening of the sun and moon: — 'In the day 
 when the keepers of the house do tremble, and the 
 strong men shall bow themselves ; and the grinders 
 cease because they are few ; and those that look 
 out of the windows be darkened ; and the doors 
 shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the 
 grinding is low ; and he shall rise up at the voice of 
 the bird, and all the daughters of music shall be 
 brought low ; and when they shall be afraid of that
 
 124 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 which is high, and fears shall be in the way ; and 
 the almond tree shall flourish ; and the grasshopper 
 shall be a burden ; and desire shall fail.' It is the 
 penalty of long-living to outlive all our friends 
 and acquaintances, until the earth becomes a place 
 of strange faces ; and the place which knew us 
 knows us no more. The aged are hangers on to 
 life, like the flowers in the end of autumn, which 
 it seems kind to pluck. But I have fallen into a 
 melancholy strain, unmeet for the reception of a 
 guest. Excuse me, young man ; but old and sad 
 associations, revived by the resemblance of your 
 face to a noble boy, whom I once tenderly loved, 
 are the cause. 
 
 " You observed," said the young man, addressing 
 the domestic chaplain of his uncle with tenderness 
 — for such his host once had been — " you said, 
 father, that he once saved your life." 
 
 " Yes, he did, the noble boy, at the hazard of his 
 own." 
 
 " How did it happen ?" 
 
 " It was in the September of the year 1580, 
 that I returned to this country (after living on the 
 Continent), in the expedition under the command 
 of Sebastian de St. Joseph. The expedition was 
 about eight hundred strong, and contained several 
 clergymen, as the principal object of the Holy
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 125 
 
 father, and His Highness, Philip, King of Spain, 
 
 n sending the expedition into Ireland, was the 
 
 )ropagation of the faith, and the strengthening 
 
 )f the hands of Christ's poor ministers in this 
 
 country. We landed at Ardnacant, called by the 
 
 English, Smerwick, in Kerry ; and built a fort on 
 
 i small rocky island in the harbour, which is now 
 
 called the Fort del Or. The fort was strong, and 
 
 ve brought with us ammunition and arms, to 
 
 mpply five thousand men. The Earl of Ormond, 
 
 vho was encamped at Tralee, besieged us ; but we 
 
 nade upon him such a successful sally as forced 
 
 lim to retreat to Kathkeale. This gave great 
 
 3ncouragement to our people, and the Catholic 
 
 gentry around, who visited us from all quarters. 
 
 Among these came the Great Earl of Desmond, 
 
 with a large company, and his young nephew, 
 
 James Fitz Thomas. The child incontinently 
 
 attached himself to me, and it was not till several 
 
 hours after his uncle's retinue had departed, that it 
 
 was discovered he had been left behind ; but 
 
 believing him to be in safe hands, they delayed 
 
 sending for him, till the following day. But the 
 
 next day the place was blocked up by sea and land. 
 
 Lord Arthur Grey led a force against it, from 
 
 Dublin ; and Admiral Winter was stationed with 
 
 ships on the coast, and at the harbour's mouth.
 
 126 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 After a siege of forty days, a truce was made, and 
 a surrender agreed on ; on condition of safety and 
 liberty to return to Spain being sworn to by Lord 
 Grey. But when the fort was delivered up, he 
 gave a command to slaughter the garrison. The 
 duty of seeing this barbarous order executed de- 
 volved on Captain Walter Raleigh, now styled Sir 
 Walter Raleigh. When the slaughter commenced, 
 the boy was in the upper loft of a tower of the fort, 
 with me, and twelve men, whom I was hurriedly 
 confessing. Captain Raleigh was the first to enter 
 the loft. The men were on their knees, in a circle 
 round me. Captain Raleigh, who did not seem to 
 like the duty, said, ' I am sorry to hasten you, but 
 my time is short ; are you ready, gentlemen T 
 < Yes,' I replied, ' the will of God be done.' ' Fall 
 on, my men/ said Raleigh, i but spare that child.' 
 ' Not if you slay my friend,' said the boy, throwing 
 himself so suddenly into my arms — while I was on 
 my knees — as to throw me on my back, and fall 
 upon me, — ' slay us both if you like.' c That's a 
 brave boy,' said the Captain. ' Come away, and 
 let them live.' " 
 
 " I remember it well," said the young Earl. 
 
 " Remember what ?" said the old clergyman. 
 
 " Remember hearing, I mean, these circumstances 
 related before."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 127 
 
 " Dear uncle," said the old man's niece, " you 
 forget that your guest is wounded, and, no doubt, 
 weary. The horn for supper has twice blown, but 
 I did not like to interrupt you, in the midst of your 
 story, as you were rehearsing the deeds of your 
 favourite hero, the young Earl of Desmond." 
 
 " It is not the first time you have heard your 
 uncle mention his name?" said the Earl to the lady, 
 taking her hand, and leading her into the hall, 
 where the supper was laid. 
 
 " Indeed it is not, sir, nor the hundredth time ; 
 and my uncle is generally so eloquent in praise of 
 both his deeds and his handsome person, that I 
 feel quite enchanted with him, without ever having 
 had the pleasure of seeing him ; but I can imagine, 
 I think, from his description, the sort of man he is." 
 
 " Will you favour me," said the Earl, " with a 
 glimpse of the picture you have formed in your 
 imagination, for I have lately seen the Earl, and 
 shall tell you whether I think you correct." 
 
 " Well, I should say that the Earl," looking up 
 with a smile, "is a man about your own height and 
 figure." 
 
 "Quite correct there. We are the same height, 
 to a quarter of an inch." 
 
 "He is, I should say, a little older than you. 
 According to my uncle's calculation he must be
 
 128 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 about three and thirty. You, I should say, are 
 about twenty-eight." 
 
 "We are both the same age, and were born the 
 same day." 
 
 "A remarkable coincidence," said the lady. 
 
 "You have not described his features," said the 
 Earl. 
 
 " He has splendid eyes ; black as night, as the 
 poets would say; a noble brow, Eoman nose, beau- 
 tiful mouth, teeth as white as pearls." 
 
 "Overdrawn, madam, quite overdrawn ; the Su- 
 gane Earl is no more than an ordinary, common- 
 place man in his appearance." 
 
 "What, sir!" said the old man, breaking in — 
 "James Fitz-Thomas, the Earl of Desmond, a plain, 
 commonplace man, in his appearance?"* 
 
 "Decidedly so," said the Earl. 
 
 "Your great modesty must plead your want of 
 discernment, sir." 
 
 "What do you mean, uncle?" 
 
 "I mean, my love, that there is a marked resem- 
 blance between this gentleman and the Earl; so 
 much so that I first mistook him for my young 
 friend, James Fitz-Thomas, as I told him; but I 
 and he is no more than a distant relative." 
 
 * Cox says he was the "handsomest man of his time." — 
 Vol. I., p. 415.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 129 
 
 At these words the niece raised her eyes to the 
 countenance of their guest, and scanned and scru- 
 tinized each feature with a lightning glance, and with 
 deep and absorbing interest, and let them fall with a 
 blushing brow, as the Earl detected her in the act. 
 
 " I fear your admiration of the hero of your 
 imagination will decrease from henceforward," said 
 the Earl in a low voice. 
 
 " I did not say so," said the lady. "Did my 
 countenance express disappointment ? 
 
 " No, but I fear you felt it." 
 
 " Then my face is a hypocrite." 
 
 " By no means, but too kind to express disa- 
 greeable truths." 
 
 " I suppose I must say, with my uncle, that your 
 modesty must atone for your want of discernment; 
 but you are eating nothing, sir. Allow me to send 
 you some of this venison pasty, or would you pre- 
 fer that capon ?" 
 
 " The capon, if you please." 
 
 " I should recommend you, Captain Fitzgerald, 
 to try the pasty ; my niece is famous for her veni- 
 son pasties." 
 
 " The venison pasty, then, by all means," said the 
 young Earl, handing his platter to the niece ; and 
 marking the contour of her fine head and shoulders, 
 while she bent over the dish ; running his eye from
 
 130 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 the tips of her ears to the ends of her fingers, as 
 she selected the choicest bonnes couches. 
 
 " Famous, uncle — what mean you by that?" said 
 the girl, whose cheeks were burning hot beneath the 
 concentrated rays of the Earl's eyes, for she felt they 
 were fixed upon her ; " I am not aware that my fame 
 has extended beyond the boundary of these hills, 
 even for the feat of making a venison pasty." 
 
 "The finest and sweetest flowers are often found 
 in the deepest and most retired glens and valleys," 
 said the Earl. 
 
 "Perhaps it is best it should be so," said the old 
 man, answering his niece, and marking for the first 
 time, if not with jealousy, at least with uneasiness, 
 or something like apprehension, the admiration 
 with which his guest seemed to feast his eyes on 
 the beautiful person of his niece. "Perhaps it's 
 best it should be so : the fame and admiration of 
 the world is little worth; the praise of man bringeth 
 a snare. I believe I have enjoyed more happiness 
 in this quiet spot, than ever I did before." 
 
 The young Earl, who possessed more of the 
 domestic virtues than of ambition or taste for the 
 pursuits of the rude and warlike companions by 
 whom he was generally surrounded, sighed deeply 
 as he said to himself— "Oh ! that Imight retire from 
 the turmoil of life, to such a spot as this, with such
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 131 
 
 a companion ! Were I to consult my own feelings 
 I should relinquish my claims on the broad lands 
 and Earldom of Desmond, to-morrow, and make 
 the exchange with pleasure ; but destiny has decided 
 otherwise, and prepared for me a soldier's or perhaps 
 a traitor's grave ; or to be hunted like a wolf among 
 the mountains of Kerry, as was my poor uncle, and 
 in the end be betrayed by some false follower or 
 friend. It is a bitter cup, but I must drink it; 
 the interests of Ireland, and the claims of religion, 
 demand the sacrifice." 
 
 The old man, who marked the sudden change 
 which came over his guest's countenance, from ad- 
 miration of his niece to sober and sad thought, 
 said to him: — "Captain Fitzgerald, you must fill 
 your glass, and drink my toast; you must drink it 
 also, Ellen. Fill my niece's glass, Captain Fitzgerald. 
 4 James Fitz-Thomas, Earl of Desmond, and may 
 God give him success over all his enemies.'" 
 
 "James Fitz-Thomas, Earl of Desmond, and may 
 God give him success over all his enemies," repeat- 
 ed the young Earl, in rather a hesitating tone. 
 
 "I hope you are not jealous of your cousin," said 
 the host, who marked his manner. "I thought you 
 drank it rather coolly; but I cannot expect," con- 
 tinued he, "that every one should love the boy as I 
 loved him."
 
 132 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 "By no means," said the Earl, intending to answer 
 the first part of the old man's remark. The truth 
 was he was so anxious to discover the way in which 
 the lady received and drank the toast, that he paid 
 no attention to his own manner of doing it. 
 
 " By no means !" said the old man, repeating his 
 words, and taking them as the reply to his last 
 remark; "you surely know nothing to the disad- 
 vantage of the Earl of Desmond ?" 
 
 " I cannot say I do." 
 
 " Can't say you do ! do you not know that he is 
 as honourable a man as Jives, and the best and 
 bravest soldier in the kingdom ?" 
 
 " Well, I can't say I would go so far as that with 
 you, sir." 
 
 " Then you cannot know the Earl, sir. I do not 
 speak of James, the Parliamentary Earl, as he is 
 called; that is, the son of Garrett, but the nephew." 
 
 " I know whom you mean, sir." 
 
 " Do you know him well, personally ? have you 
 ever been in the field with him ?" 
 
 " Frequently." 
 
 " And you do not consider him a good soldier." 
 
 " I did not say that, sir ; but I hesitated, when 
 you called him the ' best and bravest soldier in the 
 kingdom.' " 
 
 " Perhaps Captain Fitzgerald considers himself
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 133 
 
 as good and brave a soldier as the Earl, uncle," 
 said the lady, looking into their guest's face with 
 a great deal of curious intelligence. 
 
 " I did not say so, madam. Whatever may be 
 my opinion of the Earl, I think but humbly of 
 my own poor abilities." — " It is no easy matter," 
 thought he, "to act a feigned part ; I fear this 
 girl suspects who I am. She would hardly make 
 a rude, nor, I think, an unkind remark. Men are 
 more easily deceived than women ; though why she 
 should suspect me, I cannot imagine, for we never 
 met before ; but, as I fear she does, the sooner I 
 retire the better. The Earl of Desmond has shewn 
 himself, in this affair, but an indifferent soldier, or 
 he would not have been so easily vanquished by a 
 girl. I would tell her so, if I were sure she suspect- 
 ed me ; but perhaps it is wisest, after a bad fight, 
 to make as good a retreat as the circumstances 
 admit of ; and after all, suspicion is not certainty, 
 and may be allayed." — " If you will permit me, I 
 will now retire," said he, rising from supper ; " my 
 arm has grown more uneasy, within the last half 
 hour, and I wish my servant to look to it before 
 bed time." 
 
 The reader has, no doubt, been surprised at our 
 hero's being able to sit it out so long; but what will 
 not the society of a lovely woman enable man to
 
 134 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 endure. In the present case, the sufferer seemed 
 oblivious of pain, like a man under the influence of 
 opium, or chloroform ; so much so, that the lady- 
 began to suspect the young soldier had only feigned 
 being wounded, or had been only lightly scratched, 
 till she heard him complain, as he rose and left the 
 room. 
 
 To neglect or trifle with one's health is as foolish 
 as it is heroical. A hole in the skin should be no 
 more neglected than a hole in the coat, for — 
 
 " A stitch in time, saves nine, 
 And sometimes ninety-nine," 
 
 as mothers often tell their romping boys, and idle 
 lasses, who allow jackets and stockings to run too 
 long without mending. It was in this sort of 
 strain that the harper moralized, and argued with 
 his master, when dressing his shoulder, which he 
 found greatly inflamed. 
 
 " How could your lordship think " 
 
 " I shall be obliged, Dermot, by your not calling 
 me Lord. I have a reason for it." 
 
 " I beg your lordship's pardon, I shall be more 
 particular for the future ; but how could you think 
 of leaving this shoulder so long undressed? the flesh 
 is red to your elbow, and I see the swelling runs 
 down to your hand. Musha, bad luck to the purty
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 135 
 
 face of that lady. I lay the whole blame upon her. 
 I must run to her now for a plasther, and see if she 
 has the right weed to make the fermentation, for I 
 must bathe that arm, and thry and bring down the 
 swellin'." 
 
 The lady, who was deeply skilled in the proper 
 treatment of wounds and bruises, and the healing 
 properties of very many medicinal plants, spee- 
 dily prepared the proper dressings and fomenta- 
 tions, to which she added a cooling or composing 
 draught, which he drank like so much nectar. 
 He thought it even more delicious than the veni- 
 son pasty, for although this was made by her own 
 hand, it was not manufactured and mixed especially 
 for him. 
 
 " That seems good," said the harper, as he 
 watched his master draining the cup. " It smells 
 beautiful." 
 
 The Earl had often shared his last cup of wine 
 with his faithful servant, but he could spare him 
 none of this. He would sooner have given him 
 so many drops of his own blood. How closely is 
 selfishness bound up with our sweetest pleasures ! 
 In the affairs of the heart this is pre-eminently 
 the case.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " By music, minds an equal temper know; 
 Nor swell too high, nor sink too low : 
 Warriors she fires with animated sounds, 
 Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds." — Pope. 
 
 But notwithstanding the dressing, fomentations, 
 and composing draught, the Earl awoke the next 
 morning in a high state of fever, with his arm 
 more inflamed than ever ; so much so, that Der- 
 mot, after consulting the lady, whom he called 
 his "purty potecary" consented to call in the aid 
 of her uncle, the old priest. 
 
 " You should have shewn me this wound last 
 night, young man," said the host, first looking at the 
 inflamed arm, and then at the flushed countenance 
 of the young Earl. " I could not have suspected 
 this from your appearance last night, or I should not 
 have recommended your eating that venison pasty, 
 which was rather highly spiced, or drinking wine, 
 which was too inflammatory for you ; but that cannot 
 be helped now. Get me a dish," said he, turning 
 to the harper, " I must take some blood* from the 
 
 * " Before the time of Harvey" the circulation of the blood 
 was known "by several anatomists." — Penny Cyclopcedia.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 137 
 
 other arm ; and ask my niece to give you my case 
 of instruments." 
 
 " Be the powers, your rivirence, he's lost already 
 nearly half the blood in his body." 
 
 " Get me the lancet, and a dish, sir, and make 
 no further observations. What's that man's name ?" 
 inquired the priest of the Earl, as Dermot left the 
 room, scratching his head, and considering whether 
 he had acted wisely in giving up the case to a new 
 doctor, or in other words, whether it was for the 
 weal of his master's constitution to put the sword 
 into the hands of a Dictator, who thought so little 
 of the shedding of human blood, and so lightly of 
 his, the harper's, skill. 
 
 " His name is Dermot O'Dugan? said the Earl ; 
 " an old and faithful servant, though a little self- 
 willed and opinionated." 
 
 " A strange coincidence," replied the old man; 
 " I knew a person very like him, in the old Earl of 
 Desmond's household, named, I think, O'Dugan ; 
 yes, of a surety, that was the name ; but he was a 
 harper; and now I think of it, he was much younger 
 than this man." He forgot that seventeen or 
 ugh teen years make some difference in a man's 
 ige and appearance. 
 
 The fever, for a time, seemed to give way to the 
 kill of the new physician, but it was only for a
 
 138 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 time, for the next day the noble patient was de- 
 lirious, raving of love and battles. He was now 
 charging at the head of his wild dragoons, with " a 
 Desmond aboo ! a Papa aboo f or a hearty cheer, 
 or " hurra" for the victory ; and anon, discoursing 
 most sweet and eloquent nonsense into the ears of 
 an Irish maiden, seated by his side, as he thought, 
 upon some flowery hillock, or beneath the shade of 
 a spreading beech-tree. It was interesting, during 
 his paroxysms and changes of mind, to mark the 
 varied expressions of his face, which seemed to 
 change more suddenly than the face of the sky, 
 when the clouds are driven of fierce winds. When 
 war was his theme, and he imagined himself at 
 the head of his troops, his eye-balls flashed fire, his 
 nostrils dilated, like those of his war horse, and 
 the veins of his forehead swelled and twisted, like 
 strong cords; but when the battle was over, and 
 the star of Venus cast its magic influence over his 
 fatigued and throbbing brain, his eye no longer 
 shot devouring flame ; his voice was modulated to 
 the expression of the fondest and most delicate love, 
 while a smile of ineffable sweetness played about 
 his mouth. 
 
 His condition was now such as to require the 
 most tender watchfulness and unremitting atten- 
 tion. One person had to sit always near him, to
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 139 
 
 prevent his injuring the wounded arm ; another to 
 wet his lips, or bathe his fiery temples. As he 
 appeared quite unconscious, and seemed to recog- 
 nize no one, Ellen Cavendish, who before had been 
 hovering round him, like an invisible spirit, ad- 
 ministering to all his wants, ventured to appear 
 before him. He fixed his eyes upon her for a 
 moment with so much earnestness, that she stood 
 transfixed to the floor by the gaze, like a thief 
 detected in his chamber ; but he soon turned away 
 his head, and seemed again unconscious of her pre- 
 sence. 
 
 The next night, while she and the harper were 
 watching, the Earl, who, though still delirious, 
 appeared somewhat better, began to sing. 
 
 "Faith," said Dermot, "I think I'll thry the 
 harp. It always plased him ; it can do him no 
 harm; but lady, dear, if you would thry the lute, I'll 
 give my life it will calm him down. See, he's 
 gettin' flushed agin ; and he'll be on his high horse 
 and in the thick of the battle, in no time. Do, dear 
 lady ; do, acushla-machree, and the angels in heaven 
 bless you." 
 
 Ellen, who could not resist the eloquent appeals 
 of the Earl's poor and faithful servant, brought in 
 her lute, and played and sung. 
 
 The effect was magical, almost miraculous : the
 
 140 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Earl was in full career, dashing forward to the 
 battle on his foaming charger, as Ellen Cavendish 
 entered with her lute; but the vibration of the 
 first chord which her fingers touched, and the first 
 sound of her beautiful voice, arrested his rapid pro- 
 gress, like a voice from heaven. He drew in his 
 arms with a sudden jerk, like a horseman reining 
 in his steed, and raised his head and eyes with an 
 expression of such supreme interest and delight, 
 that the performer, for his sake, sighed when she 
 had sung out her piece. 
 
 The harper urged her to play a second, but she 
 requested him to try the harp. 
 
 " 111 do so to plase you, lady; but I'm sure it 
 won't have the same power over him. Let me see ; 
 what will I play ? It must be something cheerful. 
 I have it ; the song he made me make before he'd 
 give me back the harp he made one of the boys 
 stale, whin I was asleep, and a little harty ! It's 
 often he laughed at it : — 
 
 Says Jove one day, 
 
 " A trick I'll play 
 
 Upon that piper, Orpheus ; 
 
 That while I sleep 
 
 He'll silence keep — 
 
 Come hither, Master Morpheus. 
 
 " You see that chap, 
 
 Is in a nap : 
 
 Now seal up both his eyes.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 141 
 
 Mai,*~ you are cute, 
 
 So steal his lute, 
 
 And keep it as your prize." 
 
 As Orpheus woke, 
 
 His fingers grope 
 
 About in sad confusion ; 
 
 He rubs his eyes, 
 
 And then he cries, 
 
 " By Jove! here's some delusion." 
 
 Nor did he stay, 
 
 Till break of day, 
 
 But ran to Jove a-moaning ; 
 
 Beneath the sill, 
 
 Jove got a spill 
 
 of Irish hullogoaning. 
 
 " Get out of that, 
 You noisy brat, 
 
 Or be the powers above me " 
 
 " ! Jove," says he, 
 
 " Get up and see 
 
 My throuble, if you love me." 
 
 He made a rout, 
 That brought Jove out, 
 Unrobed above the middle : 
 " Now state your case, 
 
 Or be this mace " 
 
 " The gods have stole my fiddle." 
 
 Then Jove cried, " Hoy ! 
 
 Bring here that toy, 
 
 And give it to this crature : 
 
 Ah ! Mai, my man, 
 
 Do what you can, 
 
 You cannot conquer Nature" 
 
 * Mercurius, the son of Jupiter and Mala, was the god or captain of 
 thieves, as well as a professor of music and dancing.
 
 142 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 The Earl seemed to listen for some moments 
 with curious attention. A puzzled and comical 
 expression first rested on his brow, which, in a 
 few seconds, gave place to a frown; and before 
 Dermot had finished the fourth stanza, the patient 
 began to growl as a surly dog does at the voice of a 
 beggar who attempts to pass him, or to curry favour 
 with him, by a pat on the back. 
 
 "Bow! wow !" said the harper, "sure I tould you 
 so ; faix you've stole my harp in earnest, and spoilt 
 my music ; I fear he'll never take to it agin, after 
 hearin' your lute, if God in his mercy spares him. 
 There, now, I've done him more harm than good ; 
 hearken to him agin, gettin' on his high horse ; 
 may the saints in heaven bless you, and play for 
 him agin;' 
 
 Ellen again took up her lute and advanced to 
 the foot of the bed. She was attired in a white 
 muslin robe, with a scarf of blue silk over her 
 shoulders. She looked, in the pale moonbeams, like 
 the queen of night ; or like a holy angel, looking 
 from out the clouds of heaven. She sang the fol- 
 lowing hymn : — 
 
 Arrayed in robes most bright, 
 
 Spirits of light, 
 The sick and dying strengthen : 
 They wipe the widow's tears, 
 They hush the maiden's fears, 
 The days of youth to lengthen.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 143 
 
 Arrayed in robes of air, 
 
 Spirits most fair, 
 Beside the deathbed linger : 
 Away with palms they wave, 
 The fear of death and grave, 
 Pointing to heaven the finger. 
 
 Arrayed in robes of white, 
 
 The saints in light, 
 Around heaven's throne assemble : 
 To harps of gold they sing, 
 Praises to heaven's King; 
 The souls in darkness tremble. 
 
 The dying Earl listened to the maiden's hymn 
 with entranced interest, and looked like one who 
 heard 
 
 "The whispering angels say, 
 'Sister-spirit, come away 
 
 > >> 
 
 " Hark !" cried he, starting up, raising his index 
 finger, and fixing his dark eyes on the musician. 
 He then fell back with a placid smile upon his brow, 
 which was speedily followed by the pallor of death. 
 
 Dermot rushed to the bed side, peered long 
 and fearfully into his master's face, and uttered 
 a heart-rending wail, which aroused every soul 
 in the house: — "0 God! he's dead — the Earl is 
 dead — my kind, good master is dead! God ! 
 God!" 
 
 "Is it possible?" said the priest, who was the first 
 to enter, advancing towards the bed, and examin-
 
 144 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 ing the face more closely. "No, he breathes — he 
 sleeps ; this is the crisis of the disease, and I hope 
 it may turn out favourably. — What is this on the 
 lloor ? Ellen ! my child, is it you? Help here, Der- 
 mot ; she has fainted. Your death-cry has terri- 
 fied her. Ellen, my child, do you hear me ?" 
 
 But Ellen heard not, and it was fully half an 
 hour before she recovered any thing like conscious- 
 ness ; and when she did recover, the first words she 
 asked were, "Is he dead? Is the Earl of Desmond 
 dead?" 
 
 The answer, "No, but much better," which the 
 harper whispered in her ear, had an almost instan- 
 taneous effect in bringing back the colour to her 
 cheeks.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " And on his little winges the Dreame he bore, 
 In hast nnto his lord, where he him left afore, 
 "Who all this while, with charmes and hidden artes, 
 Had made a lady of that other spright, 
 And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes, 
 So lively and so like in all men's sight, 
 That weaker sence it could have ravisht quight ; 
 That maker's self, for all his wondrous witt, 
 Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight. 
 Her all in white he clad, and over it 
 He cast a stole, most like to seeme for Una fit." 
 
 SrENSEK. 
 
 It was late the next day when the Earl awoke, 
 wasted and pale in appearance, but refreshed and 
 free from pain. " Oh ! I have had a most delightful 
 dream, Dermot," said he, after opening his eyes, 
 and looking round the chamber with curious in- 
 terest, to see where he was, " I have had a most 
 delightful dream, if I should call it a dream, for it 
 was more like a vision." 
 
 " What was it, my Lord ? did you see, or hear 
 anything ?" 
 
 " I thought, Dermot, I was in Paradise, sitting 
 on a bank of flowers, and an angel descended 
 
 vol. i. H
 
 146 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 from heaven, with a lute, like the lady of this 
 house ; and sang and played in the most hea- 
 venly and delightful manner. But she suddenly 
 ceased, and disappeared ; when I heard a number 
 of as abominable and discordant sounds as ever 
 issued from the mouth of hell, or the throat of 
 Cerberus." 
 
 " Bow ! wow !" said Dermot, in an under tone, 
 " a purty complimint he pays me and my harp." 
 " Did you speak, Dermot ?" 
 " No, my Lord ; but did you hear or see any- 
 thing else ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I felt so pained and distressed by these 
 
 horrible and hellish sounds " 
 
 " Mile murtherr 
 
 " What's that you say, Dermot ?" 
 
 "Nothing, my Lord ; go on wid the vision; you 
 
 felt so pained and disthressed " 
 
 " I felt so pained and distressed by these horrible 
 and hellish sounds, that I prayed that the angel 
 might be permitted to return to me again ; and 
 would you believe it, my prayer was answered." 
 " What was the angel like, your honour V 
 " Like a beautiful woman. She came down in 
 a silvery and azure cloud, and I thought beckoned 
 me up to heaven."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 147 
 
 " I hope your lordship is not a Mahometan, 
 that worships hures." 
 
 " Houris, you mean, Dermot. No, I believe it 
 was my guardian angel. Perhaps it was the spirit 
 of my mother." 
 
 " His mother ! ugh-yeh! If Miss Ellen heard 
 that," said the harper to himself. " Your mother ! 
 God be merciful to her soul. No, she was a fine 
 woman, in her time; but it wasn't her." 
 
 " Who do you think it was, then ?" 
 
 " How should I know, your honour ? What 
 could the likes of me know of heavenly visions, or 
 dhrames, or divine sounds, a poor, ignorant harper? 
 Ax Miss Ellen ; prhaps she could tell you more 
 about it." 
 
 " Do you think she could, Dermot ?" 
 
 " Iv coorse ; but your honour had best not talk 
 too much ; take a dhrink of this, and lie quiet, 
 and get another sleep ; and prhaps you may see 
 another vision, or dhrame, who knows ? God is 
 good." 
 
 After waiting to see his master dozing, the harper 
 stole on tiptoe from the room, hastened to Miss 
 Cavendish, and described to her most faithfully and 
 fully his master's vision ; and to do him justice, he 
 did not spare himself in repeating the comparison 
 made between his and the lady's musical perfor-
 
 148 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 mance. The lady heard him to the end, but with a 
 blushing and confused face. 
 
 "I'm now goin' to tell your uncle how well the 
 master is, me lady." 
 
 " Dermot," said the lady, calling him back. 
 
 "Well, me lady?" 
 
 Miss Cavendish hesitated. 
 
 "Did you call me, me lady?" 
 
 "Yes ; there is no occasion, Dermot, to repeat 
 to my uncle what you said to me." 
 
 " Iv coorse not, me lady. Bow ! wow ! do you 
 think I am a fool ?" with a wink of the eye. 
 
 "He might think," continued the lady, "that the 
 music had retarded your master's recovery." 
 
 " Retarded, is it ? Be the powers but you cured 
 him. I always thought my harp the best leeches 
 instherment in my bag, but your lute beats it 
 hollow." So saying he made his way to the library, 
 where the priest was reading. 
 
 "Well, Dermot, how is your master?" inquired 
 the host of the harper, as he entered the room. 
 "Did he wake yet?" 
 
 " He did, your rivirence, and he seems illigint." 
 
 "Did you give him the drink ?" 
 
 " Yes your rivirence, and after takin' it, he dozed 
 aff to sleep agin." 
 
 " That's all right," replied the clergyman. He
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 149 
 
 then gave the harper what would be called in 
 modern days a "most knowing look," as he 
 said, " I think, Dermot, I have seen your face 
 before ?" 
 
 " Is it me, your rivirence ? Faix may be so. 
 Where was it, your rivirence ?" 
 
 " At the Old Earl's castle, at Tralee." 
 
 " Never," said the harper, with great decision. 
 
 " Don't be too sure now, for I think I am not 
 mistaken." 
 
 "You were never more mistaken in your life, 
 your rivirence." 
 
 " The person I mean was not only a harper, but 
 a kind of Jack-of-all-trades ; he was a bone-setter, 
 and he sometimes acted as huntsman ; he also pro- 
 fessed to a knowledge of medicine." 
 
 u The devil crack my collar bone, if it was me, 
 your rivirence." 
 
 The clergyman looked at him with surprise, and 
 then said to himself — " What a consummate liar ! 
 for that was his oath, ' the devil crack my collar 
 bone/ His name was also the same as yours, 
 Dermot O'Dugan." 
 
 "It's my cousin you mane, your rivirence; sure 
 we're as like as two brothers, me father's brother's 
 son ; he was a harper too." 
 
 "What relation is your master, Captain Fitzgerald
 
 150 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 to James Fitz-Thomas, called the Sugane Earl?" 
 said the priest, trying to puzzle him, and make him 
 confess the truth. 
 
 " Is it what relation my master is to the Sugane 
 Earl of Desmond, your rivirence wants to know V 
 said the harper, repeating the question, while he 
 ran his mind's eye up and down the branches of the 
 great genealogical tree of the family, to see on what 
 limb he should engraft the ps^wcfo-Captain Fitz- 
 gerald. 
 
 " Yes, that's just the question I ask you." 
 
 "Your rivirence has heard, no doubt, of Sir 
 Thomas, the Twelfth Earl of Desmond, the husband 
 of the Ould Countess ?" 
 
 " Yes, he died in 1534." 
 
 " He knows too much intirely ; it will take the 
 ould boy to puzzle him. It's mighty hard decavin' 
 a priest," said he to himself, scratching his head. 
 " Well your rivirence, afther him came his grand- 
 son, Thomas the Court Page, a mighty good young 
 man, considerin' he was brought up in the court of 
 that bloody rogue, Henry VIII." 
 
 " Not exactly," said the priest, " he should have 
 come after Thomas the Twelfth Earl, but his grand- 
 uncle, Sir John, seized his inheritance, and took 
 the title." 
 
 " Eight agin, your rivirence. His grand-uncle
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 151 
 
 was a bad man, though I don't like sayin' anything 
 agin the family." 
 
 " But you are not telling me all this time, what 
 relation your master is to the Sugane Earl." 
 
 " I am comin' to that now, your rivirence." 
 
 " Well, make haste about it." 
 
 M Well, afther the ould man's death, that is the 
 uncle, the Court Page ashumed the title agin, for 
 which he was murthered by his ould uncle's son, 
 James, the Fifteenth Earl." 
 
 " Quite correct," said the priest, " but he was, 
 notwithstanding, received at Hampton Court as a 
 peer of the realm, and the rightful owner of the 
 title." 
 
 a Just so, your rivirence. Well he was the father 
 of Gerald or Garret the Great Earl, who was the 
 uncle of the Sugane Earl, that is the cousin of my 
 master, Captain Fitzgerald." 
 
 " Then you have just come round to where you 
 started from, for what I asked you was, what relation 
 is your master to the Sugane Earl ?" 
 
 u Is it what relation my master is to him ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the priest, almost as much amused 
 at the fellow's impudence, as he was pleased at 
 hunting it out. 
 
 " Let me see ; yes, I have it now, his uncle's 
 grandmother was half brother "
 
 152 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 "Half brother!" 
 
 " Half sister, I mane. His uncle's grandmother's 
 brother was half sister to the Sugane Earl's grand- 
 father." 
 
 " They were Kerry cousins, then." 
 
 " Yes, your rivirence." 
 
 " Well, you need not take the trouble of telling 
 any more lies, for I know your master to be James 
 Fitz-Thomas, Earl of Desmond. Now don't deny 
 it, for I heard you confess it yesterday, when you 
 thought he was dead ; but I knew him the moment 
 he entered the door." 
 
 " Sure if your rivirence had tould me that at 
 first, I needn't have tould you any lies; God help 
 me, but how could I know that your rivirence knew 
 him ?" 
 
 " And if I did not know him, was that any 
 reason why you should deny him, and lead me 
 astray, and tell so many falsehoods about him ?" 
 
 "Iv coorse, your rivirence, when my master 
 tould me. Don't for the world," says he, " tell 
 them who I am, or I'll be the death of ye, says he." 
 
 "Did he know, then, who we were, before he 
 came here ?" 
 
 " Know who ye were ! Bow ! wow ! to be sure he 
 did." This the reader knows to be another false- 
 hood.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 153 
 
 " You are quite sure of that now ?" 
 
 " As sure as that the saints are in heaven. 
 Dermot, says he, there's an ould friend of mine, says 
 he, livin' in these parts, says he ; he was an ould 
 friend of my uncle's, says he, and I'm as fond of 
 him as my own father, says he. Won't I give 
 him a start, says he ; but don't for your life, says 
 he, let on who I am, says he, nor don't dar' call 
 me, my Lord, says he. That was his very words, 
 your riverence, if I was dyin' ; and your rivirence 
 won't let on that I tould you." 
 
 " I don't know how to believe you, Dermot," 
 said the priest, in a hesitating, doubtful mood. 
 
 " Believe me ! Do you think I'd tell your rivi- 
 rence a lie? Oh ! God forbid!" 
 
 " You may go, Dermot. I shall see your master, 
 when he wakes up again ; but you need not men- 
 tion that I know him." 
 
 " Is it I ? not for the world, your rivirence." 
 
 " I don't know what to think of this young man's 
 visit," continued the clergyman, musing with him- 
 self, with deep thought and anxiety on his brow. " I 
 cannot believe he intended to deceive me, but his 
 attentions to Ellen were very marked. It would 
 break my heart, to find that the boy whom I loved* 
 and believed to be the soul of honour, stole into this 
 house, like a wolf into a fold, to rob his old friend 
 
 H 2
 
 154 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 of the lamb that lay in his bosom, and was to him 
 as a daughter ; but I shall wait, to allow him to 
 develope his designs, if they be evil. He shall not 
 discover that I know him." 
 
 If we wish a secret well kept, we must keep it 
 to ourselves. Few can do this, and the circum- 
 stances of some secrets will not admit of it. This 
 was the case with the Earl's secret, before it became 
 such. 
 
 The cleverest men are generally the most likely 
 to let out a secret. Not merely from a propensity 
 to blab, to which most of them are addicted, but 
 from an over-acting, or over doing of the lie, if it 
 be a lie. Owen, the "fool" the "idiot," the "inno- 
 cent," and the " omadhaun? as Derniot called his 
 companion, kept in what the other let out. 
 
 There is no one more likely than a clever Irish- 
 man to " let out " a secret, mystery, or deception 
 of any kind. His genius in lying is too fertile ; it 
 causes so many new lies to spring up around the 
 first shoot, or parent lie, that it becomes most 
 difficult to distinguish which is which ; and therefore 
 to remember the lie which it is of most importance 
 to maintain, and on which the others depend for 
 strength and support ; for where there are such a 
 number, it is impossible to maintain them all in 
 force and vigour.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 155 
 
 When the harper returned to the Earl's room, he 
 told him, notwithstanding his promises to the con- 
 trary, that their host had discovered who he was. 
 
 " Then you, you scoundrel," said the Earl, in a 
 passion, " must have told him." 
 
 " Is it me, your honour ? no, but he knew you 
 whin you first came to the house ; but sure, in your 
 ravin', whin you were sick, you let the cat out of 
 the bag intirely." 
 
 " How so ? What did I say ?" 
 
 " Say ! — sure you said you were the great Earl 
 of Desmond — though they called you the Sugane 
 Earl — that you had a property of eight millions of 
 acres in Kerry, that you had an army of fifty thou- 
 sand foot, and thirty thousand horse soldiers, .and 
 lashins of money for all that would jine you." 
 
 " You lie, you scoundrel ! — I never said anything 
 like that. I have my faults, but boasting or bom- 
 bast is not among them. I never spoke in a strain 
 like that, in or out of my senses." 
 
 " Then, be me faith ! your honour, it was some- 
 thing like it." 
 
 " Well, what did you say ? Confess it, of course ?" 
 
 " Confess it ! — no ; but I swore be all the saints 
 in the kalender, that you were nothing more nor a 
 Kerry cousin to the Sugane Earl ; but it was no use 
 in life. The old priest is as cunning as a fox, and
 
 156 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 I see him laughin' out of the corner of his eye, as 
 much as to say, let us see what hole he'll run into 
 now ; and at long last, afther bothering the brains 
 out of me to explain the relationship, he told me, 
 quiet and asy-like, that I needn't tell any more lies 
 about it, for he knew it all." 
 
 " Well, what happened next ?" 
 
 " He axed me if you knew him, and all about 
 him, before you came to the house." 
 
 " You, of course, told him not — told him the 
 truth ?" 
 
 " The truth! Catch me at that ! — I'd like that ! 
 Arrah, sure your honour don't take me for an om- 
 adhaun outright." 
 
 " What did you tell him, then ?" 
 
 " I tould him how that your honour said to me 
 that an ould friend of your honour's lived in these 
 parts, and that although you were in a morthal 
 hurry to jine your army, and give the Prisident 
 of Munsther a batin', that you wouldn't, for all the 
 Prisidents in Ireland, miss of seein' your ould 
 friend." 
 
 " Well, you have told as decent a lie as you 
 could put together, I have no doubt ; but I would 
 rather you had told the simple truth. I shall now 
 thank you to request our host to come to my room." 
 
 The servant did as he was commanded, and
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 157 
 
 said to the priest, " My master, the Earl, would be 
 plased to see your rivirence." 
 
 " The Earl," said the priest, repeating the word; 
 " then you have told him of our conversation, which 
 I bid you not ; you have acted foolishly." 
 
 " Tould him," said Dermot, scratching his head, 
 " tould him, is it ? Bad luck to me, but he got it 
 out of me." 
 
 " My Lord," said the priest, with emphasis, as he 
 entered the Earl's sick room, " I understand you 
 desire to see me." 
 
 " Father," said the Earl, sitting up, and reaching 
 out both his hands to the priest, " can you forgive 
 me, for practising a deception upon you ?" 
 
 " My son," said the priest, with a tenderness and 
 emotion which he found it difficult to restrain, 
 " you never gave me occasion to doubt your honour, 
 and I must not do so now." 
 
 " Neither will you, when you hear me. My 
 servant spoke falsely, in asserting that I was aware 
 of your residence, and came here to see you. Had 
 I known where to find you, I would have gone 
 over the kingdom to make you out ; but I did not, 
 till your fair niece led me to this house. It is of 
 her I would speak, father : I love your niece ; I 
 have loved her from the first hour I saw her, and 
 shall love her to my last hour."
 
 158 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 The old priest looked perplexed and confused, 
 but he did not interrupt the Earl, whose pale cheek 
 flushed fearfully as he spake. 
 
 " But I resolved to win her heart as Captain 
 Fitzgerald, and not as the Earl of Desmond. This 
 purpose was formed before I met you ; and nothing 
 less than such a resolution could restrain my 
 feelings of love and affection for you, or prevent 
 my casting myself into your arms. Will you now 
 accept my embrace?" said he, raising his arms 
 towards the priest. 
 
 " Will I ? can you doubt it ? but do not interpret 
 this embrace as an approval or reception of your 
 suit. This, my son, can never be." 
 
 He spoke in a deaf ear, for the Earl had fainted 
 on his shoulder, from over-exertion and excitement, 
 which brought on a relapse.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Tityre, tu patulee recumbans sub tegmine fagi, 
 Sylvestrem tenui Musam meditaris avena : 
 jNos patriae fines et dulcia linquimusarva; 
 ETos patriam fugimus. Tu, Tityre, lentus, in umbra, 
 Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida sylvas." — Yiegil. 
 
 The progress from fever to convalescence is often 
 slow. It was not so in the present instance, for 
 the invalid had a strong constitution, but he sadly 
 lamented the absence of those heavenly visions, which 
 had transported his soul to the gates of Paradise, 
 
 I need not explain to my readers, that the cause 
 of their disappearance resulted from the caution 
 and maidenly shyness of Ellen Cavendish, who did 
 not cross the threshold of the Earl's chamber, after 
 his restoration to perfect consciousness. The pos- 
 session of a sound mind is one of man's noblest 
 endowments ; but the young Earl thought the 
 withdrawal of his ministering angel too high a 
 price for the possession. There are some states of 
 mental derangement, from which it seems cruel to 
 relieve us. It is like awaking us too soon from 
 some beautiful dream, to the cold realities of life,
 
 160 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 for which I have known servants to get "more 
 kicks than half-pence." 
 
 But we shall, in kindness to our hero's fame, 
 draw a veil across the period of his history during 
 which he was confined as a prisoner to his chamber, 
 where the poor harper found it most difficult to 
 please him. No hero is a hero with his valet. 
 Dermot tried to dispel the evil spirit of dis- 
 content, by conciliation and coaxing, and as a 
 dernier resort, he tried his harp ; but his harp had 
 either lost its power to charm, or his master had 
 become like " a deaf adder, who would not be 
 charmed," let him play " never so wisely." 
 
 But I shall pass on to the time of convalescence, 
 when the invalid was allowed to leave his sick 
 room, and breathe the fresh air of heaven, and 
 tread the flowery fields, and inhale the scent of the 
 hawthorn, and listen to the voice of birds, and the 
 hum of bees, and the sound of running waters, and 
 turn his cheek to the fanning of the zephyrs. 
 
 The evening was bright and mild, when the Earl 
 awoke, refreshed, from an after-dinner nap, which 
 his host insisted on his indulging in. He opened 
 his eyes, and looked around for his friends, but 
 found the room deserted, and concluded from the 
 stillness which reigned throughout the house, that 
 the family were abroad.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 161 
 
 " Where have they gone ? to the garden, no 
 doubt," thought the Earl ; " I shall go in search of 
 them." In the east end of the garden was a bower, 
 and near the bower were a number of bee-hives, 
 the inhabitants of which were passing in and out, 
 with the serious and important bustle of stock- 
 brokers, brushing each other's skirts, through 
 'Change Alley ; or London clerks, carrying gold to 
 the Bank, or porters about the docks of the Custom 
 House. Some were hastening out, others were 
 more slowly returning, laden with precious bur- 
 dens, while others remained within, packing the 
 goods, and stowing the cells with liquid nectar. 
 As the evening was warm, the " work glowed," 
 for their motto seemed to be, " Make your hay 
 while the sun shines." 
 
 The occupation and bustle about the bee-hive 
 appeared, for a moment, to reproach the Earl for his 
 inactivity, and caused him to make more rapid 
 strides up and dowm the garden walk; but of this 
 he soon tired. He therefore sat down in the alcove, 
 and began to mark, with more calmness, the quiet 
 growth and progress of inanimate nature around 
 him — the flowers opening their leaves to the sun, 
 the certain, but imperceptible increase of the rich 
 fruits on the branches above his head, the crops, 
 waving and glistening on the side of a neighbouring
 
 162 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 hill — everything appeared full of life and labour ; 
 but the operation was quiet ; there was no buzz or 
 bustle, like that made by the busy bees. He then 
 reflected on the character of his aged host, full of 
 years and good fruits ; and then he thought of the 
 old man's fair niece, so like a rose, opening into 
 full bloom and fragrancy. These thoughts turned 
 the whole current of his feelings in the opposite 
 direction, and caused his heart and soul to yearn 
 for the quiet and holy happiness enjoyed by the 
 inmates of the mansion, from which he was too soon 
 to hasten. 
 
 "Behold, man, that toilesome paines doest take, 
 The nowrs, the fieldes, and all that pleasant growes, 
 How they themselves doe thine ensample make, 
 Whiles nothing envious Nature them forth throwes 
 Out of her fruitful lap : how, no man knowes, 
 They spring, they bud, they blossome freshe and faire, 
 And decke the world with their rich pompous showes; 
 Yet no man for them taketh paines or care, 
 Yet no man to them can his carefull paines compare. 
 But thou dost waste thy houres in needless paine, 
 Seeking for danger and adventures vaine." 
 
 These yearnings for a less active, but, as he 
 thought, a better life, were strong within him, as he 
 turned down a side walk, and came upon his host, 
 who was reading his missal beneath a beech tree. 
 
 " Fortunate senex, sed 
 rTon equidem invideo ; miror magis ; undique totis 
 Usque adeo turbatur agris."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 163 
 
 " None of us have the regulation of our own lot 
 in life," replied the priest. " Had I my own will, 
 I should not have spent so many of my latter years 
 in retirement and inactivity, when the condition of 
 Christ's poor and persecuted Church demanded I 
 should have been attending to its interest in other 
 parts of the country ; but a dying sister made me 
 promise to live on this property, and perform a 
 father's part by her child ; and to her I owe it that 
 I am not a wandering, homeless outcast, like so 
 many of my brethren. 
 
 " ' Da nobis hcec otia fecit ;' 
 
 But I do not, I assure you, esteem it an otium cum 
 dignitate; for I feel that for it — perhaps I should 
 say for her — I have made a sacrifice of one of the 
 highest dignities bestowed by the head of the Church 
 upon her ministers ; but it is vanity in me to speak 
 thus." 
 
 " I know it, father. I heard my uncle, before 
 his death, speak of your high merits, and your great 
 interest at the court of Kome, in his time; and I 
 could never account for the dark cloud which after- 
 wards fell upon your bright prospects ; and then, 
 your disappearance from the stage of public events 
 — I knew not what to make of it ; it has ever been 
 a mystery to me." 
 
 The old man groaned heavily.
 
 164 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " I shall not presume," continued the Earl, " to 
 compare an Earl's coronet to a Bishop's mitre ; the 
 heavenly glory of the one as much outshines the 
 earthly brightness of the other, as does the glory of 
 the sun outshine the brightness of this sun-flower ; 
 but I should willingly lay down my coronet, and 
 relinquish my hopes of the possession of my uncle's 
 large estates, for a life of retirement in this sweet 
 Paradise, were I to have, for a companion, the angel 
 who has cheered your declining years." 
 
 " It must not be thought of, my son — it must not 
 be thought of. No, my Lord : the interests of your 
 country, and of the Catholic Church, forbid the 
 sacrifice ; for I verily believe that such a marriage 
 would destroy your hopes of succession." 
 
 " But to me, father, it would be no sacrifice ; I 
 should feel myself a gainer, if even I lost my in- 
 heritance." 
 
 " I do not say that the coronet of a countess 
 would be too great an honour for Ellen's brow ; I 
 should speak falsely if I said so; but it must not be, 
 it cannot be, my son." 
 
 " Why not, father ?" said the young Earl with deep 
 feeling, taking the old man's hand, and pressing it 
 between both of his. " Why not? I have told 
 you how much I love her. How could our union 
 interfere with the interests of religion ?"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 165 
 
 " There are reasons, my son — there are reasons, 
 my Lord, which I would rather you would not press 
 me to mention, which forbid such a union. God 
 knows that I could not desire my child a greater 
 happiness ; but it must not be." 
 
 " Father, I must press you for your reasons, be 
 they what they may." 
 
 " Well, in one word, she is a Protestant. 11 
 
 u a Protestant r said the young man, starting 
 back with far more surprise than that of a soldier 
 at whose feet a bomb has descended. Had a star 
 fallen from heaven before him, he could not have 
 looked more thunderstruck. " A Protestant !" said 
 he, repeating the words, after a little musing, 
 in somewhat softer accents. " Father, what is 
 a Protestant ? — I mean, in what consists the 
 great and leading distinctions between the two 
 religions ? for I have not much knowledge of these 
 things." 
 
 " The distinctions are numerous and serious ; 
 but if they were less numerous or important, the 
 circumstance of her being such, would prove an 
 effectual barrier to your union." 
 
 " Why so, father ?" said the young Earl advanc- 
 ing up to the barrier, and approaching the objec- 
 tion as a brave soldier does a bomb, expecting to 
 twist off the fusee, with his finger and thumb, before
 
 166 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 it explodes, — " why so? she may have no objection 
 to change her religion." 
 
 The old man shook his head. 
 
 " May I reckon on your consent to our union, if 
 I am able to remove this objection V 
 
 " I think I may venture to make a promise on 
 these conditions," replied the old man, with a pale 
 smile, " for there is far more probability of her con- 
 verting you to her way of thinking, than of your 
 bringing her to a right belief of the doctrines of 
 our Church." 
 
 a In what way does her Protestantism shew 
 itself?" said the Earl, as if it were some mental 
 derangement, of which he was curious to know the 
 development. 
 
 "In a refusal to attend mass and confession," 
 said the priest, with a sigh. 
 
 " Humph !" said the Earl. He then thought to 
 himself, "If that be one of the marks of the disease, 
 I fear I am half a Protestant myself. Let me see, 
 when was I at mass ? Not since the Christmas 
 before last ; and as for confession, I never made 
 more than one in my life. What else have you 
 remarked peculiar, father ?" 
 
 " A regular and constant perusal of the Scrip- 
 tures." 
 
 " Ah ! that is a sin," mused the Earl, " of which I
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 167 
 
 am guiltless ; for of Scripture knowledge I am 
 ignorant, innocent, I suppose, I should say." 
 
 " It is the Protestant Scriptures she reads," said 
 the priest. 
 
 " Is there much difference between the Catholic 
 and the Protestant Bible ? I have heard learned 
 divines of our Church say there was not." 
 
 " Yery little, indeed ; but our Church forbids the 
 private interpretation of the Scriptures." 
 
 " She is as great a rebel as I am myself. Is this 
 all ?" 
 
 " That is all ; in every other respect she is all 
 that a daughter could be, so that I find it hard to 
 oppose her in these things. My conduct in her 
 regard, and in the case of my sister, who was also 
 a Protestant, has been considered lukewarm, and 
 wanting in zeal for religion ; and has, I have 
 reason to believe, been so represented at the Court 
 of Rome : hence, the black cloud which has fallen 
 upon my character, and bright prospects of ad- 
 vancement in the Church ; but I cannot persuade 
 myself that I should act otherwise than I have 
 done." 
 
 " Well, father," said the Earl, " you will promise 
 to unite us in holy wedlock, if 1 am able to convert 
 this fair heretic, and persuade her to accept the 
 offer of my hand ?"
 
 168 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " I have promised to do so, my Lord, but cannot 
 promise you success." 
 
 " Leave that to me," said the young Earl, moving 
 off, with rapid footsteps, towards the ivied walls 
 of the ruined abbey, where he caught a glimpse of 
 Ellen's white robe and blue ribbon. 
 
 But to this interview we must devote a new 
 chapter.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " Maiden ! with the meek, brown eyes, 
 In whose orbs a shadow lies, 
 Like the dusk in evening skies. 
 
 " Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
 Golden tresses, wreathed in one, 
 As the braided streamlets run. 
 
 " Standing with reluctant feet, 
 Where the brook and river meet, 
 Womanhood and childhood fleet. 
 
 " Gazing with a timid glance 
 On the brooklet's swift advance, 
 On the river's broad expanse. 
 
 " Deep and still, that gliding stream, 
 Beautiful, to thee must seem, 
 As the river of a dream. 
 
 " Then why pause with indecision, 
 When bright angels in thy vision 
 Beckon thee to fields Elysian ?" 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Those who imagine that the first or principal 
 object of the Earl in this interview was the con- 
 version of Ellen Cavendish from a the errors of 
 her way," give our hero credit for more missionary 
 zeal than he possessed. There can be no doubt 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 170 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 that he was startled and amazed, but not shock- 
 ed, to hear that the fair vision of his dreams 
 was a heretic ; but the effect of this information, 
 after a very few seconds, was not to make him 
 think a whit less favourably of her, but far more 
 favourably of Protestantism. He was confirmed 
 in this way of thinking, by the charitable spirit of 
 his old friend, the priest, who spoke of her heresy 
 with a mildness which surprised him. His conduct 
 in this affair had evidently brought him into dis- 
 repute, for a want of zeal, which he shewed by 
 allowing his sister, who was possessed of property, 
 to secede from the Church of her fathers, and bring 
 up this girl in the same faith. Hence, the blasting 
 of his prospects. 
 
 The Earl, therefore, resolved to say nothing on 
 the subject of religion, till after he had made a 
 declaration of his love. If the lady raised the 
 objection, he should meet it as well as he could. 
 If he succeeded in the love affair, he had no doubt 
 that the objection on the score of religion could be 
 evaded, or compromised in some way ; rather than 
 that it should remain a barrier to the consummation 
 of his bliss, he would become a Protestant himself. 
 He was in that state of mental or moral blindness, 
 or amorous derangement, during which men would 
 willingly sell their souls, to gain the object of
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 171 
 
 their affection ; a state, during which the sins 
 and imperfections of their mistresses are trans- 
 muted into virtues and charms. In this way the 
 heresy of Ellen gave a new fascination to her 
 character, and a piquancy to his love ; while the 
 obstacles which it raised in his path seemed to 
 increase rather than diminish his desire of success. 
 It was forbidden fruit ; he must therefore taste it. 
 
 Had Ellen been a heathen priestess, instead of 
 a mild, enlightened, high-souled Protestant maiden, 
 the moment she turned her face, radiant with 
 smiles, upon the Earl, who approached her unper- 
 ceived, as she was reading near the eastern window 
 of the abbey, with the evening sun casting his 
 golden rays upon the pages of a New Testament 
 which she was perusing, he must have loved, 
 almost worshipped her ; for the purity and bliss of 
 heaven appeared to rest upon her. 
 
 " Ellen," said the Earl, bending his knee reve- 
 rently before her, taking her hand, and clasping it 
 above the sacred volume she was reading ; M Ellen, 
 permit me, within these holy walls, and with our 
 hands clasped upon this divine book, to say how 
 sincerely I love, how much I adore you." 
 
 u Are you aware," said Ellen, after recovering 
 from the confusion of this sudden and serious 
 avowal of love, "that this is a Protestant Testament,
 
 172 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 and that I am " Here she hesitated. What 
 
 was the cause ? We shall not too closely analyze 
 her feelings. 
 
 Her lover, who marked her hesitation, replied, 
 " And that you are a Protestant. I know it all ; 
 your uncle has told me all." 
 
 :c And is it with his sanction that you make 
 
 this declaration of vour love ?" 
 
 ■/ 
 
 " Yes, partially," said the Earl ; and as he uttered 
 the words, he saw the shadow of a man's head and 
 shoulders, on the opposite wall ; but as the shadow 
 disappeared the moment he changed his position, 
 he concluded it must have been his own. 
 
 " My Lord," said Ellen, who did not see the sha- 
 dow, " you do me high honour, an honour to which 
 I can lay no claim ; but if I could even hope my 
 religion would prove no objection, I feel that such 
 a union would mar your prospects through life. 
 No, my Lord, you must make alliance with some 
 noble family, and powerful clan, like your own, and 
 not with a lonely maiden like me, whose only 
 follower is an aged man, deprived of influence, 
 and denied advancement, for his kindness and 
 devotion to a heretic. One of the members of 
 your noble house lost his inheritance by making 
 a mesalliance." 
 
 " To whom do you refer ?" said the Earl, sadly,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 173 
 
 as he marked the calm resolve in the maiden's eye 
 and tone. 
 
 " To the young Earl of Desmond, who married 
 the fair daughter of Mac Cormac." 
 
 " You have heard that story, then ?" 
 
 " I have, and have always felt deeply interested 
 in it." 
 
 " It was the apprehension of such an objection 
 that caused me to conceal my name and title ; for 
 I resolved, if able, to win and wed you before 
 I revealed my name. But let me hear you tell the 
 story, and also the argument you are disposed to 
 draw from it." 
 
 " The story, as I have been told it, is more than 
 a hundred years old. It describes one of the young 
 Earls of Desmond as having lost his way at a stag 
 hunt, near the Lakes of Killarney. The night was 
 dark, without a star in heaven to lighten it. After 
 wandering long among rocks and glens, he found 
 shelter in the house of one of his own people, named 
 Mac Cormac, of whose fair daughter he became 
 suddenly enamoured. He married her ; at which 
 his whole family and clan felt such high and hot 
 indignation that they refused to follow him as leader, 
 or acknowledge him as chief or Earl. He was there- 
 fore compelled to leave the country, and take refuge 
 in France, where he died."
 
 174 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Did you hear that his family and clan offered 
 to forgive the offence, and restore to him his pro- 
 perty and title, on condition of his divorcing his 
 fair bride?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " And that he refused T 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What conclusion did you draw from such con- 
 duct V 
 
 " That he was a man of honour." 
 
 " Of course ; and — 
 
 11 
 
 u That he loved her better than his title or 
 
 estates." 
 
 kC Just so. Did you hear that Henry V., the 
 most heroic monarch that ever sat on the English 
 throne, who was at Eouen when he died, expressed 
 his admiration of his conduct by attending as one 
 of the chief mourners at his funeral, and that his 
 queen invited his widow to the English Court ?" 
 
 " I heard that Henry V. attended his funeral, 
 but I did not hear that his queen invited the widow 
 to the English Court." 
 
 " Are you aware that the story of this noble 
 young Earl has been celebrated in song, and sang 
 at the firesides of the descendants of those who 
 drove him as an outcast from their shores? If their 
 fathers refused him a home, or a grave, in Ireland,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 175 
 
 their children made some atonement by embalming 
 his memory in the poetry of their country." 
 
 " I know the lines well." 
 
 " Will you sing them ?" 
 
 " With pleasure." 
 
 She sang the Desmond song in the Irish lan- 
 guage.* 
 
 u You admire the hero of that song ?" said the 
 Earl to Ellen, who sang it with a feeling bordering 
 on enthusiasm. 
 
 " Greatly," said the girl. 
 
 a But you would forbid me to venture on the 
 same path." 
 
 " You have chosen your path, my Lord ; I have 
 often admired your heroic deeds, as they have been 
 related to me by my uncle." 
 
 " But here, recorded in this song, you must con- 
 fess — you cannot deny it, for I marked your esti- 
 mation of it by the enthusiasm with which you 
 sang — here, recorded in this song, is a higher order 
 of heroism than mine — a moral heroism, displayed 
 in the relinquishment of titles and estates, which 
 is of a far nobler kind than the courage necessary 
 for winning or holding them." 
 
 " True, my Lord ; I shall not deny that you have 
 expressed my sentiments. But could the winning 
 
 * For the English version, I beg to refer my readers to 
 11 Moore's Melodies."
 
 176 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 of ray hand, at the sacrifice of your inheritance and 
 your country's interests, be styled heroism, at all ?" 
 
 " What mean you by my country's interests ?" 
 
 " Its freedom from a stranger's yoke and religion 
 you, of course, esteem as such." 
 
 " I ask you not, lady, what / esteem as such, but 
 what you deem most conducive to its interests. I 
 ask you, Ellen, can you, as a Protestant, wish suc- 
 cess to me, who am esteemed the champion of the 
 Church of Eome V 
 
 "No, I cannot ; but my opinions or wishes are 
 not to regulate your conduct." 
 
 " But suppose I should prefer a change of mis- 
 tresses — to enlist myself beneath your banner — 
 what would you say then ?" 
 
 " That you were like the Red-cross Knight. 1 ' 
 
 " Who was he ?" 
 
 "Have you never read the poet, Edmund Spenser." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must describe to you the 
 Red-cross Knight, as well as I can, for I have not 
 the book at hand. He was most noble and brave, 
 but somewhat fickle." 
 
 " In what respect do I resemble him ? — in his 
 fickleness, of course, for which you despise me?" 
 
 " I said not so. No one, I imagine, could despise 
 either him or you."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 177 
 
 " How did he display his fickle nature?" 
 
 " He went forth first to fight at the command of 
 Queen Gloriana." 
 
 "Who was she?" 
 
 " She was a Faerie Queene, the patroness of ho- 
 nour and chivalry, under whose banner all true 
 knights were supposed to enlist; and for whose 
 smiles and favour they contended." 
 
 " I think I understand what the poet means 
 now." 
 
 " Queen Gloriana sent forth the Red-cross Knight 
 in support of a most lovely woman, named Una, 
 whose hand was to be his, should he succeed in 
 slaying a dreadful dragon, which destroyed the 
 kingdom and inhabitants of Una's father, for Una 
 was the daughter of a king. I think I can repeat 
 some of the verses : — 
 
 " Upon a great adventure he was bond, 
 That greatest Gloriana to him gave 
 (That greatest glorious Queene of Faerie lande) 
 To winne him worshippe, and her grace to have, 
 Which of all earthly things he most did crave. 
 And ever as he rode his hart did yearne 
 To prove his puissance in battell brave 
 Upon his foe, and his new force to learne ; 
 Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stearne. 
 
 " A lovelie ladie rode him faire beside, 
 Upon a lowly asse, more white than snow ; 
 Yet she much whiter ; but the same did hide 
 
 i2
 
 178 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Under a vele, that wimpled was full low ; 
 
 And over all a blacke stole shee did throw, 
 
 As one that inly mourned, so was she sad, 
 
 And heavie sat upon her palfrey slow ; 
 
 Seemed in heart some hidden care she had ; 
 
 And by her in a line a milke- white lambe she lad. 
 
 " So pure and innocent, as that same lambe, 
 She was in life and every vertuous lore, 
 And by descent from royall lynage came, 
 Of ancient kinges and queenes, that had of yore 
 Their scepters stretcht from east to westerne shore, 
 And all the world in their subjection held; 
 Till that infernal feende with foul uprore 
 Forwasted all their land, and them expeld ; 
 Whom to avenge, she had this Knight from far compeld." 
 
 " Will you now explain to me who this lady 
 called Una was?" 
 
 " She represented Truth, or perhaps I should say 
 the true Church." 
 
 " I begin to understand your beautiful allegory. 
 Well, what happened next?" 
 
 " The story is long, so that I can only rehearse 
 for you the principal incidents. The knight 
 first led the lady into a dark wood, the ' Wood 
 of Error] where they lost their way; and he 
 must needs, in his bravery, enter the mouth of 
 a dark cave, against which the lady warned him 
 thus : — 
 
 << 
 
 ' Yea, but,' quoth she, ' the perill of this place 
 I better wot then you : Though nowe too late
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 179 
 
 To wishe vou backe, returne with foule disgrace, 
 
 Yet wisdome warnes, whiles foote is in the gate, 
 
 To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. 
 
 This is the Wandring wood, this Errour's Den, 
 
 A monster vile, whom God and man does hate : 
 
 Therefore I read beware.' ' Fly, fly,' quoth then 
 
 The fearfulle dwarfe ; ' this is no place for living men.' 
 
 ' ' But, full of ire and greedy hardiment 
 The youthfull knight could not for ought be staide ; 
 But forth unto the darksome hole he went, 
 And looked in : his glistring armor made 
 A little glooming light, much like a shade ; 
 By which he saw the ugly monster plaine ; 
 Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide." 
 
 " Was this the great dragon he was to destroy ?" 
 " No, he was not called to contend with this 
 monster ; but did it of his own will, with his own 
 weapons, and in his own strength, and was there- 
 fore almost destroyed of it ; as you may learn by 
 the following lines : — 
 
 " She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle 
 Armed to point, sought backe to turne againe ; 
 For light she hated as the deadly bale 
 Ay wont in desert darknes to remaine, 
 Where plaine none might her see, nor she see any plaine. 
 
 " Which when the valiant Elfe perceiv'd, he lept 
 As lyon fierce upon the flying pray, 
 And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept 
 From turning backe, and forced her to stay : 
 Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray, 
 And turning fierce her speckled taile advaunst, 
 Threatning her angry sting, him to dismay ;
 
 180 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Who, nought aghast, his mightie hand enhaunst ; 
 
 The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glaunst. 
 
 " Much daunted with that dint her sence was dazd ; 
 Yet kindling rage herselfe she gathered round, 
 And all attonce her heastlie bodie raizd 
 With doubled forces high above the ground : 
 And, wrapping up her wrathed sterne around, 
 Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine 
 All suddenly about his body wound, 
 That hand or foot to stirr he strove in vaine. 
 God help the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine I 
 
 " His lady, sad to see his sore constraint, 
 Cried out, ' Now, now, Sir Knight, show what ye bee ; 
 Add faith unto your force, and be not faint ; 
 Strangle her, els she sure will strangle thee.' 
 That when he heard in great perplexitie, 
 His gall did grate for griefe and high disdaine ; 
 And, knitting all his force, got one hand free, 
 Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so much paine 
 That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine." 
 
 " What happened after this V 
 
 " After they escaped from the wood, they met a 
 great magician, named Archimago, a great sorcerer 
 or enchanter, with whom they lodged, who changed 
 a harlot into the image of Una, so that the knight 
 being deceived respecting the lady, and believing her 
 false, left her to wander in the wilderness, and went 
 forth in defence of Duessa, who called herself Fidessa" 
 
 " He was deceived, then, and not fickle?" 
 
 " Had he looked more closely, and loved more 
 faithfully, he would not have been deceived."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 181 
 
 a Lady," said the Earl, " I understand thy kind 
 reproof. Thou wouldst not have me desert the 
 Church, whose champion I am, without just cause. 
 Is it not so?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 u Well, thou must tell me what befel the lady 
 and the knight." 
 
 " He learned, in the end, of the deception prac- 
 tised upon him, and gave allegiance to his first 
 love, Una, who brought him to the House of 
 Holiness, where he was instructed and nourished 
 by Dame Ccelia, and her three daughters Fidelia, 
 Speranza, and Charissa : — 
 
 " Una saw 
 That this her knight was feeble, and too faint ; 
 And all his sinewes waxen weak and raw, 
 Through long emprisonment, and hard constraint, 
 Which he endured in his late restraint, 
 That yet he was unfit for bloody fight. 
 Therefore to cherish him with diets daint 
 She cast to bring him, where he chearen might, 
 Till he recovered had his late decayed plight." 
 
 u After this the Eed-cross knight went forth with 
 Una, and slew the dragon, and received, as his 
 reward, the lady's hand." 
 
 " And what labour, Ellen, dost thou demand of 
 me, as the price of thine?" exclaimed the Earl, 
 again seizing the fair hand of Ellen, and pressing
 
 182 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 it to his lips. " Can you think unkindly of me, 
 for thinking more favourably of thy faith, since I 
 have marked its influence on thy mind and life?" 
 
 " If I thought If I thought " said she, 
 
 hesitating a second time, and as she hesitated she 
 raised her eyes, and saw the shadow of a stoled 
 priest, on the eastern wall of the abbey, which 
 caused her to start forwards towards her lover's 
 bosom for protection : — 
 
 " As the dove, with startled eye, 
 Sees the falcon's shadow fly." 
 
 " See you that shadow?" said she, in a whisper, 
 to the Earl ; but before he could look up, the 
 shadow had disappeared. 
 
 " Was it your uncle's shadow ?" said the Earl, 
 who thought the shadow which he saw, a short 
 time before, resembled the old priest. 
 
 " It was like it," replied she, " but I thought I 
 marked a difference ; yet its outline was not alto- 
 gether strange to me. Whose could it be ?" 
 
 " It must have been his." 
 
 " Did you not tell me that my uncle approved of 
 your proposal ?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly, but conditionally." 
 
 " What were the conditions ?" 
 
 "That religion would be no objection to our 
 union."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 183 
 
 " I was not aware that this was the condition ; 
 the objection cannot be to your religion, but to 
 mine- You must have understood this. I must 
 now leave you, my Lord." 
 
 " Without an answer, Ellen ?" 
 
 " You surely will not press me now, my Lord ; 
 give me, at least, time to inquire, and to think." 
 
 " But of your love — of this there is no doubt ?" 
 said the Earl, detaining her hand. 
 
 " My Lord, you urge me sore. It is not fair." 
 
 " Ellen, you are an angel," said the Earl, em- 
 bracing her. 
 
 After she had escaped from him, — with blushing 
 cheek and palpitating heart, — he turned his steps 
 to the abbey, blessing his stars for his success.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " When they talk of him they shake their heads, 
 And whisper one another in the ear." 
 
 Shakspeajele. 
 
 As he walked up and down one of the aisles, with 
 a firm step and compressed lips, defying earth and 
 hell to separate him from the lovely being on whom 
 he had set his heart, his quick ear caught the 
 sound of a human voice, in an adjoining department 
 of the old abbey, as if in conversation with a second 
 person. Concluding the speaker must be the same 
 that had acted eavesdropper on him, while making 
 a declaration of his love to Miss Cavendish, he had 
 no hesitation or delicacy in approaching the part 
 of the ruins from which the voice proceeded, which 
 he did with all coolness and caution ; and when 
 within a good hearing distance, he laid his shoulder 
 to the wall, and his ear to a window, the aperture 
 of which was nearly covered with ivy, with all 
 the quiet nonchalance of a modern Bow-street de- 
 tective. " It is my turn to hear secrets now,'' 
 said he to himself, as he folded his arms, and turned 
 his ear to the ivied window. Oh ! that all sermons
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 185 
 
 and homilies were heard with the same quiet 
 attention ! 
 
 The first expression of his face, as he stood 
 listening at the aperture, was that of surprise, the 
 surprise of one who had made an unexpected dis- 
 covery ; but the surprise seemed to be mingled with 
 indignation, as if the discovery was anything but 
 pleasing ; there was next an expression of intense 
 curiosity and perplexity, as if only the half of the 
 mystery had been made out. 
 
 But we must keep our readers no longer nudging 
 at our elbow, and asking " Who is it ? What are 
 they talking about ? Speak." 
 
 A little patience, gentle reader, and you shall 
 hear all. The first voice which he heard was that 
 of the Jesuit, Archer, who seemed to be the chief 
 speaker ; and was at this time developing his 
 tactics respecting our hero, and laying down the 
 law to his companion, as it regarded the person 
 whom the Earl should or should not marry. His 
 companion seemed to be giving a silent assent to 
 what he heard, but he made no reply whatever. 
 
 As Archer's companion had not as yet spoken — 
 at least in the Earl's hearing, he was waiting with 
 deep anxiety to catch the tones of his voice. " Who 
 can he be ? My friend and host ? Impossible, for 
 no friend of mine would hearken to the damnable
 
 186 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 villainy, with which he expects to get the girl 
 to refuse my hand. And he her uncle ! No. It 
 is impossible. But he speaks again : let me 
 hearken." 
 
 " If," said the Jesuit to his silent companion, " if 
 what you tell me, of her fainting in his chamber, 
 be correct, and of her pale cheek, and languid eye, 
 while he kept his room, there can be no doubt of 
 her loving him ; and such a union with a Protestant 
 would mar all our prospects. He would be deserted 
 by his followers, if he did not desert the cause 
 himself ; which, with such a wife, would be most 
 likely. You heard the strain in which he ad- 
 dressed her. That man would sell his soul, as 
 well as his Church and country, to possess that 
 woman. It is surprising what an influence the 
 sex have over some men. I know but of one way," 
 continued Archer, after a long pause, " I know 
 but of one way of preventing this match." 
 
 " What is that ?" said his companion, in a whis- 
 per, almost inaudible. 
 
 "Did you ever hear of the affair between the 
 Earl and his cousin, Lady Margaret ?" 
 
 There was, I suppose, an affirmative nod, but 
 there was no reply. 
 
 " Well, if that story is wisely told to this girl — 
 do you understand me, wisely told? — she will herself,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 187 
 
 even without the advice of her foolish old uncle, 
 refuse his hand." 
 
 Archer here whispered something in his com- 
 panion's ear, which whisper produced in his com- 
 panion's throat a low suppressed laugh or chuckle. 
 
 The Earl who heard the laugh, and thought 
 himself familiar with the sound, started with sur- 
 prise, for it produced in his mind curious and con- 
 tradictory associations ; but the more he reasoned 
 about the whos, and the whens, and the wheres, 
 the farther did he seem to wander from the right 
 track. He therefore gave up guessing or reason- 
 ing, and resolved that his eyes should correct the 
 mistake of his ears ; that he would watch the men 
 as they went out of the abbey. Here again he* was 
 at fault, for they remained among the ruins until 
 it was dark, and then glided off by the sepulchres 
 of the dead, as noiselessly as wandering ghosts re- 
 turning to their coffins. 
 
 But our readers expect that we should enlighten 
 their minds respecting Archer's companion, al- 
 though we leave the young Earl in ignorance. The 
 Jesuit's companion was no less distinguished a 
 person than Mac Rory, the fool or " innocent" as 
 we have called him, but who was in reality a spy 
 upon the conduct of this young nobleman. 
 
 Our hero had heard enough to lead him to
 
 188 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 suspect the integrity and friendship of Archer ; 
 and it may probably lead our readers to review his 
 conduct, from his first appearance on our pages, 
 or at least from the capture of the Earl of Ormond, 
 more closely than they would be otherwise disposed 
 to do. 
 
 As the authors of romance are supposed to know 
 more of the motives and springs of action in the 
 bosoms of the characters whom they bring before 
 their readers, than the readers themselves, I shall 
 take the liberty of offering them my explanation of 
 the Jesuit's policy. 
 
 Archer was well acquainted with the character of 
 James Fitz-Thomas, the Sugane Earl. It was an 
 open book, and was not hard to read. He was 
 kind and faithful, high, honourable, impulsive, and 
 brave to a fault ; but when under the influence of 
 no false impulse — and his impulses were generally 
 true and faithful — he displayed great good sense and 
 considerable circumspection. Zeal for his religion 
 was one of the strongest impulses of his nature, 
 and when fanned and fed by such men as Archer, 
 it blazed like a bael-fire, and burned up all before 
 it in the protection of his persecuted Church ; his 
 falchion was like the flaming sword of the cherubim 
 " which turned every way to keep the way of the 
 tree of life."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 189 
 
 But the Earl's patriotism was perhaps a broader, 
 though not so fierce a passion. It was therefore 
 one which gave more scope for the exercise of 
 reason, and left him more free to calculate the 
 consequences of his conduct, and the probability of 
 success or failure. 
 
 At the time that our story opens, no hopes of a 
 successful rebellion could be entertained by any 
 reasonable man. A civil war with English rulers 
 and English colonists, which had raged with more 
 or less fury during the entire reign of Elizabeth, 
 had desolated the whole kingdom. Hugh O'Neill, 
 the great Eebel of the North, who had cajoled and 
 baffled the brave and unsuspicious Earl of Essex, 
 and gained a signal victory over Sir John Norreys, 
 at the battle of the Yellow Ford, had to fall back 
 into the fastnesses of the north, before the approach 
 of the Deputy, Mountjoy, where his people had to 
 hide their heads like foxes, and die like famished 
 wolves. The head of the Southern power had been 
 long before bruised by the destruction of Garret, 
 the great Earl of Desmond, and the incarceration 
 of his son, in the Tower of London. This decreased 
 the followers and friends of the nephew, our hero, 
 who was now in the field, and caused him sometimes 
 to hesitate regarding, not only the wisdom, but 
 patriotism of continuing a hopeless struggle, the
 
 190 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 convulsive throes of which were wearing out the 
 vital energies of the country which he loved, and 
 for which he would have cheerfully shed his best 
 blood. 
 
 Sir George Carew, the President of Munster, 
 who was a man of wisdom and experience, had come 
 to this country with the fixed determination of 
 trying mild measures with the rebels, before he 
 resorted to the sword. 
 
 Archer, who feared the effect of the President's 
 influence on the noble and patriotic mind of the 
 young Earl, resolved to seize on the first occasion 
 that might present itself of bringing these foemen 
 together, to measure swords, and thus to widen the 
 breach between them ; and if an occasion did not 
 soon occur, to create it. 
 
 The reader has been already informed of the way 
 in which the Jesuit accomplished his purpose. He 
 first employed his friend, a young man of the same 
 religious order as himself, under the guise of an 
 " innocent" to watch the approach of the Presi- 
 dent and find out the exact amount of force by 
 which he was accompanied. This young man, who 
 was possessed of unbounded courage and cunning, 
 and of great personal strength and agility, notwith- 
 standing his lank figure, managed to get within 
 the walls of Ormond castle, and lurk about the
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 191 
 
 stables, the stairs, and the most private apartments, 
 and when detected, to conceal his object and cha- 
 racter, and protect his person, by acting the fool. 
 After delivering the letter to the Earl of Ormond, 
 and getting his reply, he hastened back to Archer, 
 and gave him the information on which he acted 
 and arranged Ormond's capture. 
 
 Archer, as well as his young friend, whom we 
 shall still call Mac Rory, endangered their lives in 
 this affair, but these men held their lives cheap, in 
 comparison to the object before them, the redemp- 
 tion of their country from English rule, and from 
 the Protestant religion. 
 
 To accomplish this, they mainly depended on 
 the Sugane Earl. He was the only member of 
 the Desmond family that had a " following," or an 
 influence over the wild people of Cork and Kerry ; 
 they must, therefore, see to it, that he took no step 
 likely to decrease that influence. 
 
 Mac Rory, the young Jesuit spy, was not long 
 in the old priest's house, before he discovered not 
 only the state of the Earl's feelings, in regard 
 to Miss Cavendish, but also the feelings of that 
 lady herself, and therefore shrewdly concluding, 
 even without the advantage of Archer's counsel, 
 that such a marriage might prove prejudicial to 
 the good cause, he took advantage of the first dark
 
 192 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 night, to put the saddle on the back of his famous 
 grey mare, and make his report to Archer of all 
 that had occurred since they had parted.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Some men leave truth to such as love it. They are re- 
 solved to be cunning, let others run the hazard of being 
 sincere." — South. 
 
 The Earl did not go directly from the abbey to 
 his friend's mansion, but made a circuit round 
 the demesne. He did so for two reasons ; first, to 
 give himself time for thought, for maturing his 
 line of conduct, and for allowing his feelings 
 towards Archer — whom he thought it probable he 
 should meet at the house — to cool down ; «and 
 secondly, to convey the impression to those about 
 the place — for he knew not whom he was to sus- 
 pect as the spy upon his movements — that he had 
 come from an opposite direction, and not from the 
 abbey. 
 
 The passions of some men, when suddenly roused 
 by what they consider faithless or base conduct, 
 produce explosions which burn up all friendly com- 
 pacts. They sometimes fire the mines by which 
 they seek to counteract the treachery of their 
 enemies, before their own mining and boring is 
 completed. This produces an explosion on the 
 
 VOL. i. K
 
 194 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 surface, which informs their enemies of their in- 
 tentions and mode of operations, without injuring 
 them. 
 
 Now the Earl was not only a man of truthful 
 impulses, he was also a skilful general, and a 
 man of the world; and, what was better than all 
 this, his love for Miss Cavendish was stronger than 
 his detestation of Archer's wiles. The former was 
 the master-passion of his soul, and kept the other 
 in proper subjection, and gave his intellect time to 
 work, to meet his enemy with his own weapons, 
 those of secrecy and deception. He felt the more 
 confidence in doing so, for in starting, fortune, or 
 accident, had favoured him, by making him ac- 
 quainted with one of his secret foes ; and, to some 
 extent, with his mode of attack ; if he might judge 
 from the mention of his cousin, Lady Margaret's 
 name, at which the silent man in the abbey seemed 
 to chuckle with malicious pleasure. 
 
 He met Mac Royj near the door of the mansion, 
 Avho said to him, with much of apparently foolish 
 and natural glee, " Daddy Archer is in ! Daddy 
 Archer in there!" 
 
 " Father Archer !" said the Earl, with well-feign- 
 ed surprise, " Dost say so ! — when came he ?" 
 
 " This is indeed a pleasure," said the bland Jesuit, 
 extending his arms with a smile to the Earl, as he
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 195 
 
 entered; "I am delighted to see your lordship look- 
 ing so well. How is the wound ?" 
 
 " A thousand thanks, kind father," said the Earl, 
 returning the salutation, " the wound is nearly 
 healed. This is an unexpected pleasure." 
 
 " You did not expect to find me at the house, 
 then ?" replied Archer, watching the expression of 
 the Earl's face. He first thought the Earl had 
 accompanied Miss Cavendish home, but, when he 
 came to the house, and found he had not been 
 there, the suspicion flashed across his mind, that he 
 might have returned to the abbey, and overheard 
 his conversation with Mac Eory. 
 
 " I have but this moment learned of your being 
 here," replied the Earl with ease. 
 
 " Are you used to walk so late, after sunset, or 
 have your meditations led you to the old abbey ?" 
 
 The Earl smiled. 
 
 " If so, perhaps like the founder of our order,* 
 who was a wounded soldier like yourself, you may 
 think of joining the ranks of the Church militant." 
 
 The cheeks of Miss Cavendish became suf- 
 fused with blushes, as the Jesuit spoke of the " old 
 abbey" ; but the Earl, who knew that the church- 
 man intended the remark for him, and not for his 
 
 * Ignatius Loyola.
 
 196 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 fair companion, replied : — "I possess, Father, neither 
 the mental nor the moral qualities for so high an 
 honour ; I was in the abbey to-day, before sunset." 
 
 The replies of the Sugane Earl were so simple 
 and unembarrassed, and his manner so devoid of 
 suspicion, as to lead the churchman to conclude, 
 that he had nothing to apprehend, and that his 
 dialogue with the spy had not been overheard ; but 
 he determined to be more on his guard for the 
 future. 
 
 Mac Rory, on this occasion, had displayed more 
 caution and cunning than Archer, for he never 
 spoke above his breath. 
 
 The mind of Archer was of a far higher order 
 than that of his companion, and engaged itself more 
 about the weightier matters of Church and State, 
 and gave less attention to those smaller details of 
 examining corners and crannies, before speaking 
 aloud, at which Mac Rory was au fait. Perhaps 
 he felt this, and therefore chose for a confidant and 
 companion a young man, possessing, to perfection, 
 the close-scenting and sharp prying powers, in which 
 he was deficient. But he imagined he could read 
 the heart of man, and look into all its corners 
 and crannies, and turn it inside-out, with the ease 
 a lady could a kid glove ; and hence concluded, 
 that he could not be deceived by so fair and out
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 197 
 
 spoken a young man as James Fitz-Thomas, the 
 Sugane Earl. But neither was the human heart 
 his forte ; nor was it his pianoforte. I pray you, 
 gentle reader, excuse this horrid pun, but really I 
 could not resist it. I mean it was not his instru- 
 ment ; one upon which he could play with the 
 greatest ability : his was an intellect, better versed 
 in the working of civil and ecclesiastical con* 
 stitutions, or better acquainted with mind in 
 the mass, than with individual minds; or with 
 the operation of individual minds, when working 
 on a mass of mind, than with mind engaged with 
 its own affections. He, therefore, could read 
 the mind of the young Earl far easier, when en- 
 gaged in the councils of war, than when making 
 war on the heart of Miss Cavendish. He could 
 rule a nation, and govern a Church, with far 
 more ability than he could have ruled his wife, 
 or governed his own children, had he been fortu- 
 nate enough to possess these treasures. He was 
 scarcely the man, although a Jesuit, to forbid 
 the banns between two such sincere and loving 
 hearts as those of the young Earl and the fair niece 
 of the old priest. He was something like The- 
 mistocles, who said, " he could not play the fiddle, 
 but he could make a small town a great city." 
 Vespasian once asked Appollonius " what was the
 
 198 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 cause of Nero's overthrow V when Appollonius 
 replied, " Nero could teach and tune the harp well, 
 but in government, sometimes he used to wind the 
 pins too high, and sometimes to let them down too 
 low." Kead heart, instead of " harp" here, and the 
 converse of this will be true of Archer.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " And Nathan said unto David, ' Thou art the man.' ' 
 
 2 Samuel, xii. 7. 
 
 " You were, no doubt, greatly surprised, my Lord," 
 said Archer to the Earl, as they sate together, in a 
 private apartment of the old house — "you were, 
 no doubt, greatly surprised to find me here ?" 
 
 " Greatly surprised, indeed," replied the Earl, 
 deliberately and demurely — for he expected a de- 
 nouement, and an attack upon himself, which he 
 determined to meet with spirit ; " but I was even 
 more surprised that you were able to find oufc my 
 place of retreat ; for I was not aware of any means 
 of communication between the members of this 
 family and yourself." 
 
 " You are not aware, then, that Father Caven- 
 dish and I are very old friends ?" 
 
 " It was Father Cavendish, then, that communi- 
 cated to you that I was beneath his roof?" replied 
 the Earl, displaying more indignation in his tones 
 and gestures than he had intended ; for he thought 
 the old priest had betrayed confidence in this affair 
 — " I must speak to Father Cavendish." 
 
 " By no means," said the Jesuit. " But if he
 
 200 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 had, surely that would not displease you ? I had 
 hoped, my Lord, I was more in your confidence ; 
 nor was I aware that my presence would have so 
 distressed you." 
 
 " Distressed me ! — no," replied Desmond ; " but 
 you have not yet informed me from whom you 
 received your information regarding my place of 
 concealment ; I gave positive orders to my followers 
 to keep the secret from " 
 
 " From me!" said Archer ; " I did not think I 
 was such a bugbear that your lordship need run 
 to hide from me." 
 
 " Neither are you, sir," replied the Earl, looking 
 indignantly upon him. " I gave directions to my 
 people to keep the secret from all; but I know not 
 by what means you discovered it." 
 
 " You have no cause to suspect your friends or 
 followers, my Lord," answered the Jesuit ; " if you 
 had not interrupted me, you would have learned 
 all before now. The explanation is simple enough. 
 Father Cavendish and I, as I before stated, are 
 very old friends ; I was also aware that he was an 
 old friend of yours." Archer heard this from Mac 
 Eory. " I heard of your illness, and your leaving 
 your troop, and of the place where you left it, from 
 one of your own men, and therefore concluded you 
 had taken up your residence in this neighbourhood,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 201 
 
 in the house of our mutual friend. To what other 
 conclusion could I come ?" 
 
 This seemed natural enough, and plausible, nay 
 even probable ; the Earl, therefore, believed it, and 
 his brow became less clouded. 
 
 " So Father Cavendish has not betrayed my con- 
 fidence. But who could that have been with whom 
 this man was speaking, in the old abbey? there is 
 a traitor somewhere in the camp," mused he. 
 
 "You have not asked me," continued Archer, 
 " respecting the purport of my visit." 
 
 " No," said the Earl, whose brow a second time 
 began to gather clouds, while his lips closed with 
 firm resolve. " I wait to hear it. — Now then? said 
 he, between his close-set teeth. — " But how dare he 
 interfere with my private affairs ! — Proceed," said 
 he, addressing the Jesuit. 
 
 " Ah," said Archer, relaxing from his usual calm 
 austerity, and assuming an easy and familiar 
 mood, as he marked the decision in the Earl's eye 
 — " Ah, I now regret, when it is too late, I did not 
 follow your advice." 
 
 " In what affair ?" inquired Desmond, with some 
 curiosity. 
 
 " Regarding the Earl of Ormond. We should 
 not have left him in the hands of O'More." 
 
 " So I thought." 
 
 K 2
 
 202 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " He is, I fear, about to play the traitor with his 
 country and religion." 
 
 " Traitor !— how T 
 
 u By taking Ormond's daughter to wife," replied 
 the Jesuit, with calm emphasis, looking up into 
 Desmond's face, with his clear grey eyes, until that 
 face flushed with something very like shame. 
 
 Desmond, " Thou art the man/" The prophet Na- 
 than would have made a first rate Jesuit, if we may 
 judge from that story he told David about the poor 
 man's lamb. What say you, Desmond? — Peccavi? 
 
 "I think, sir," replied the Earl, with dignity, 
 regaining all his presence of mind, " you have given 
 too strong a term to this transaction, in calling our 
 friend, O'More, a traitor to his country and religion." 
 
 " What ! — not a traitor, to unite himself, at such 
 a crisis of our affairs as this, to a Protestant, and 
 she the daughter of our greatest enemy !" 
 
 " The daughter of an Ormond, it is true, can 
 scarcely prove a friend," mused Fitz-Thomas, as he 
 thought of his uncle's fate ; " this is certainly an 
 objection — she is a Butler!" 
 
 " But not the greatest," replied the Jesuit. " No, 
 her religion is the great objection. Ormond's 
 house is noble ; and if he were not so violently 
 set against us, the connexion would be desirable ; 
 but even his noble name would be no counterpoise 
 against her religion."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 203 
 
 " Could it be possible," thought the Earl, — still 
 musing to himself, — " that this was the marriage 
 of which Archer was speaking in the old abbey 
 this evening ; and that he knows nothing, after 
 all, of my engagement with Ellen ?" His coun- 
 tenance lighted up once more with pleasure. 
 
 u What do you propose ?" asked Archer, who 
 had been quietly marking its changes of expres- 
 sion, like an astrologer watching the heavens. 
 
 " I know not what to advise," replied Desmond, 
 with a sigh — who did not now feel the same in- 
 dignant power in opposing the Jesuit, that anima- 
 ted and inflamed his bosom, while he believed he 
 was darkly and foully plotting against him. If 
 Archer were innocent, Desmond could not hurl 
 back the epithet " traitor " in his teeth, and defy 
 him to his beard, as he had been prepared to do 
 when he entered that private room with him. He 
 now, for the first time, felt his weakness in con- 
 tending with this accomplished churchman. His 
 passion had proved his strength, and his suspicion 
 of treachery had fed his passion. But when he 
 thought of Ellen, of her piety and beauty, and 
 her love for him — which had already imparted so 
 much of heavenly peace to his chafed mind — the 
 fire rekindled within his soul, and he asked him- 
 self, " Is it treason to God or man to love and
 
 204 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 cherish her? — shall churchmen tell me so ? — They 
 may ; but shall I believe them ? 
 
 " Curse on their perjured arts, dissembling, smooth! 
 Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled?" 
 
 " You know not what to advise ?" said Archer, 
 who had been again reading his countenance, " is 
 that what you say ?" 
 
 " No, I know not what to advise ; but you have 
 not told me the particulars." 
 
 " O'More has made the daughter's hand the price 
 of the father's liberty." 
 
 " And does the father consent ? I should say 
 no." 
 
 " I fear he may," replied Archer ; " liberty is 
 sweet, and he knows that even his life is not safe 
 in O'More's hands." 
 
 " What do you propose ?" inquired the Earl. 
 
 " That you should take charge of Ormond's per- 
 son ; and keep him, as you first said, a prisoner in 
 one of your strongholds in Kerry." 
 
 " You objected to this, in the first instance," 
 replied the Earl, " lest it should create a breach 
 between me and O'More. The affair might then 
 have been arranged, without a misunderstanding ; 
 but if he has set his heart upon this girl, he would 
 not be likely to give her up now, without a struggle ; 
 and my forces are at a distance."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 205 
 
 " We must arrange this affair without blows. 
 Your troops will not be needed here. Will you 
 come with me to O'More's castle?" 
 
 " What ! back to Kilkenny, and leave " 
 
 He was going to say " Ellen here alone," but he 
 hesitated. 
 
 " Leave whom ?" inquired the priest, who marked 
 his hesitation. 
 
 " Leave my troops." 
 
 " You have left them already ; and this matter 
 can be arranged in two or three days, for indeed 
 the sooner you join your forces the better ; you 
 have been in this neighbourhood too long already." 
 
 " That is my own affair, sir," replied the Earl, 
 who began again to suspect treachery ; for he now 
 called to mind, names, and parts of sentences, which 
 he had overheard in the abbey, that could apply, 
 he thought, to his case, and his only ; for example, 
 the name of his cousin, Lady Margaret. " O'More 
 has no such cousin, that I ever heard of," said the 
 Earl to himself, " and who could he refer to as 
 fainting in a sick room, but Ellen? He is a traitor, 
 and I have a mind to tell him so ; but no, I'll fight 
 him with his own Jesuitical weapons." 
 
 Having thus decided, his brow again cleared up. 
 
 " Well, my Lord, I wait your reply ; will you 
 give me your aid in the arrangement of this affair?"
 
 206 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " It would be useless ; you must excuse me," said 
 the Earl, rising. " I must now leave you, for the 
 night is far advanced." 
 
 " I'm sorry for your decision," replied Archer ; 
 " perhaps you will think better of it to-morrow." 
 
 " My mind is made up." 
 
 " Not to come ?" 
 
 " Not to go." 
 
 " When, therefore, do you leave this neighbour- 
 hood, to join your troops ?" 
 
 " I have before stated that is my own affair." 
 
 " I beg your lordship's pardon. Au revoir." 
 
 The Jesuit left the field a vanquished man. He 
 must bethink himself of some other scheme. We 
 shall, therefore, leave him to mature his measures, 
 during the darkness of the night.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " A falconer Henry is, when Emma hawks ; 
 With her of tassels and of lures he talks." 
 
 Prioe. 
 
 The Earl, on reflection, felt dissatisfied with the 
 very lucid and satisfactory explanation given by 
 Archer of the manner in which he had discovered 
 his place of retreat. The explanation was, if any- 
 thing, too smooth and satisfactory ; and when this 
 is the case, we suspect invention and forethought. 
 Smooth and well rounded periods, or very satis- 
 factory explanations, like other works of Art, are 
 always manufactured ; the productions of Nature 
 are rough and angular. The perfection of Art is to 
 copy Nature ; but as Nature herself is not always 
 perfect, the artist who would draw her true picture 
 must copy her imperfections ; but minds possessed 
 of great acumen and refinement can admit of no im- 
 perfection in their works. It was so with Archer. 
 If the strong love of a warm heart be fearfully 
 suspicious, its intuitions are often clearer than the 
 calculations of a cold intellect. The more the Earl 
 pondered that night over the conversation he had
 
 208 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 overheard in the abbey, the more confident did he 
 feel, that he and Ellen had been the subjects of that 
 conversation, and not O'More and Lord Ormond's 
 daughter. " I see it now," said he, " Archer sus- 
 pected me of overhearing him ; I knew this by his 
 questions, when I entered the house ; and he told 
 me the story of O'More — which may, or may not be 
 true — to throw me off my guard ; but with whom 
 could he have been speaking ? I must know more 
 of this to-morrow." 
 
 He rose early the next morning, and seized the 
 first opportunity which presented itself, of a private 
 interview with Ellen Cavendish. After telling her 
 of the conversation he had overheard, he asked 
 her if she thought the second speaker could be her 
 uncle. 
 
 " No," replied Ellen, " he was in the house when 
 I returned." 
 
 " Who, then, could it possibly have been ? Do 
 you know of any one living in this neighbourhood, 
 or have you seen any stranger about this place ?" 
 
 " Never more than one person ; but I have seen 
 him often of late." 
 
 " What ! since I came ?" 
 
 " No, but just before." 
 
 " What is he like ?" 
 
 " He has the bearing of a noble cavalier ; he is
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 209 
 
 about your height, with blue eyes, and fair hair ; 
 and about your age." 
 
 "A noble cavalier, about my height and age, 
 with blue eyes and fair hair," replied the Earl, mus- 
 ing to himself ; " this description suits my cousin 
 Fitzgibbon ; and he is now at liberty, and some of 
 his property lies in this neighbourhood. Could it 
 be possible !" exclaimed the Earl, with darkening 
 brow. " Did he ever address you ?" inquired he, 
 looking intently into Ellen's face. 
 
 " Yes, but only once, for I did not return his 
 salutation ; he has not, therefore, attempted it 
 again." 
 
 " You did not, perhaps, like the freedom of his 
 address ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " The scoundrel ! to presume. Was he alone T 
 
 " He is always alone." 
 
 u On foot, or horseback ?" 
 
 " Both, but he often rides out with a hawk on 
 his wrist." 
 
 " The villain ! he is flying his hawk at a 
 higher quarry. Ellen, you should be on your 
 guard, and not walk alone in this neighbourhood." 
 
 " I never venture far from the house, and I am 
 always accompanied by my trusty friend Brien, 
 who would see no discourtesy done me, as you may
 
 210 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 conclude, from the reception he was disposed to 
 give you, at our first interview." 
 
 " Was it fear of this man which caused you to 
 start, and prepare for flight, on that occasion V 
 
 " It was." 
 
 " Well, the danger is now, I hope, over ; but 
 this, I think, explains the whole mystery. This 
 stranger, you say, has not shewn his face in this 
 neighbourhood since I came here T 
 
 " Never that I saw ; but I have been very little 
 abroad of late." 
 
 " Just as I thought ! Ellen, the stranger you 
 saw is Fitzgibbon, the White Knight ; he is my 
 cousin and my sworn foe. It was he who informed 
 Archer of my being in this neighbourhood ; and he 
 was no doubt, the man with whom Archer held the 
 conversation in the old abbey last night. This 
 is base of that cunning churchman. He was dis- 
 pleased with me for denouncing Fitzgibbon before 
 O'Neill, and exposing his treason before the assem- 
 bled chiefs." 
 
 " I do not know to what you refer," replied Ellen, 
 " but you may be, possibly, mistaken." 
 
 " No, no, I see it all clear enough now ; Fitzgib- 
 bon is Archer's spy."
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 "A man he was, harmless and faithful." 
 
 Hay ward. 
 
 " Something in his soul, 
 On which his melancholy sits and broods ; 
 And I doubt not but the hatch and the disclose 
 Will be some danger/' 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The same day, after breakfast, the Jesuit, and the 
 priest, his host, were seated in the library of the old 
 house. The priest looked sober and sedate ; the 
 Jesuit as mild and bland as a May morning, and 
 seemed disposed to chat on a number of small mat- 
 ters, such as the weather, the crops, and even to 
 gossip about the Earl and his servants ; and, in the 
 end, to joke the old man about the probability of a 
 match between the Earl and his niece, Miss Ca- 
 vendish. 
 
 " But, by the bye, I believe I should not call 
 the young lady your niece. She is no relation, I 
 understand, to you." 
 
 " None whatever," said the old man with deli- 
 berate emphasis.
 
 212 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 The Jesuit gave his friend time to proceed, but 
 his host was silent. 
 
 " Humph," said the Jesuit, " no relation what- 
 ever." 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 " It is impossible, therefore, for you to say who 
 her parents were ?" 
 
 " I cannot imagine." 
 
 " They may have been some common hinds, 
 — the peasantry of the country — for aught you 
 know ?" 
 
 " I don't think that likely." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " It would be only necessary to look at the girl 
 herself to conclude she came of gentle blood ; 
 but " 
 
 " Gentle blood ! I wonder at you, father, speak- 
 ing thus. You know that those distinctions are pro- 
 duced by education : but I interrupted you ; you 
 were going to give other reasons, if I mistake not." 
 
 " I was," replied the priest ; " the child's dress 
 bore evidence of the respectability of her parentage, 
 at least that she was no hind's child ; and the 
 woman beside whose dead body she was stand- 
 ing, whom she called nurse, was dressed like the 
 domestic of a respectable family ; then, the Pro- 
 testant Testament, which was wrapped up with
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 213 
 
 some other small articles of value, was clasped 
 with gold." 
 
 u Ah! that Protestant Testament!" replied the 
 Jesuit with an emphatic sigh. " That Testament 
 has worked you and your family some mischief." 
 
 "And who may I thank for that?" said the 
 priest, turning on his Jesuit guest a reproachful 
 frown. 
 
 " Who are you to thank?" said the Jesuit, with 
 apparent surprise at the question. " Yourself, of 
 course, for allowing your sister, in the first instance, 
 to peruse it ; and most assuredly, in the second case, 
 for rearing this child in the Protestant faith." 
 
 " I never did so." 
 
 " But she is, notwithstanding, a Protestant." * 
 
 " Not from my teaching." 
 
 " But from the teaching of that book." 
 
 " I did not give her the book." 
 
 " But you left it with her." 
 
 " I promised my dying sister not to take it from 
 her." 
 
 " The Jesuit turned up the whites of his eyes, 
 and shrugged his shoulders, as he repeated the word 
 "promised." 
 
 "Yes, promised" replied the old man, whose 
 blood seemed to boil with indignation. 
 
 " Well, I am sorry for it, as you deemed it bind-
 
 214 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 ing ; but I imagined you would have esteemed the 
 interests of your Church, and the salvation of the 
 child's soul, of far more importance than the obli- 
 gation of a promise extorted under such circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " But I do not think that the interests of the 
 Church, or the salvation of souls, are promoted by 
 deception, or breaches of faith." 
 
 " If I mistake not," said the Jesuit, turning the 
 conversation, "the Earl appears to be smitten 
 by this fair girl. He has been here now — since 
 when ?" 
 
 " Since the end of last month." 
 
 "It is quite time he should be moving towards 
 the South, where his men are lying inactive for 
 want of a leader, while the President of Munster is 
 active in sowing dissensions among his friends and 
 allies. I may depend on your assistance to has- 
 ten his departure, may I not?" 
 
 " You may, so far as accords with the require- 
 ments of hospitality, the rules of which you cannot 
 expect me to overstep." 
 
 "Of course not; but I think it right, for your 
 niece's sake — I call her niece as I know you love 
 her as such — I think it right, for her sake, you 
 should hasten his departure from this neighbour- 
 hood."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 215 
 
 " Why SO T 
 
 u I thought you said the Earl admired her ?" 
 
 fi You said so." 
 
 " Was that it ? You did not contradict me then : 
 that must have been the way." 
 
 " But if he admires her, what then ?" said the 
 old priest, trying to look resolute. 
 
 " Only that he could never marry her." 
 
 " No, I suppose not," said the old man, musing 
 to himself, sadly. 
 
 " What ! marry a Protestant! It would be mad- 
 ness, profanity, treachery to the cause; but " 
 
 " You were going to speak," said the priest. 
 
 " I was going to say what, perhaps, I should 
 leave unsaid, and that is, that his heart is other- 
 wise engaged ; and could never make her happy." 
 
 " How so ? You surprise me. W r ith whom ?" 
 
 " With his fair cousin, Lady Margaret." 
 
 " Lady Margaret ! Is she not married to his 
 friend, O'Conor?" 
 
 " That is true ; but did you never hear of a lady 
 being married to one man, and loving another ?" 
 
 " Are you sure this is the case ?" 
 
 " Perfectlv." 
 
 " And is the Earl the man to seduce the wife of 
 his friend ?" 
 
 " He is somewhat gallant, and a general favour-
 
 216 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 ite with the fair sex, as you may suppose, — for 
 which he owes something to his handsome person." 
 
 " He has, no doubt, a fine person; but I thought 
 it inferior to the excellence of his mind. I knew 
 him well, some years ago, and find it hard to be- 
 lieve ill of him." 
 
 " Then we shall say no more about the matter," 
 said Archer, who had made the impression he 
 desired ; " for I would not wish to lessen your 
 esteem for the Earl ; but we must make allowance 
 for men of his age. The question for both of us to 
 consider now, both for this young lady's sake, and 
 for the sake of the cause in which we are all em- 
 barked, is, how we may best expedite his departure, 
 without revealing our suspicions of his intimacy 
 with your niece, which has gone rather far, I sus- 
 pect. Has he made any proposal for her hand V 
 
 This question took the old man so much by 
 surprise, as to cause him, for a moment, to hesitate 
 in his reply ; but, seeing there was no use in 
 prevaricating with so wily an opponent, he answer- 
 ed, "Yes." 
 
 " And what did you say ?" inquired the Jesuit. 
 
 " I refused." 
 
 " And he, no doubt, continued to urge bis suit, 
 and ask for your objections ?" 
 
 " Yes."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 217 
 
 " What said you, in reply?" 
 
 " That it was impossible, as she was a Protestant." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, father, for this : I shall 
 not fail to have it stated, to your advantage, at 
 the Court of Rome." 
 
 " Trouble not yourself to do so, I beg of you." 
 
 " Trouble! my dear friend." 
 
 " But I must beg of you not; I do not desire it. 
 The time has past, and with it, my ambition : allow 
 me to end my days in this quiet retreat. I am too 
 long out of the world, to fill an important position 
 in it. It would be a trouble and a weariness to 
 me." 
 
 " I am sorry, my dear friend, to hear you speak 
 thus ; but we must not allow you to rust out any 
 longer : the cobwebs which have gathered around 
 your mental energies must be brushed away ; at 
 the next onset of our enemies, and the enemies of 
 our Church, you will break them as Samson did 
 the green withs, when the Philistines were upon 
 him." 
 
 This eloquent flattery was pleasing to the old 
 man, although he knew it was not sincere. He 
 was wise enough to feel his own inaptitude for 
 public life. Perhaps he felt that success, as a 
 public man, demanded, at this time, a compromise 
 or sacrifice of truth and virtue, which he could not 
 
 70L. I. L
 
 218 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 afford to make, even for the sake of mother Church. 
 He felt his inability to cope with such men as 
 Archer, who were prepared not only to sacrifice 
 life, but to strip themselves of every moral virtue, 
 in order to support and adorn their great Alma 
 Mater at Eome. 
 
 The old priest, therefore, shook his head and 
 smiled, as he replied : — " The time is past, and I 
 am not sorry for it. Ten or fifteen years ago, I 
 might have felt and thought otherwise. I have now 
 but one object that gives me an interest in life, or 
 renders my life of any interest to myself — the dear 
 child of whom we have been speaking." 
 
 " Yes; you answered the Earl that it would be 
 impossible, as she was a Protestant. What said 
 he to that ?" 
 
 " He was surprised to hear it, as he did then 
 for the first time ; but he made me promise " 
 
 " Promise what ?" said the Jesuit, with some 
 impatience. 
 
 " He made me promise that, on condition of his 
 inducing her to become a Catholic, I would not 
 oppose their union." 
 
 " And did you promise your consent on this con- 
 dition r 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Madness !"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 219 
 
 " How so ? I thought this the great objection." 
 " It is a great objection, but not the greatest. 
 He must ally himself in marriage to some power- 
 ful Irish family. His followers of late are much 
 lessened ; and unless means be taken to strengthen 
 them, he will lose the leadership, and we shall have 
 endless contentions to find another, and never shall 
 find another around whom so many will unite. 
 But, should he think of marrying this humble 
 maiden, his followers will desert him, as they did 
 Thomas, the Sixth Earl." 
 
 " I did not think of this before," said the old 
 priest, with whom the religious difficulty appeared 
 paramount. 
 
 " And now that you have thought of it ?" 
 
 " I shall speak to the Earl, and point out " 
 
 " No, not to him : he is resolved : he has, no 
 doubt, thought of it before now. But speak to the 
 girl. She appears to have a noble, disinterested 
 mind. Point out to her the injury it would do to 
 him, and I think she will refuse his offer. But, if 
 you find her otherwise disposed, you can mention 
 the other matter ; but do not mention your au- 
 thority." 
 
 " To what do you refer by the other matter ?" 
 
 " To the case of Lady Margaret." 
 
 " No, no, you must excuse me, sir," said the old
 
 220 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 man, drawing himself up. He was too much the 
 gentleman to retail a slander against any one, and 
 possessed too much Christian charity to believe 
 half the slander which assailed his ears. When 
 he saw the use which Archer intended to make of 
 this evil report, he was almost confirmed in the 
 suspicion that it had been invented for the purpose 
 of breaking off the match. He knew that the 
 Jesuits were as skilful in the fabrication of false- 
 hoods — when they had an object to accomplish — 
 as are housebreakers and thieves in the manufacture 
 of false keys, and a variety of sharp and cunning 
 instruments belonging to their profession : — " No/' 
 thought he, " as I suspect the instrument is of his 
 own making, he may use it ; but I am resolved to 
 employ no such Jesuit machinery for opening or 
 wounding the heart of my beloved child." 
 
 u Well, you know the girl best ; I shall, there- 
 fore, leave the affair to your management and 
 wisdom," replied Archer ; " and to give you an 
 opportunity of speaking with your young friend, 
 I shall leave you for the present."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Since secret spite hath sworn my foe, 
 And I am driven by destiny 
 Against my will, God knows, to go 
 From place of gallant company, 
 And, in the stead of sweet delight, 
 To reap the fruits of foul despite. 
 
 " As it hath been a custom long, 
 To bid farewell when men depart, 
 So will I sing this solemn song, 
 Farewell to some, with all my heart : 
 But those my friends : — but to my foes, 
 I wish a nettle in their nose." 
 
 " Young friend /" said the old man, walking up and 
 down the room, repeating the words of the Jesuit, 
 " young friend. He wishes to remind me that she 
 is neither kith nor kin of mine ; but God knows 
 I could not love her more were she my own flesh 
 and blood. Young friend ! yes, she is a friend, which 
 is more than I can say of him. But I must do as 
 he requires ; I believe he is right, but it will sorely 
 grieve this dear girl ; but the sooner it is done the 
 better," continued he, opening the door, and calling 
 her to him. 
 
 " Sit down, my child," said he leading Ellen to a
 
 222 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 seat ; but as lie marked, first her heightened colour, 
 and immediately after, the paleness of her cheek, 
 he thought she looked so like a fair culprit, about 
 to receive the awful sentence of death at his hands, 
 that his heart and tongue failed him, and he hesi- 
 tated and got confused. 
 
 The figure of a culprit at the bar, no doubt, 
 describes the condition and feelings of the party- 
 pretty accurately ; but not in the way the old man 
 thought, for he was the real culprit, and she was 
 the judge ; and no austere judge, with frowning 
 brow and black cap, ever cowed culprit more than 
 did the beauteous and innocent face of that maiden 
 — now flushed with modest hope, now pale with 
 trembling fear — the venerable priest who stood 
 before her ; and he more than once asked himself, 
 " what will she think of me ? and what will she say 
 after my promise to the Earl?" He felt none of this 
 hesitation or shame in the presence of the Jesuit, 
 for there he was sensible of his own moral superio- 
 rity. I believe every man has a sort of intuitive 
 impression or conviction of his moral and intellec- 
 tual status ; and that he knows as well when he 
 " meets his match," or his superior or inferior, in 
 morality and intellect, as he does, when he meets 
 a man who is taller, or shorter, or stronger, or 
 better-looking than himself. In the presence of
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 223 
 
 this pure and noble-minded girl, the old priest found 
 himself at fault ; that here, he was the Jesuit, and 
 she was his judge ; and though about to receive a 
 sentence more cruel than death from his lips, that 
 she was an innocent victim of his guile, a lamb 
 which he was about to sacrifice on the altar of 
 political and church expediency. Hence, his he- 
 sitation and his awkwardness in the use of his 
 weapon. Like Pilate, his conscience condemned 
 him. 
 
 u My dear Ellen," said he, " I suppose the Earl 
 has told you that I promised to unite you toge- 
 ther, provided the difficulty in the way of reli- 
 gion could be removed. He has told you this, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes, uncle." 
 
 " Am I to understand, that you have agreed to 
 join the Catholic Church ?" 
 
 " Oh ! no, uncle ; I am sure you did not expect 
 that. I am sure you know me better than that. If 
 gratitude to you, who are a minister of that Church 
 — for all your love and kindness to me, never moved 
 me, think you that any other human motive could ? 
 Surely you would not recommend me such a course?" 
 
 " By no means, my child. So the Earl is aware 
 of your decision, and does not press the match." 
 
 " He did not say my union with the Catholic
 
 224 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Church was a necessary condition ; but when I 
 mentioned my religion, he said you had promised 
 to give your consent, provided that religion was 
 no objection ; and as he made no objection, on reli- 
 gious grounds, I did not persevere in mine ; and in 
 doing so, I believed I was acting according to your 
 wishes." 
 
 " Hem !" said the priest. " The Earl must have 
 misunderstood me. — I suppose I judge correctly, 
 my child, in concluding that your affections are 
 engaged in this affair ?" 
 
 The trickling of large tears down her cheeks 
 gave the reply to the priest, who looked up into 
 the face of the silent girl for an answer to his 
 question. 
 
 " Ah ! I see how it is," said he to himself, blowing 
 his nose louder than usual ; " it is most unfortunate. 
 I have no doubt he would make her an excellent 
 husband, — if there be no truth in what that design- 
 ing Jesuit says of his cousin, Lady Margaret. God 
 forgive me, but I don't know what to think about 
 it." 
 
 " Have you, my dear, thought of any other ob- 
 jection, but that of religion?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, that of my parentage or birth." 
 
 " Did you, therefore, give him an explanation ?" 
 
 u No, I thought you had told him all this."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 225 
 
 " Not a word of it. But from what I know 
 of his character, I should conclude it would be 
 no objection with him ; but when you consider the 
 influence that a union with some powerful and 
 distinguished family would be likely to have on his 
 prospects, as the head and leader of the Irish 
 party, do you not think that his marriage with 
 you — an unknown maiden — would mar these pros- 
 pects ?" 
 
 " I know it uncle ; I know it, and mentioned 
 these things to him ; but he reasoned them away. 
 But I feel I was right. Tour opinion confirms me 
 in it. Oh ! uncle, I shall give up the foolish and 
 ambitious thought ; I will try and banish it, like a 
 wild dream ; I will never leave you, dear uncle," said 
 she falling on her knees before the old man, bedewing 
 his wrinkled hands with tears. 
 
 This speedy surrender, and self-sacrifice of her 
 dearest hopes, took the old man by surprise. He 
 hardly expected she would thus meet him, more 
 than half way. He felt like Jephtha, when his 
 daughter met him as he returned from battle, and 
 therefore replied to her in Jephtha's words : — 
 " Alas! my daughter, thou hast brought me very low. 
 I have opened my mouth, and I cannot go back." 
 
 " My father," replied the fair girl, looking first 
 
 L 2
 
 226 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 in the face of the aged priest, and then up to 
 heaven, and taking up the words of the heroic 
 Jewish maiden, — " My father, if thou hast opened 
 thy mouth unto the Lord, do to me according to 
 that which has proceeded out of thy mouth." 
 
 "I did not say it was to the Lord, my child, 
 that I opened my mouth. Indeed I do not know 
 what to say of the whole matter. God help me ! I 
 am no politician myself, and I do not see why the 
 happiness of my dear child should be sacrificed 
 to political purposes. I do not like those sort of 
 marriages, where there is no affection between the 
 parties, and I am sure no good ever comes of 
 them. I have no doubt he would be far happier 
 with you, than with any one that could be chosen 
 for him." 
 
 "Oh ! uncle, let us not think of it any more ; it 
 cannot be." 
 
 u I don't know that, my love." 
 
 " I thought you told me just now that you had 
 opened your mouth to the Lord, and could not 
 draw back ?" 
 
 " I thought I told you before, my love, that it 
 was not to the Lord." 
 
 " And to whom, then, uncle ?" 
 
 " To the devil, I believe." 
 
 " Uncle !"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 227 
 
 u God forgive me, my child, but I believe that 
 man has more to do with the Prince of Darkness 
 than with the Father of Light." 
 
 " Of whom do you speak uncle, for I am quite in 
 the dark ? Surely not of the Earl ?" 
 
 " Of the Earl, — by no means ; but of Archer, the 
 Jesuit." 
 
 " Is it of the clergyman down stairs ?" 
 
 " Yes, of that man ; — of a wolf in sheep's cloth- 
 ing, who has acted as my enemy through life, mis- 
 representing all my actions at the Court of Eome. 
 He is the man, who, by false and malicious reports, 
 prevented my advancement, and who would now 
 persuade me that this marriage bodes ill to you as 
 well as to the Earl ; and in order to accomplish 
 his foul ends, endeavours to blacken the character 
 of But it is no matter." 
 
 This outburst of old spleen, and long-buried ec- 
 clesiastical ambition overturned the tables upon 
 Archer, and rather hastened than retarded the 
 suit of the lovers : the old man now resolved to 
 forward the marriage, about which he had had so 
 much of previous misgiving and fear. 
 
 " How, therefore, do you wish me to act, uncle ? 
 for in this affair I shall be guided by your counsel." 
 
 a Well, my dear," said the old man, after cooling 
 down and wiping his brow, " we must act with
 
 228 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 wisdom and discretion. I must meet this man 
 with his own weapons, and let him know as little 
 as possible of my feelings and plans, which it 
 is difficult to conceal from him, for he seems to 
 read one's thoughts ; and when he cannot do so, 
 he has no delicacy in the number or kind of ques- 
 tions he puts to you ; and he does it in such a 
 natural, — and to do him credit, — gentlemanlike 
 way, that it is impossible to avoid answering 
 them." 
 
 " But you have not told mc how I should act 
 when I see the Earl, for he has requested me to 
 meet him at three o'clock to-day." 
 
 " Give him an account of all you know of your 
 parentage, or explain to him, I should rather say, 
 your ignorance on that subject. Mention to him, 
 again, as you have told me you did before, the 
 sacrifices which such a match would be likely to 
 entail ; and if he, after weighing all these disad- 
 vantages, still insists on pressing his suit, — as, I 
 am sure, being an honourable man, he will do, — I 
 shall make no objection." 
 
 " Thank you, dear uncle," said the girl, kissing 
 him, and hastening, with light heart and fairy 
 tread, out of the room, to meet her lover ; but, as 
 she did so, she thought she saw the shadow of a 
 man disappearing through the open door of the
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 229 
 
 Jesuit's room. But it did not look like Archer's 
 shadow : it seemed more lank and tall. " It 
 looked like the shadow of the fool," said she, 
 pressing her hand on her heart, as she proceeded 
 in a somewhat more sober mood — " but what could 
 he want listening?" Important secrets, especially 
 those of the heart, make us fearful and suspicious. 
 " Perhaps it was my own shadow ; but no, it dark- 
 ened the open door of Father Archer's room."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " The goddess long had marked the child's distress, 
 And long had sought her sufferings to redress : 
 She prays the gods to take the foundling's part." 
 
 Geay. 
 " They spoiled many parts, and fired the houses of those 
 they esteemed not their friends." — Haywaed. 
 
 As the lovers had but lately discovered that old 
 abbey walls and private chambers were no safe 
 places for confidential speaking, they chose, on 
 the present occasion, the open air ; and when they 
 entered a grove of trees, they looked around them 
 with suspicion, as if they feared that " the bird 
 of the air should carry the voice, and that which 
 had wings should tell the matter." 
 
 They walked on in silence for some time, com- 
 muning in thought too blissful for expression, but, 
 at the same time, in search of some soft and sunny 
 bank, where they might open and unburthen their 
 full hearts, like two birds in search of a nest in 
 which to deposit their golden eggs. They at length 
 found what they sought : — 
 
 " The thickest shade, 
 Lest love's dear secret be betrayed." 
 
 Having fixed on a spot which would not admit
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 231 
 
 of the approach of a third party, unseen, the Earl 
 persuaded his fair companion to be seated. Per- 
 suaded I say — yes, I believe this is the proper word 
 — for she hesitated to sit down until he pressed 
 her, although they had both been in search of such 
 a seat for the last half hour. The Earl persuaded 
 Miss Cavendish to sit down, and when she was 
 seated, he took up a position at her feet. I con- 
 clude that, being a general, he thought this the 
 best position for carrying on the war. 
 
 " Ellen," said he, " taking her hand, I believe 
 you have mentioned my proposal to your uncle ; 
 you were for some time in his study to-day ?" 
 
 " I have : — was it then your shadow that I saw 
 flitting along the corridor, as I left my uncle's 
 room? — but no, you would not act the eaves- 
 dropper, even to discover a secret in which you 
 felt the deepest interest." 
 
 The Earl felt a little confused at this compliment, 
 as he had acted the eavesdropper, rather cleverly, 
 the evening before, in the abbey ; but he could, on 
 this occasion, deny the charge with all truth and 
 sincerity, which he did, inquiring very particu- 
 larly whom the shadow was like. 
 
 " Well, I thought it like the fool's; but the person, 
 whoever he was, went into Father Archer's room."
 
 232 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Mac Eory's ! — why it was his laugh I heard 
 in the abbey. It is very mysterious ; but let us 
 banish the vision from our minds, for the present, 
 while you tell me of your interview with your 
 uncle. Does he consent to our union T 
 
 " I thought you told me that the good priest, 
 whom I call uncle, had informed you of all — I mean 
 about my humble history." 
 
 " Anything concerning you must be interesting 
 to me ; but permit me to say that a Cavendish 
 may rank with the first nobles of the land." 
 
 " But I am not a Cavendish." 
 
 " What ! — not the niece of Father Cavendish !" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Of whom, then ?" 
 
 " I know not. I am a foundling." 
 
 " A foundling !" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, so was the goddess, Venus ; she was 
 born of the foam of the sea, and was brought to 
 shore, I believe, like a pearl in an oyster-shell ; and 
 now that I hear you are without father or mother, 
 I shall certainly begin to suspect you have some- 
 thing of divinity about you. I thought so the first 
 moment I saw you." 
 
 " Cease your heroics, my Lord, and hear me out.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 233 
 
 You surely cannot now think, after learning these 
 circumstances, of allying yourself in marriage to 
 one like me?" 
 
 " Why not, fair goddess and idol of my soul ? I 
 could this moment fall down and worship you. 
 Here I am at your feet ; refuse not my prayer, but 
 accept the offer of this poor hand and heart." 
 
 " My Lord, I believe you are mad." 
 
 " May heaven keep me so." 
 
 " And I suppose you expect me to say amen." 
 
 " You have said that word so prettily, that I 
 verily conclude you must have acted as clerk to 
 your good uncle ; and the next time you go to mass, 
 I must be there to see." 
 
 " You forget that I am a Protestant." 
 
 " That is true ; and now that you have told 
 me more of your history, will you tell me how 
 it was you left the Catholic Church ; for I am sure 
 you never took such a step without good reasons 
 for doing so. Pray how was it ? Tell me all." 
 
 " You remember I was reading the New Testa- 
 ment when you spoke to me yesterday, in the 
 abbey." 
 
 " Yes ; I thought you looked like a holy angel." 
 
 " To that book I owe my belief." 
 
 " Where got you that book ?" 
 
 " Here it is," said she, handing it to him.
 
 234 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Ah, these clasps are gold. I see it is the Pro- 
 testant version ; it is dedicated to the Queen." 
 
 "It was discovered, with some other articles 
 of value, when I was found, and I conclude from 
 this book that my parents were Protestants." 
 
 " Where were you found ?" 
 
 " In a wood near the Abbey of Butte vant." 
 
 " Tell me more about it. How was it ? — Who 
 found you ?" 
 
 " I was in a wood, standing by the dead body 
 of my nurse, and was brought by a farmer's wife 
 
 to the nunnery of , over which Madam 
 
 Cavendish, the sister of my uncle, as I call him, 
 presided. She took me in, and acted a mother's 
 part to me, while she lived, and, at her death, com- 
 mended me to the care of her good brother, who 
 has been a father to me ever since." 
 
 "And did she rear you in the Protestant religion?" 
 
 " She taught me this book, and she read it her- 
 self ; and before she died enjoined her brother to 
 read it." 
 
 " I see — I understand. His sister, I heard, be- 
 came a Protestant. This explains all. Perhaps, 
 if the whole truth were known, he is half a Pro- 
 testant himself. This must be a wonderful little 
 book. Will you allow me to read it, after its 
 having done so much mischief?"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 235 
 
 a With pleasure." 
 
 " Well, take it, you little heretic, and keep it 
 safe, and some other time I will look at it. The 
 time and place where you were found remind me 
 of a curious coincidence." 
 
 a To what do you refer ?" 
 
 " To the burning of one of my uncle's castles, 
 held by Protestants, in that neighbourhood, in 
 which a child perished in the flames, with which 
 burning I had something to do." 
 
 " What castle was it ? for the marks of fire were 
 found on my clothes, and on the body and clothes 
 of my nurse." 
 
 a Kilcoleman Castle ; it was held by one Edmund 
 Spenser, an English poet and undertaker."* 
 
 " He was my father! — See, the initials in this 
 book are E. S. Oh, it must be so." 
 
 u Let me see — E. S. It would seem so, by all that's 
 wonderful ; but the child perished in the flames." 
 
 " He was my father : I feel it. Oh ! with what 
 pleasure have I read his verses ! — Yes, it must be so. 
 Am I the child of Edmund Spenser ? Does he live ?" 
 
 a Alas, no," replied the Earl. 
 
 "And it was your hand, that harried and burnt him 
 out," said she, drawing back reproachfully from him. 
 
 * Those who undertook to plant or colonize lands of which 
 they received grants from the Crown.
 
 236 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " No, lady, no ; but I, notwithstanding, feel as if 
 I were responsible for the consequences. But if 
 you be really his child, as seems most probable 
 from the time and place, and book, your existence 
 removes much of the sting, for I had been led to 
 believe, on good authority, that his child had 
 perished in the flames." 
 
 " Say to me again, it was not your hand fired 
 the pile." 
 
 " No, lady, no ; I would rather have burned off 
 this right hand than have done so ; but sit you 
 down, and you shall hear, for if you be the 
 child of the poet Spenser, the story principally 
 concerns yourself ; and peradventure you may 
 remember somewhat of it. But no, you were too 
 young." 
 
 The maiden, after hearing this exordium, sate and 
 listened with absorbed interest to the following 
 narration : — 
 
 " The poet, as I said, was an English undertaker. 
 He came to Ireland, as Secretary in the suite of 
 Lord Grey. He, with his friend, Sir Walter Ealeigh, 
 and others, received large portions of my uncle's 
 property. Kilcoleman Castle, and the grounds 
 around it, were much prized by me, of which my 
 uncle having knowledge, gave them me, when a boy, 
 telling me I must win them back with my sword.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 237 
 
 In the year 15 — , I visited the neighbourhood 
 of Kilcoleman Castle with a strong force. I was 
 in pursuit of the President, who came to the forest 
 of Arlough. I followed him as far as Buttevant, 
 and drove him into Moyallo* [Mallow] for pro- 
 tection. The desire of seeing Kilcoleman Castle 
 seized upon me, and I resolved to visit it r accom- 
 panied by a few of my followers. When with- 
 in a short distance of the place, I saw the family 
 were making holy-day on the green. I afterwards 
 learned they were celebrating the birth-day of the 
 poet's child. The poet's people were dressed in 
 their bravest attire ; some were shooting at a 
 mark with long bows, others were hurling, 
 some were wrestling and running, and others 
 dancing. The child, which was very beautiful, 
 was dressed in white ; the nurse wore a sky blue 
 boddice, and a red petticoat — of which she ap- 
 peared vastly proud — if I might judge from the 
 flaunting way she crossed and re-crossed the green. 
 The poet himself, a man of fine mien, and his 
 lady — God bless me, but I think I now see a 
 striking likeness between her features and thine — 
 but you have the poet's eyes. The merry-making 
 was at its height, when a vicious bull, that was 
 
 * Magh-Ealla : i.e., the plain of the river Ealla or Alio.
 
 238 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 tethered in a pasture, on the other side of the 
 Mutta* — a river, of which the poet has made men- 
 tion in his songs — either breaking or eating off the 
 suganes or hay-ropes, with which he was spanceled, 
 crossed the water, where the bank was thickly 
 planted with willows, and stood on the opposite 
 side, before any one had notice of his approach. 
 The roar which preceded his onset, so startled 
 the whole party, that they fled like a flock of 
 sheep before a mastiff. The bull charged after 
 them ; and then singled out the nurse with the red 
 petticoat, who ran screeching, with the child in her 
 hand, towards a large ash tree, behind which I 
 stood concealed. The father, wild with anguish 
 and fear for his child's life, followed — with a long 
 arrow in his hand — hard after the bull. The 
 tree, behind which I stood, was forked about seven 
 feet from the ground. There was not a moment 
 to lose : I rushed forth, caught up the child from 
 the nurse, and placed it within the forks. This 
 was the work of an instant ; but, fearing it might 
 fall out through fright, and suspecting it was the 
 nurse's red petticoat which had attracted the ani- 
 mal, I lifted up the poor woman after the child ; 
 but, in doing so, I overreached myself, and fell on 
 my back ; and before I could catch up my sword, 
 * Now called the Oleg, or Awleg.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 239 
 
 which lay at my feet, the bull was upon me. I kept 
 him back for a few seconds with my boot, but he 
 would have overpowered, and perhaps slain me, if 
 the poet had not come up to the rescue, and thrust 
 the long arrow, with which he was armed, deep into 
 his flanks, where it broke. The wounded bull now 
 turned with fury upon his new assailant, who es- 
 caped by turning smartly round the trunk, with the 
 broken staff in his hand. This gave me time to 
 rise and seize my sword, which the fierce animal 
 seeing, rushed after me ; but with the tree between 
 us, I was, with the poet's assistance, who thrust 
 at him with the broken lance, more than his 
 match. We wounded him twice or thrice in the face 
 and neck, but seeing the blood made him more 
 furious ; and I doubt whether we should have 
 overcome him, had not a noble looking cavalier 
 come up, and attacked him behind, with his sword. 
 ' Now, young man,' said the stranger to me, as 
 he ran round the trunk for protection, ' give 
 him a nick on the other leg, and we have him 
 safe and sound ; if you were in South America, 
 you would see how these gentlemen are managed.' 
 ' I think,' said I, ' as he is lamed, we had better 
 leave the tree, and take the open field.' ' I believe 
 you are right ; we ought to be able, on two legs, to 
 run as fast as a mad bull on three, and the fellow
 
 240 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 guards his heart too well with his head, as he goes 
 round the tree thus. Take care, Spenser, you only 
 enrage him with that stick. Come,' said he, rush- 
 ing out on the green, ' will you have his head or 
 his tail ?' l His head, by all means,' said I, follow- 
 ing. 4 As you have hamstrung one leg, I will not 
 divide the honour with you.' l Come along, then, 
 as you are the youngest, you shall have the post 
 of honour : do you take his head and horns, and 
 I'll take his tail and hind legs.' But the bull 
 decided otherwise, by charging after Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, — for the handsome cavalier was so named, 
 — and at a more rapid and furious rate than he 
 expected, so that Sir Walter had to seek shelter a 
 second time behind the tree, when I found an 
 opportunity of slaying the beast." 
 
 " Thank God ! How ?" 
 
 " By plunging my sword up to the hilt in his 
 heart; but the rush he made against me was such 
 as to stun and stupefy me ; and in this state I was 
 carried into the castle. Here I was tended with great 
 care, and was sufficiently recovered the next day 
 to take my departure. I refused to inform the 
 poet of my name, though hard pressed by him. 
 When taking my leave, the nurse brought the child 
 that I had rescued, to kiss me, when I put a string 
 of beads round her neck."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 241 
 
 " What kind were the beads ?" hastily inquired 
 his fair listener, who heard his story from beginning 
 to end, with flushed cheeks, and now hastily raised 
 her hand to her throat. 
 
 " They were carved in black oak, with a small 
 golden cross impending from the string." 
 
 " Are these they ?" said she, opening her fair 
 bosom, and placing the ornament in his hand. 
 
 " The same, by all the saints ! and you are that 
 child ; and this is not the first time I have kissed 
 you." It was not the second, nor third; but no 
 matter. Novelists would have to extend their books 
 to four volumes, were they to note all these things. 
 
 " Then I am the daughter of Edmund Spenser," 
 exclaimed the girl, for she was, for the moment, 
 more interested in her lover's story, than in his 
 fond embrace. 
 
 " Yes, it must be so. How wonderful the dispen- 
 sations of the Most High ! The child whose life I 
 then saved now lives to reward me." 
 
 " The Poet Spenser was my father" said the girl, 
 musing proudly on her parentage. " Oh ! that he 
 now lived ! But living or dead, I would rather be 
 his child than the heir of the proudest noble of 
 the land. Hark you, Sir Knight, or my Lord 
 Earl, what you have told me causes me to feel 
 as if I were guilty of the less presumption in 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 becoming your bride. But what of the burning — 
 how was that? Surely it was not your work, after 
 partaking of my father's hospitality. Speak !" 
 
 " You judge me truly. No, not my work, or 
 according to my will ; but, notwithstanding, the 
 work of my followers, who lodged that night beneath 
 your father's roof. But let me explain. When I 
 was carried within the castle, in an insensible state, 
 my men were allowed to follow me. Feeling my- 
 self sufficiently recovered the next morning, I sent 
 for a confidential servant, and told him to be ready 
 for departure by the evening, and to see to it that 
 my people did not misbehave themselves, and that 
 they laid their match-lochs in a safe place. ' Do 
 you attend to this, Thomas,' said I. w Your honour 
 wishes I should lay the match-locks in a safe place 
 — do you ?' I thought he said ; but it was matches 
 he said. ' Of course I do,' I replied in return. ' I'll 
 attend to that, your honour. What time in the 
 evening will your honour leave the castle ?' said he. 
 k Eight o'clock,' said I. l That will be a good hour,' 
 I heard him say to himself, with a significant nod 
 of the head, the meaning of which I did not un- 
 derstand at the time. We started, according to 
 arrangement, at this hour, and had proceeded but 
 two or three miles from the castle, when the man 
 of whom I speak rode up to me, and observed : —
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 243 
 
 1 I thought we'd see the blaze before now.' ; What 
 blaze, Thomas ?' said I. * The blaze of the castle, 
 to be sure, yer honour,' said he ; ' if we put a match 
 in one part of the thatch, we put them in a dozen.' 
 ' What mean you, you scoundrel ? Is it lighted 
 matches ?' said I. ' Didn't your honour tell me to 
 lay the matches, before we left — before eight o'clock?' 
 4 There's the blaze,' said another of the men. Look- 
 ing round, I saw the castle on fire. ' Blaze away, 
 and hell's blazes to them as is within,' said a scoun- 
 drel near me. i Halt !' cried I, in fury. l To the 
 castle — to the rescue !' ' Is your honour mad ?' 
 said the first man. ' Mad ! you scoundrel,' said I ; 
 ' no — follow me : the first who refuses dies !' and I 
 drew out a pistol. ' Folly ! your honour — we'd folly 
 your honour to hell ! and who dar' refuse ?' replied 
 the man. ' Then, away,' said I, driving my spurs 
 into the horse ; and away we swept, like a wild hurri- 
 cane, across the country, each trying to be foremost. 
 Indeed, to do the poor fellows credit, they did their 
 utmost to counteract the mischief. ' Tare away, 
 boys,' said one, as we started, ' or we'll be too late.' 
 ' Oh, murther, make haste !' said another, ' or the 
 crathurs will be burnt to a cindher.' 4 Will we 
 ever be in time to quinch it ?' said a third. ' Tare 
 away, your sowls to blazes — tare away,' said a 
 fourth — the same man who wished hell's blazes on
 
 244 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 those within the walls, five minutes before. I saw 
 your poor father, as our company crossed the lawn, 
 with his face blackened and bloody, rushing hither 
 and thither among the flames, like a maniac, crying 
 out for his wife and child." 
 
 " Oh, my father !" exclaimed Ellen, wringing her 
 hands at the recital of the scene. 
 
 " He was so blinded by the flame and smoke, and 
 so confounded by sorrow, that he did not see one 
 of the objects of his search, standing in her night- 
 gown, at a window, to which the flames were rapidly 
 approaching." 
 
 " Oh, my mother !" exclaimed Ellen, clasping her 
 hands in agony. 
 
 " Yes, it was she ; and I feared at first it would 
 have been impossible to rescue her ; for the window 
 at which she stood was a considerable distance from 
 the ground ; but I resolved to try, and spurred my 
 horse up to the wall of the castle, just beneath her. 
 I then leaped upon the saddle, and sprung from it 
 to the window-sill below her's, from which the flames 
 were rushing. By the aid of the bars, I raised 
 myself, and got a standing on the sill, but further 
 I found it impossible to climb. Her only chance, 
 therefore, was to let herself down from the upper 
 window, into my arms, which she hesitated for some 
 time to do, but at length consented."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 245 
 
 u And you saved her ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Oh, my mother !" said the girl, as she bowed her 
 head on the bosom of her lover ; " does she live ?" 
 
 " I know not." 
 
 " Oh, that my mother lived ! A mother ! Oh, 
 that I had a mother !"
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " But all my mother came into mine eyes, 
 And gave me up to tears." 
 
 Shakspeake. 
 
 " Where children," observes Lord Bacon, " have 
 been exposed, or taken away young, and after- 
 wards have approached to their parents' presence* 
 the parents, though they have not known them, 
 have had a secret joy, or other alteration, there- 
 upon." 
 
 A child's love for its parents seems also a divine 
 and holy instinct, which does not die out when it 
 loses them, any more than does the parents' love 
 when they lose their children ; nor does it disappear 
 at full age, like the instinct of animals. A young 
 infant does not understand its loss, as it does not 
 know its parents ; it therefore clings with affection 
 to those who perform for it a father's or a mother's 
 part, and pours out upon them something of the 
 same kind of love which God intended for the au- 
 thors of its being. It was thus that our heroine, 
 Ellen Spenser, as we shall now call her, loved Miss 
 Cavendish, and her brother, the priest. But there
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 247 
 
 lay beneath all this a sealed up fountain of love, 
 which none but a parent could open : — 
 
 " In vain on the dissembled mother's tongue 
 Had cunning art or sly persuasion hung." 
 
 It would seem, notwithstanding the apparent 
 transference of affection in such cases, as if the 
 real and true instinct lay deeply buried in the heart 
 of the child, for when the natural parent appears, to 
 claim it, the true filial love is brought to the sur- 
 face, as fresh and unobliterated as the impressions 
 which are found on the wax in the buried cities 
 of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Yes, there it lies, 
 hidden from the world, in the dark chambers of the 
 orphan's heart. The burning lava of affliction may 
 have flowed over it ; time may have made the surface 
 soil of feeling so hard, that men had no hesitation 
 in placing their feet upon it ; but if you dig down 
 to it, you will find the impressions cut deep in the 
 heart of the child. 
 
 If an " infant of days" does not understand its 
 loss, an orphan of years feels it ; and while it may 
 not go, like " Japheth, in Search of a Father" its 
 thoughts and its heart go out after its lost parents. 
 I knew a dear girl, who lost her mother when an 
 infant, who could never hear her parent's name men- 
 tioned, or her memory referred to, without shedding
 
 248 THE LIST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 bitter tears, and it was not easy to make her weep, 
 neither were her domestic circumstances such as to 
 cause her to feel her loss so keenly ; but still she 
 did feel — she felt that she wanted a mother. Nature 
 within called loudly for the lost parent. Such were 
 the feelings of our heroine for both her parents. 
 
 How did she feel when she found out who they 
 were, and who she was ? She felt less desolate than 
 she did before ; she had now some more defined 
 image to fix her heart upon. 
 
 Her vivid imagination oftentimes led her to be- 
 lieve that the shades of her parents hovered near 
 her, and watched over her. She twice or thrice 
 thought she felt the breathing of her mother's spirit 
 on her cheek ; and once she turned herself quickly 
 round, to catch a glimpse of the heavenly messenger; 
 for she seemed to have an intuition of a spiritual 
 presence ; but, if ever there, it departed without 
 revealing any image to her eyes. Was this mere 
 feeling? It felt like faith. Whichever it was, 
 she believed in a presence, and longed for some 
 likeness on which to concentrate her affections 
 almost as ardently as did Moses to see the image of 
 God's glory. 
 
 A revelation was at length made to her, but not 
 to the extent she desired. It was made through 
 her lover's eyes, the next best medium to her own.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 249 
 
 " You saw my parents," said Ellen Spenser to the 
 Earl, about three weeks after the interview re- 
 corded in our last chapter. " You saw my father : 
 what was he like ?" 
 
 " He was a man of noble mien, with an eagle 
 eye, and graceful form." 
 
 " Majestic ?" 
 
 " No, not exactly that." 
 
 She seemed disappointed, but added, u I have a 
 picture of him here." 
 
 " A picture ? I will tell you if it is like." 
 
 " A picture of his mind, I mean." 
 
 " Oh ! in the Faerie Queene, your Psalter or 
 Second Bible : shew it me." He took the volume 
 from her hand, and after turning over some of the 
 leaves in silence, said : " Harken to this passage, 
 and interpret for me : — 
 
 " One day, nigh wearie of the yrksome way, 
 From her unhastie beast she did alight ! 
 And on the grasse her daintie limbs did lay, 
 In secrete shadow, far from all men's sight; 
 From her fayre head her fillet she undight, 
 And layd her stole aside : her angel's face, 
 As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, 
 And made a sunshine in the shady place : 
 Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace. 
 
 "It fortuned out of the thickest wood, 
 A ramping lyon rushed suddenly, 
 Hunting full greedy after salvage blood ; 
 Soone as the royall virgin he did spy, 
 
 M 2
 
 250 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, 
 
 To have attonce devourd her tender corse ; 
 
 But to the pray when as he drew more ny, 
 
 His bloody rage as waged with remorse, 
 
 And, with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse. 
 
 " Instead thereof, he kist her wearie feet, 
 And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong ; 
 And as her wronged innocence did weet. 
 how can beautie maister the most strong, 
 And simple truth subdue avenging wrong ! 
 Whose yielded pryde and proud submission, 
 Still dreading death, when she had marked long, 
 Her heart gan melt in great compassion ; 
 And drizling teares did shed for pure aifection. 
 
 " i The lyon, lord of everie beast in field,' 
 Quoth she, ' his princely puissance doth abate, 
 And mightie proud to humble weak does yield, 
 Porgetfull of the hungry rage, which late 
 Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate : — 
 But he, my lyon, and my noble lord, 
 How does he find in cruell hart to hate 
 Her, that him lov'd, and ever most adored 
 As the god of my life ? why hath he me abhor' d ?' " 
 
 " What means he by that? — Who is the lady 
 there? — Your mother, — the queen, — or some other 
 lady?" inquired the Earl. 
 
 Ellen Spenser smiled, and said : — " Will you for- 
 give me, if I say that the question you ask me re- 
 minds me of the question which the Ethiopian 
 Eunuch put to Philip the Evangelist V 
 
 " I cannot be offended, for I must confess myself
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 251 
 
 as ignorant of the one as the other ; so I must re- 
 quest you, my little Evangel, to inform me who 
 the Ethiopian Eunuch was ; for, on my honour, I 
 never heard of that gentleman before." 
 
 " He was the servant of the Queen of Can- 
 dace." 
 
 " Oh ! I begin to understand it all now, and see 
 in what respect he resembles me. He was the 
 servant of the sweet Queen of Candy, and I am 
 the servant of the Fairy Queen, who is sweeter 
 than sugar-candy." 
 
 " I must explain the whole matter to you, for I 
 see you are almost as ignorant as a heathen ; but 
 you must be serious, for this is the New Testa- 
 ment." 
 
 " I shall be as serious and sedate as a mouse in 
 church, till you have finished your sweet homily." 
 
 " We find it all in this book ; in the eighth 
 chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, from the 
 twenty-sixth to the thirty-fourth verse : — i And 
 the angel of the Lord spake unto Philip, saying, 
 Arise and go towards the South, unto the way that 
 goeth down from Jerusalem unto Gaza, which is 
 desert. And he arose and went : and behold a 
 man of Ethiopia, an Eunuch of great authority 
 under Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, who had 
 the charge of all her treasure, and had come to
 
 252 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Jerusalem for to worship, was returning ; and sit- 
 ting in his chariot, read Esias the prophet. Then 
 the spirit said unto Philip, Go near, and join thy- 
 self to this chariot. And Philip ran thither to 
 him, and heard him read the prophet Esaias, and 
 said, Understandest thou what thou readest ? And 
 he said, How can I, except some man should guide 
 me ? And he desired Philip that he would come 
 up and sit with him. The place of the Scripture 
 which he read was this, He was led as a sheep to 
 the slaughter, and as a lamb dumb before his shear- 
 ers, so opened he not his mouth : in his humiliation 
 his judgment was taken away ; and who shall de- 
 clare his generation, for his life is taken from the 
 earth? And the Eunuch answered Philip, and said, 
 I pray thee, of whom speaketh the prophet this ? 
 of himself or of some other man ?' The prophet 
 Isaiah was here speaking of the crucifixion of the 
 blessed Saviour." 
 
 The Earl bowed reverently. 
 
 " But the Eunuch thought the prophet was 
 speaking of himself, or some other man." 
 
 " Well you are a marvellous little divine ; but 
 you say I am like this Eunuch ?" 
 
 " Like the Eunuch, as he sat in his chariot, read- 
 ing the prophet Isaiah." 
 
 " Well, that itself is an improvement, but I can-
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 253 
 
 not see, as yet, any resemblance between us." — If 
 the truth were known, the Earl did not like the 
 comparison. Lovers take offence at the slight- 
 est seeming reflection from the lips of those they 
 love. 
 
 " The Eunuch mistook the meaning of the pro- 
 phet, when he spoke of the blessed Saviour, and 
 thought Isaiah was speaking of himself, or some 
 other man. — You understand that T 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " You, in the same way, when reading this poem, 
 and hearing me read it, misunderstood my father's 
 meaning, when he was speaking of the Church under 
 the figure of a beautiful woman, and thought he 
 was speaking of some other woman." 
 
 " And do you tell me that your father, in that 
 beautiful passage, is speaking of the holy Roman 
 Catholic Church ?" 
 
 " I did not say that ; but of the Church, which is 
 represented under a like figure, in the book of the 
 Eevelations of Saint John. Would you like to hear 
 it?" 
 
 u By all means." 
 
 " I shall read it, then : — ' And there appeared 
 a great wonder in heaven; a woman, clothed with 
 the sun, and the moon under feet; and upon her 
 head a crown of twelve stars. And there appeared
 
 254 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 another wonder in heaven ; and behold a great red 
 dragon, having seven heads, and ten horns, and 
 seven crowns upon his heads ; and the dragon stood 
 before the woman, and the woman fled into the 
 wilderness.' " 
 
 " My God," said the Earl, rising and interrupt- 
 ing her, " the lady will be destroyed by some hor- 
 rible " He hesitated, and looked confused. 
 
 " Fear not, but hearken," said Ellen, with a 
 smile, placing her hand on his arm, and continuing 
 to read : ' And the woman fled into the wilderness, 
 where she hath a place prepared of God.' " 
 
 "Thank God," said the Earl, breathing more 
 freely. 
 
 " I see," said Ellen, looking with pride into her 
 lover's flushed face, and warlike eyes, " that you 
 would be a second Saint George in defence of the 
 fair, if you had the opportunity; and that a dragon, 
 with seven heads, and ten horns, would not fray 
 you." 
 
 A grateful smile rewarded her comparison this 
 time. 
 
 " But oh, that the Church of God had such cham- 
 pions !" continued she ; after which she fell into a 
 reverie, and by degrees her face assumed a sad and 
 melancholy expression. 
 
 Her lover watched it in all its changes, as a boy
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 255 
 
 watches the moon passing in and out of dark clouds, 
 till it disappears from view ; and when he noticed 
 that her mind was wandering to a distance, he called 
 her back by addressing her with great kindness : — 
 
 " Ellen, what sad thought has clouded thy fair 
 brow ?" 
 
 When she looked up, he saw her eyes were suf- 
 fused with tears. She replied : — 
 
 " I was thinking of my mother. The passage I 
 have read, of the woman fleeing to the wilderness, 
 reminded me of her. God only knows if she lives, 
 or where she wanders." 
 
 " Be not cast down on her account ; she, as well 
 as the woman in the wilderness, may have a place 
 prepared for her by God, and you may meet her 
 yet," continued he, with a curious smile. 
 
 " Why say you that?" said she, starting to her 
 feet, and looking with a world of meaning and in- 
 quisitiveness into his face — " Why say you that ? 
 Oh, say that again !" 
 
 " Ellen, I have thought much of your mother of 
 late," said the Earl ; " and the passage from that 
 holy book reminded me of her, before it even struck 
 your mind. It was thinking of her danger that made 
 me start, for fear some mishap might befal her." 
 
 The words were but just spoken, when their ears 
 were pierced by the most thrilling screams from
 
 256 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 the wood behind them, accompanied by the fierce 
 baying of the dog. 
 
 The Earl, in an instant, crossed the stream be- 
 tween him and the wood, and disappeared in the 
 thicket, leaving Ellen alone. 
 
 The reader, of course, expects that we should 
 follow his example, and enter the thicket after 
 him. 
 
 He had not proceeded far, before he saw Brian, 
 Ellen's wolf-dog, in deadly struggle with one of the 
 largest wolves* which had been seen, for many 
 years, in that part of the country. While hasten- 
 ing to the assistance of the noble dog, who had 
 not yet succeeded in mastering its antagonist, 
 or getting it by the throat, he saw his servant, 
 Dermot, the harper, bending over the pale face of 
 a lady, who lay fainting on the grass. 
 
 * " Wolves," says Dr. O'Donovan, " were very numerous in 
 Ireland at this period" — 1571 — " and for more than a century 
 later. Philip 0' Sullivan mentions, in his ' History of the 
 Irish Catholics,' that after the battle of Kinsale, the hungry 
 wolves hurried from the woods to attack the men who were 
 weak with hunger. There was a native Irish wolf killed at 
 Waringstown, in the county of Down, in the year 1 700 ; and 
 about the same year, a Cormac O'Neill is said, by tradition, to 
 have shot the last of the wolves of Glenshane, in the townland 
 of Sheskinnamaddy, county of Londonderry. The last native 
 wolf of Ireland was seen in the mountains of Kerry, in the 
 year 1720." — See Annals of Ireland, a.d. 1571, p. 1654; also 
 Memoirs of the Life of Charles 0' Conor, of Belanagare, p. 450.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 257 
 
 " Is she injured, Dermot ?" said the Earl, coming 
 up in haste. 
 
 " No, my Lord ; the wolf only frightened her." 
 
 His master then looked down on the pale face of 
 the lady, and as he gazed, he exclaimed : — 
 
 " She is beautiful still ; and how like her child ! 
 Why did you dismount before you came up to the 
 house ?" inquired he of Dermot. 
 
 " The lady chose the * short cut ' through the 
 wood, your honour, and she said she was tired of 
 the saddle, and that the walk would do her good ; 
 so I sent the horses round, by the gorsoon." 
 
 As they spoke, the strange lady opened her eyes, 
 and said, " Oh ! my Lord ! Is that you ? This is 
 not the first time you saved my life ; but where is 
 my child, — where is Ellen ?" 
 
 " I left her on the edge of the wood, when I 
 heard your voice." 
 
 " But, my Lord, the wolf ! the wolf !" 
 
 " Fear not for the wolf, lady," said the Earl, 
 looking round, " for I see the dog has mastered 
 it." 
 
 " Then carry me to my child."
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " And there she knelt by that mountain rill, 
 And breathed forth a prayer so sweet, 
 That e'en the birds their warblings still, 
 And the babbling brook at her feet. 
 
 " Father of Heaven ! the maiden cries, 
 Look down on thy child below ; 
 The face of my parents is hid from mine eyes, 
 And I weep that it should be so." 
 
 M. T. G. 
 
 It would be difficult to describe Ellen's feelings 
 when her lover left her on the margin of that 
 stream. The strange shriek filled her soul with 
 terror ; but there was something in the sound 
 which thrilled through all the fibres of her heart. 
 " Could it be possible ? God ! how my heart 
 palpitates ! If it be she !" 
 
 Her lover's words were significant ; the expres- 
 sion of his face more so. There was a mystery 
 about Dermot's manner before he went away, and 
 he had been absent now, three weeks. 
 
 Her heart beat curiously ; now palpitating with 
 fear, now bounding with joy. If she had not gone 
 on her knees, in prayer to God, her frame could 
 scarcely have withstood the conflict of her feelings.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 259 
 
 What strength and solace there is in prayer ! 
 How it calms down the troubled mind, and says to 
 distracting thoughts, u Peace! Be still ! n 
 
 Hearing a rustle in the thicket behind her, she 
 turned suddenly round, and what was her surprise 
 to see — not her mother, or her lover — but the 
 White Knight, standing beside her. 
 
 " Lady, 1 ' said Fitzgibbon, seizing her hand, " how 
 long have I sought, and sought in vain, for this 
 opportunity; but heaven has at last rewarded my 
 constancy, by giving you to these arms." 
 
 " How dare you, sir ? unhand me, base knight," 
 cried Ellen, struggling in his grasp. 
 
 " No, by my soul, fair maid ; we will not part so 
 soon," replied Fitzgibbon, seizing her with one hand 
 round the waist, and placing theotherover hermouth. 
 
 I have here a fine opportunity of tantalizing my 
 readers, if I had the heart to allow that White- 
 livered Knight, Fitzgibbon Blanc, to carry off our 
 heroine to his strong castle ; but no, sweet reader, 
 I cannot do it; I have too much chivalry. Hang 
 all novel plots ! 
 
 His horse stood in the thicket, within a few 
 yards of him, to which he bore the struggling 
 fainting girl ; but when in the act of raising her 
 to the saddle, he received a blow on the head, which 
 laid him senseless on the ground.
 
 260 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" exclaimed Mac Rory, — for it 
 was he who had come to the maiden's rescue, — 
 "ha ! ha ! ha !" exclaimed he again, as he marked 
 the effect of the blow. 
 
 When the Earl, accompanied by Mrs. Spenser, 
 came to the brook, on the margin of which he had 
 left Ellen, he was startled to find her gone ; but, 
 seeing a red cap and yellow jacket through the 
 trees, he entered, and what was his amazement to 
 behold his betrothed bride seated near a tree, 
 with her head resting on Mac Rory's bosom, and 
 his hand clasping her waist. Nor could he fail 
 to observe that Mac Eory looked more tenderly 
 intelligent than he had ever seen him look before. 
 
 " But how did the Earl look ?" He looked dag- 
 gers ! — Drawn daggers ! Thunder and lightning ! 
 Woman !" 
 
 But just at that moment his eye fell on the 
 prostrate body of the White Knight. There he 
 lay, pale and still as death, his beautiful hair 
 dappled with blood. A thick knotty club — like 
 that with which Cain slew his brother Abel — at 
 his feet. The Earl hastened to Ellen's side. " Let 
 me there, Mac Rory; you are a brave fellow," squeez- 
 ing his hand. Mac Rory grinned, and shewed his 
 teeth. 
 
 " Where is my child ? Where is my child ?" cried
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 261 
 
 Mrs. Spenser, rushing in between the trees. " Ellen 
 my child, how is this ? Is she injured ? Was it 
 the wolf?" 
 
 " There lies the wolf," said Desmond, pointing to 
 the prostrate knight. 
 
 " my God ! did he dare ? Let me sit down be- 
 side her, and lay her head upon my bosom. Ellen, 
 my child, my long-lost child ! is this you ?" kissing 
 her. " Did I think to find you thus ? There, lay 
 down your head, my darling, on your mother's heart." 
 
 Mrs. Spenser was a lovely woman, with rich 
 golden hair and blue eyes. She was gazing down 
 upon her child with bewitching love and tender- 
 ness, as Ellen looked up in surprise. 
 
 " Ellen, my child," said the mother, " it is I-^-it 
 is your mother." 
 
 "Mother!" said Ellen, casting her arms around 
 her, " oh ! have I found my mother V and she laid 
 her head once more upon that tender bosom, and 
 wept like an infant. 
 
 But I shall not attempt to describe the feelings 
 of either the parent or the child, as they clasped 
 each other to their heart of hearts. The Earb 
 who witnessed it, put his hand over his face, and 
 laid his elbow against a tree, and wept his fill of 
 tears, and drank his fill of sympathetic joy.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " If that thy bent and love be honourable, 
 Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow." 
 
 Shaespeake. 
 
 Ellen's mother is thus described by her husband, 
 Edmund Spenser, in his " Epithalamion :" — 
 
 "Her long loose yellow locks, lyke golden wyre, 
 Sprincled with perle, and perling flowers atweene, 
 Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre ; 
 And, being crowned with a girland greene, 
 Seem lyke some mayden queene. 
 
 " Her modest eyes, abashed to behold 
 So many gazers as on her do stare, 
 Upon the lowly ground affixed are ; 
 Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, 
 But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud, 
 So far from being proud. 
 Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses sing, 
 That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. 
 
 " Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see 
 So fayre a creature in your town before ; 
 So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, 
 Adornd with beautye's grace, and vertue's store ? 
 Her goodly eyes lyke saphyres shining bright, 
 Her forehedd yvory white, 
 
 Her cheeks lyke apples which the sun hath rudded, 
 Her lips lyke cherries charming men to byte."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 263 
 
 The appearance of Mrs. Spenser upon the field 
 greatly puzzled Archer, the Jesuit, and his friend 
 Mac Rory, and considerably disarranged their 
 plans. The marriage, therefore, no longer de- 
 pended on the consent of the old priest ; his period 
 of protectorate had ceased ; the power was now in 
 other hands. True, she who possessed it was a 
 mild woman, but she was a Protestant, and one over 
 whose mind Archer could exert no influence. They 
 felt, therefore, under those circumstances, that to 
 prevent the marriage they were driven back to 
 their last wall of fortification — that was to prevent 
 the priest from performing the ceremony ; if he 
 refused, there was no other priest in the country 
 who would venture to perform it in opposition to 
 the Jesuit. 
 
 I need not inform the reader that the old priest 
 was well pleased to be relieved, of at least a part, 
 of the responsibility — the principal part — that of 
 giving his consent, and not only of giving his con- 
 sent, but of giving his adopted child to the Earl. 
 
 The Earl was richly rewarded, in more ways 
 than one, for his considerate kindness in finding 
 out and bringing to Ireland the mother of his 
 betrothed bride. There is no purer pleasure than 
 that which we derive from giving pleasure to 
 others. This was his first and immediate reward,
 
 264 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 that of witnessing the love and joy of the mother 
 and ^daughter, and, I may add, that of his old 
 friend, Mr. Cavendish, who appeared to partake of 
 the general joy as fully and heartily as any of the 
 party ; but the Earl reaped another advantage 
 more exclusively his own, which I shall now de- 
 scribe. 
 
 It has been ordained by the Author of our being, 
 that one legitimate operation or passion of the soul 
 shall not interfere with another ; but that they shall 
 rather help and aid each other. For example — 
 our love to God in no way interferes with our love 
 to man ; it rather strengthens it. He who loves 
 God with all his heart and soul is the most likely 
 to love his neighbour as himself. 
 
 The reason of this is plain ; the feelings are not 
 the same, and therefore cannot interfere with each 
 other. Our love for God is high, holy, reveren- 
 tial, and sanctified. It is like the holy incense, 
 which the Jewish priests offered on God's altar, and 
 which they dared not employ for common purposes. 
 Neither does our love for our parents interfere 
 with our devotion for our mistresses — as lady-loves 
 were styled in former days — nor with the conjugal 
 affection of husband and wife. All these diversi- 
 fied feelings in the human soul move on harmo- 
 niously together, like the large and small wheels in
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 265 
 
 a piece of machinery, when propelled by the power 
 of goodness, and the spirit of the God of love. 
 
 The Earl — for it is time I should make an ap- 
 plication of these remarks — the Earl observed a 
 great improvement in Ellen's manner, after her 
 mother made her appearance. Her mother's sanc- 
 tion gave her courage to express her affection to 
 an extent that she had not dared to do before. 
 The stamp of her mother's approval made her feel 
 more confident of the truth of her affection. With- 
 out this, some girls feel as timid in the disposal of 
 their hands and hearts as forgers do in the issue 
 of false notes. 
 
 "Well," said Ellen, giving her hand to her lover in 
 the library, — where she and her mother were seated 
 with the Earl, — " what shall I give you, or what 
 can I do for you, for restoring to me my mother ?" 
 
 " I ask nothing more than this," said the Earl, 
 pressing the hand which rested in his. 
 
 " This poor hand is all I have to give ; but if it 
 could place a crown, or your own coronet upon your 
 brow, I feel I should not be able to repay you all I 
 owe you." 
 
 The mother sat by, in silence, tears of joy run- 
 ning down her fair cheeks. 
 
 " But when," said the Earl, " may I expect my 
 reward ?" 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " When !" replied Ellen, with a flushed cheek — 
 " Oh, that must be decided by my mother." 
 
 " I shall leave it entirely in his lordship's and 
 your hands, my child," replied the mild matron. 
 
 The Earl looked at Ellen, and Ellen looked at 
 the Earl. 
 
 " Well, Ellen, what say you ?" 
 
 " I should like to hear your opinion first ; for 
 your engagements are of more importance than 
 mine." Now, the plain English of this reply was — 
 though Ellen did not intend to speak in plain Eng- 
 lish, nor did she consider the purport of the remark 
 — but the plain construction of the sentence was : — 
 " I am always ready ; to-day, to-morrow, or wher 
 you please." 
 
 The Earl, when asked, in this simple way, to 
 decide, found his plans and opinions, like a great 
 many bachelors before and since, in a very confused 
 and disarranged state. Women, though not the 
 first to propose, or the most pressing — at least, in 
 appearance — to " name the day" are generally, 
 when they " come to the scratch" — if my fair read- 
 ers will excuse the term — in a better state of pre- 
 paredness than men. 
 
 There are some men who allow themselves to fall 
 in love, and to make proposals, without considering 
 the consequences. I do not say our hero was one
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 267 
 
 of those ; but when asked to fix the day, a number 
 of difficulties started up suddenly before him, the 
 most pressing of which was to find a comfortable 
 and safe home for his wife. He therefore replied : — 
 
 " I shall consult our reverend friend, Father 
 Cavendish, and let you know his opinions." 
 
 The Earl took the earliest opportunity of seeing 
 the old priest, and explaining to him his wishes, 
 position, and plans for the future. His wish was 
 to marry Ellen Spenser as soon as possible ; but his 
 position was that of an outlaw, without a home ; 
 his plans for the future had reference to his troops 
 in Kerry, whom he intended to join as soon after 
 marriage as he could tear himself from the arms of 
 his bride. We therefore see that his case wa3 a 
 most difficult one ; but what will not a man, des- 
 perately in love, attempt ? 
 
 The priest removed the first two difficulties by 
 promising to perform the ceremony, and proposing 
 that the bride should remain where she was — in- 
 deed he could not think of parting with her ; the 
 Earl, therefore, resolved to think no more of the 
 third objection, — the necessity of so soon joining his 
 followers, — but, like a wise man, and an Irish- 
 man, to let the future provide for itself. " Carpe 
 diem! 1 was his motto ; — " Go thy way, eat thy 
 bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry
 
 268 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 heart : let thy garments be always white, and live 
 joyfully with the wife that thou lovest," — his au- 
 thority. When he mentioned the time — a month 
 from that day — Ellen said it was " soon," but in 
 the end made no objection. 
 
 We shall now leave them to prepare for the 
 wedding, a work in which women allow no one to 
 interfere but themselves. Men, during this pre- 
 paratory period, have no more right to give an 
 opinion, than has a malefactor to be consulted 
 about the erection of the gallows, or the knotting 
 of the rope with which he is to be hanged. When 
 the day comes he will find all prepared, from 
 the parson and prayer-book to his own night- 
 cap. 
 
 " For shame, to close your chapter with such a 
 comparison." 
 
 Well, so it is, dear reader, but I could not help 
 it, for I have a wayward, vagabond imagination, 
 which wanders where it pleases, sometimes into 
 back lanes and u Liberties ;" as picture-mongers 
 do into old houses and dirty brokers' shops ; but, 
 in order to remove the unpleasant associations 
 I may have called up, I shall quote for you the 
 following lines, written by Edmund Spenser, 
 the father of our heroine, to commemorate his 
 nuptials with Ellen's mother. It is the morning
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 269 
 
 of the day on which they are to be married that 
 he thus expresses his feelings : — 
 
 " "Wake now, my love, awake ; for it is time ; — 
 The rosy morne long since left Tithon's bed, 
 All ready to her silver coche to clyme, 
 And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed. 
 Hark ! how the cheerful birds do chaunt theyr laies, 
 And carroll of Love's praise. 
 The merry larke her mattins sings aloft ; 
 The thrush replyes, the mavis descant playes ; 
 The ouzel shrills ; the ruddock warbles soft ; 
 So goodly all agree with sweet consent, 
 To this dayes merriment. 
 
 Ah ! my deere love, why doe ye sleepe thus long, 
 When meeter were that ye should now awake, 
 T' awayt the comming of your ioyous mate, 
 And hearken to the birds love-learned song, 
 The dewy leaves among ! 
 For they of ioy and pleasure to you sing, 
 That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " A jealous empress lies within your arms, 
 Too haughty to endure neglected charms." 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 " Give me leave to acquaint the world that I am jealous on 
 
 this subject." 
 
 Idem. 
 
 Ellen and her lover were in the abbey early the 
 next morning. She looked very pale. 
 
 " I asked you to meet me here," said Ellen, " to 
 shew yon this letter : it was handed to me last 
 night by the l innocent,' Mac Rory, who said a 
 strange gorsoon gave it to him." 
 
 " Let me see it," said the Earl, taking the letter 
 and opening it, but as he read, his face became 
 scarlet, and before he had finished it, the veins of 
 his forehead stood out like whipcord ; but he re- 
 mained for some time silent. The letter, which was 
 addressed to " Miss Cavendish," ran as follows : — 
 
 v i 
 
 " Madam, 
 
 " I throw myself on your benevolence and 
 noble nature, to excuse the liberty I take, and to 
 think in charity of the revelation I am compelled,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 271 
 
 in compassion to myself, as well as in justice to you, 
 to make. My hand trembles as I raise the veil 
 from my heart, to expose its weakness and sin, 
 even to the eyes of one of my own sex ; but I be- 
 lieve I may rely on the nobility of your nature, 
 not to mock, if you cannot pity. 
 
 " But to tear the veil from my own heart, is also 
 to expose the character of the man who betrayed 
 me, and left my soul a ruin ; and who would now, 
 by winding and tortuous ways, and glosing speech, 
 tempt and deceive you, as the serpent did Eve. 
 
 a When but a child, I was thrown into the society 
 of the Earl of Desmond — indeed we grew up chil- 
 dren together : — I thought him all honour and 
 nobility, and, in my unsuspicious innocence end 
 ignorance of guile, revealed to him every thought of 
 my soul. Need I add, that he won my virgin affec- 
 tions, and had no difficulty in discovering that his 
 image was the idol enshrined in the sanctuary 
 of my soul. God ! yes, I placed him there in- 
 stead of my Maker. Lady, can your pure mind 
 imagine the extent to which unruly love may 
 carry one of our sex ? Here I must drop the veil 
 before your pure eyes. He betrayed me, deserted 
 me, and drove me to madness ; to commit an act 
 which has not only blasted my every prospect of 
 happiness on earth, but all my hopes of heaven —
 
 272 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 to marry one man, while I loved another. Yes, 
 Madam, and I love him still ; and, as the die is 
 cast against my soul, I swear it, — yes, here on my 
 bended knees, I swear it, before angels and de- 
 mons, — that the ivoman whom he marries shall be 
 the object of my implacable hate; and to be re- 
 venged for my wrong, I will follow her to the 
 death, and drive her, broken-hearted, for refuge to 
 the grave. Lady, be warned by one who would 
 rather be your friend than your foe. 
 
 " It is not necessary that I should subscribe this 
 letter with my name, for the Earl, your lover, 
 knows me, and that I speak the truth." 
 
 " Do vou know the writer of that fearful letter ?" 
 inquired Ellen Spenser, looking up in the face of 
 the Earl with pale and trembling anxiety. 
 
 "I do," said the Earl, with deep and serious 
 emphasis. 
 
 " Is it true ?" said she, laying her hand for sup- 
 port on his arm, like a fair victim who seeks the 
 support of the headsman, as he is about to inflict 
 the coup de main. 
 
 "No, not all." 
 
 She raised her head like one who catches the 
 distant cries of <k pardon," or " reprieve." 
 
 " Are you guilty of what she charges you ?"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 273 
 
 " No, not even in intention or thought ; it is 
 utterly false, fabricated in the madness of her 
 jealous passion." 
 
 " Thank God ! " said Ellen, laying her head on 
 her lover's bosom, and resting her hopes of hap- 
 piness on his honour, as on a rock. 
 
 " But," said the Earl, " this damnable letter re- 
 quires explanation." 
 
 " Oh ! not now," said Ellen, " disturb me not, I 
 am too happy." 
 
 " And yet in tears." 
 
 " They are tears of joy." 
 
 " What a noble, sweet girl !" I think I hear one 
 of my readers exclaim. Yes, fair reader, she was a 
 noble girl ; but if you suppose she had no anxiety 
 to hear more of the writer of the letter, you are 
 greatly mistaken ; or, that she had no spice of wo- 
 manly curiosity, you cannot believe she was one of 
 your own sex, or had a feeling in common with you. 
 
 " Well, I think I can hear you now," said Ellen 
 to the Earl, as they walked towards the house; " you 
 were going to tell me who this lady is, and ex- 
 plain about this letter." 
 
 " She is my cousin." 
 
 "Your cousin!" 
 
 " Yes, Lady Margaret, my cousin, the daughter 
 of my uncle, the late Earl of Desmond." 
 
 n 2
 
 274 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " You astonish me. I heard that she was mar- 
 ried to " 
 
 " To DermondO'Conor, general of the bownoughs,* 
 in my army." 
 
 " A man of power and importance, then." 
 
 " Except myself, the man of greatest power in 
 Munster, as you may judge from his getting my 
 uncle's daughter in marriage." 
 
 " And of skill as a soldier, too, or you had not 
 appointed him to the command of your troops." 
 
 " What you say is true." 
 
 "Is he a man of honour, and one attached to 
 your person ?" 
 
 " Of that I cannot speak with the same confi- 
 dence. He was a poor man in the beginning, — 
 possessed of no personal property, — who came here 
 from Connaught. But of his skill as a general, 
 and his valour as a soldier, there can be no doubt."f 
 
 * The Bownoghs were the paid rebel forces, and were all 
 picked and powerful men, upon whose arms the fate of the 
 battle depended. 
 
 | " This Dermond O'Connor was a poore man in the begin- 
 ning of his fortune, and not owner of two ploughlands in 
 Connaught, his native countrie ; his reputation grew partly 
 by his wife, who was daughter to the old Earl of Desmonde, 
 and partly by his valour, being reputed one of the most 
 valiant leaders, and best commanders, amongst the Irish 
 rebels. By meanes whereof he had now the command of 
 fourteene hundred men, in his own Bonaght, and besides that,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 275 
 
 " Is he aware of Lady Margaret's love for you ?" 
 
 " He heard she had a penchant of the kind, 
 before marriage ; but I have been most guarded 
 and circumspect." 
 
 " But has she ?" 
 
 " Not, I fear, to the same extent ; for she is 
 a woman whom passion renders reckless ; but I 
 never heard that she had given him reason to be- 
 lieve that she repented her marriage, or that her 
 heart was not his." 
 
 " My interest in your personal safety causes 
 me to ask these questions, for I fear these people 
 possess the power, if they had the will, to accom- 
 plish your ruin. I sometimes tremble lest this 
 marriage should work you ill. My heart often 
 reproaches me with too much selfishness in giving 
 you my hand." 
 
 " Well, take another view of the case. Her 
 opposition is not to my marriage with you, but to 
 my marriage with any one. She is something like 
 the Queen, in this affair. But would you have 
 me — were you not even the object of my choice — 
 to remain unmarried, to gratify her unruly whims 
 or passions ?" 
 
 " By no means ; but you will be careful of your 
 
 might strike a great stroke with the other, being ordain ed chief e 
 commander of them all." — Pucata Uibernia, vol. i., p. 65.
 
 276 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 life ; for my sake, you will be careful ; for you 
 have not only to contend with open foes, in the 
 field, but with, perhaps, hidden enemies in the 
 camp." 
 
 " It was of you I thought, and not of myself ; — 
 but, I will not terrify you by reminding you of her 
 cruel, threatening words." 
 
 " She will not think a poor maiden, like me, 
 worthy her notice ; — but you have not told me 
 of her personal appearance. Is she very beau- 
 tiful r 
 
 " I really believe her greatest enemies must 
 grant that she is beautiful." 
 
 " What coloured hair and eyes ?" 
 
 " Black, like the raven's wing ; and an eye 
 sparkling with fire." 
 
 " I declare you are becoming quite eloquent 
 in your description. Now, may I ask you, Sir 
 Knight, how it happened you passed by this 
 goddess of beauty, to think of poor me ?" 
 
 " In the first place, because I thought you far 
 more beautiful." 
 
 " Well, go on, what is your second place ? I am 
 anxious to hear, as your first is so satisfactory ; 
 proceed." 
 
 " Well, in the second place, she is not feminine 
 enough, in her mind, to please me."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 277 
 
 " What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 " That she is disposed to engage herself in af- 
 fairs which are generally considered out of her 
 sphere." 
 
 " I must take the hint : perhaps she is more 
 the general of bownoghs than her lord and mas 
 ter?" 
 
 "Not only so, she is lord and master of the 
 general himself." 
 
 " Does she possess this influence over her hus- 
 band ?" 
 
 " She does." 
 
 " She is, therefore, a dangerous enemy, and let 
 me again warn you to beware of her." 
 
 " For your sake I shall be on my guard ; but 
 you are not jealous ?" 
 
 " Jealous! No, but " 
 
 " But what ? What, Ellen, — in tears !" — kissing 
 her till she smiles like the sun through a summer's 
 shower.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " Here treacherous poisoners urge their fatal trade.'- 
 
 Ckeech. 
 
 " Yet there is credence in my heart, 
 That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears, 
 As if those organs hath deceptious functions." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Old bachelors, be they even Jesuits, find them- 
 selves at fault in judging of human nature, as it 
 developes itself in women ; they should, therefore, 
 carry on their operations as independently of fe- 
 minine agency as possible; or, like the horse in 
 the fable — who, when trying to catch the stag, 
 allowed a man to get upon its back — they may 
 find they have employed a power which has mas- 
 tered them. The operation of a woman's mind 
 is fully understood by woman only. It is 
 a piece of beautiful machinery, that requires 
 the apprenticeship of marriage to learn anything 
 about. It is, therefore, dangerous for a bachelor 
 to touch it. Abstract philosophy will never do 
 here. Were a philosopher to enter one of our 
 modern, cotton-spinning factories, he might, by
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOID. 279 
 
 putting his finger upon some little crank, set a 
 number of levers moving, wheels turning, and bob- 
 bins spinning and buzzing, which it might puzzle 
 him to stop. Away they go, "rattle-rattle," — " buzz- 
 buzz," — producing a most awful noise ; some moving 
 slowly, but powerfully ; others more swiftly; and the 
 little wheels and bobbins like lightning itself. He 
 stands confounded at the effects of his fiddling, till 
 a factory girl, who knows all about the bobbins and 
 wheels, comes up, and by a touch of her slender 
 fingers, stops them, or sets them going again, at 
 pleasure. " La ! sir, it's quite easy." 
 
 " I fear," said the Jesuit, who had overheard the 
 conversation between the Earl and Miss Spenser, 
 in the abbey, " I fear," said he to his companion, 
 "that this letter of Lady Margaret's — which I 
 made her write — will do no good, but that it may 
 do a great deal of harm. I was not aware of the 
 strength of her passion for him, or I would not 
 have asked her to interfere at all. If she becomes 
 his mortal enemy — as his marriage with this girl 
 is likely to make her — she may work him, and 
 our whole cause, a world of injury : in the fury of 
 her passion she might destroy everything." 
 
 " What, therefore, is to be done ?" said MacEory. 
 
 " We must prevent this marriage. There is 
 more necessity for doing so now, than ever."
 
 280 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " They propose to celebrate the nuptials in a 
 month," said Mac Rory. 
 
 " That gives us time to arrange our plans. — I 
 see," said the Jesuit, after a long pause — " I see but 
 one way of preventing it." 
 
 " What is that V replied his young companion. 
 
 " Can you not imagine ? Come, it is time you 
 should learn to plan and devise, as well as execute, 
 and obey. It is time I should invest you with the 
 toga and initiate you in the esoterica of our order. 
 It is thus the parent bird encourages its young to 
 use its wings and leave the nest. You must soon 
 leave my wing altogether ; it is, therefore, time 
 you should try your own strength." 
 
 " As bird each fond endearment tries, 
 To tempt her unfledged offspring to the skies, 
 He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
 Allured to H ! and led the way." 
 
 " What say you ? What would you propose ?" 
 
 " To carry off the maiden," replied Mac Rory. 
 
 " Good," said the elder Jesuit, smiling, " you 
 shew the daring of a young eagle, which makes its 
 first swoop upon a lamb ; but something even 
 greater is required in this case." 
 
 " To carry off the Earl ?" 
 
 " Better still ; but you have not yet risen to 
 the height of holy daring which this case requires.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 281 
 
 Besides, either of these measures, though displaying 
 wisdom and decision, would not suit under present 
 circumstances. Were you to lay a finger on her, 
 he would be like a bear, as the Scriptures saith, 
 robbed of her whelps ; and to attempt violence to 
 his person, in the way of confinement, would be an 
 indignity he could never forgive : you must there- 
 fore guess again." 
 
 " Carry off the priest." 
 
 " You are nearer the mark now ; yes, we must 
 remove the old priest." 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " Where do you think?" 
 
 " I could carry him, where the Earl would never 
 find him." • 
 
 " Could you take him where he would never 
 miss him, or look for him, or suspect us of vio- 
 lence ?" 
 
 " No, that would be impossible." 
 
 " There is nothing impossible to a resolute mind. 
 There is, notwithstanding, such a place as I have 
 mentioned ; and it is not far from where we stand." 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " There /" said the Jesuit, in a whisper, pointing 
 his finger among the tombs. 
 
 " What ?" said the young man starting back, 
 " would you murder him, and he a priest ?"
 
 282 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " The greater the sacrifice, the more acceptable 
 to God, my son. But call it not murder. l Old 
 men must die,' as the proverb says ; and if by dying 
 a little sooner than nature intended, they promote 
 the interests of the Church, their death is to be 
 desired. To them it is no loss, to the Church great 
 gain. In such cases, we must neither be scared 
 nor deceived by conventional terms, such as ' mur- 
 der,' nor by the opinions of the vulgar. Do you 
 understand me ?" 
 
 " I think I do." 
 
 " You and I," continued the old Jesuit, " have 
 both adventured our lives in the good cause, and 
 are ready to do so again ; and the conducting of 
 this affair will not be without danger to us both. 
 Are you prepared, for the Church's weal, to join 
 with me, in jeopardizing your life again? The 
 Church requires this sacrifice. Are you prepared 
 to offer it ?" 
 
 "I am," said the young murderer, with all the 
 enthusiasm of a martyr. 
 
 " You have wisely and nobly decided," said the Je- 
 suit ; "meet me, in my room, to-night, after I retire." 
 
 Archer then gave him his hand. Mac Rory bowed 
 low, as he received it, and was about to withdraw, 
 when Archer called him back, and said, " You spend 
 most of your time in the kitchen ?"
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 283 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Know you, therefore, if there be any one dish, 
 of which Father Cavendish alone partakes ?" 
 
 " There is." 
 
 " That will do." 
 
 " You propose to accomplish it by poison, then ?" 
 whispered the young man. 
 
 " Yes, by medical ingredients, with which you 
 must drug his food. Think you, you can find the 
 opportunity ?" 
 
 " Leave that to me," said the young man, licking 
 his lips, like a young hound who has got the first 
 taste of blood. 
 
 " Well, be careful, and I will supply you with 
 the compounds ; but you must use them in the 
 exact proportion I point out : too large a dose 
 might create suspicion, and we have time enough." 
 
 " I shall be careful." 
 
 " I know it. Farewell," said the priest, looking 
 proudly and kindly at his pupil, as he retired from 
 the private conference. 
 
 Were these men acting the hypocrite, or under 
 some damnable delusion, when meditating murder, 
 and speaking of dying for their Church ? 
 
 They were, to some extent, sincere, and, to the 
 same extent, deceived ; but they must have been 
 conscious of practising deception upon themselves,
 
 284 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 or of giving themselves up to the enthusiasm ex- 
 cited by a grand object, which seemed to justify- 
 any means for its accomplishment. Church as 
 well as political policy — but here both were com- 
 bined — often oversteps the barriers of morality, 
 without hesitation or compunction. Conduct of 
 this kind is too common to be curious, or to ren- 
 der an analysis of the state of mind of those who 
 practise it, in any wise interesting ; all men are, 
 to a greater or less extent, practising the same 
 kind of self-deception, while the conscience con- 
 tinues to " accuse or excuse" it.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " Virgin, awake ! the marriage hour is nigh." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 " Give me to live and die 
 A spotless maid, without the marriage tie." 
 
 Deyden. 
 
 " A superior being can defeat his designs, and disappoint 
 all his hopes." 
 
 TlLLOTSON. 
 
 A fortnight after the interview between Archer 
 and Mac Kory, the old priest called the Earl 'and 
 Miss Spenser to his room, and thus addressed them : 
 
 " My Lord, I sent for you and this dear child, 
 to speak on a matter which is now to me the dearest 
 earthly object of my heart — your marriage. The 
 time fixed for it is, I believe, a fortnight from to- 
 day ; would it be convenient to you to have it 
 celebrated before this time ?" 
 
 " Dear uncle, why do you ask ?" said Ellen. 
 
 " It may be weakness in me, but for the last few 
 days I have not felt as I used to do ; I suspect the 
 days of my pilgrimage are drawing to a close, and 
 before that time comes, I should like to place your
 
 286 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 hands together, for you would, I am sure, find a 
 difficulty in getting another to perform the cere- 
 mony, after I am gone." 
 
 u Oh ! uncle — dear uncle, speak not so: God, will 
 spare you to us for many years to come." 
 
 " May be so, my dear child, but I fear not, and 
 it is best to be prepared for the will of God. Now 
 kiss me, and go and consult your mother about the 
 matter ; but fix on the earliest day." 
 
 " What day would you propose, sir?" said the 
 Earl, who had not spoken up to this period, but 
 who had kept his eyes fixed on the old man's face, — 
 while he was speaking, — in a deep and sorrowful 
 scrutiny. 
 
 " Would to-morrow be too soon ?" 
 
 " To-morrow ! uncle." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I should like it ; delays, you 
 know, are dangerous, to a proverb." 
 
 Ellen stood for some minutes looking at her 
 adopted uncle, or parent, in mute astonishment, 
 and then escaped from the room, to give free vent 
 to her feelings of mingled sorrow and surprise. 
 
 " What mean you, sir ?" said the Earl, after 
 Ellen had left the room — " what mean you by this?" 
 
 " I believe, my Lord, I am very near my end ; 
 indeed, I feel certain I cannot live more than a few 
 — a very few days. A strange change has come
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 287 
 
 over me during the last fortnight. I feel as if 
 my vital energies were dried up, and the blood had 
 ceased to circulate in my veins." 
 
 " I have observed a change," replied the Earl, 
 with deep seriousness ; " but you may rally, sir." 
 
 " Never, my Lord — never ; my days are number- 
 ed, and the number is now few ; so let me beseech 
 you to use your influence, not to have this marriage 
 delayed — if you wish me to perform it for you — 
 beyond to-morrow." 
 
 " Do you think it necessary it should take place 
 to-morrow ?" 
 
 " I think so. Yes," said the old man, after a 
 deep inspiration, — from which he seemed to draw 
 further confirmation of his danger, — " I think* so ; 
 there is no time to be lost. Let it be to-morrow, 
 my Lord. Go now, and use your influence with 
 the ladies." 
 
 The next day was fixed for the wedding ; for the 
 words and manner of the old priest were solemn 
 and prophetic. 
 
 It is the bridal day. The sky is wild and tem- 
 pestuous. The storm of the over-night has stripped 
 the trees of their blossoms. The bride's cheek 
 bears the pale pink tint of the fading hawthorn. 
 She is dressed in white : —
 
 288 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best ; 
 So well it her beseems, that ye would weene 
 Some angell she had beene." 
 
 Her uncle, the old priest, had not yet made his 
 appearance, which was an unusual circumstance, as 
 he was generally the first up. The servant said: 
 " He had been ill through the night; his usual 
 nightly posset, a part of which only he had taken, 
 had disagreed with him ; but he promised to meet 
 the wedding party in the library, after breakfast." 
 
 The Earl remarked that the Jesuit was paler 
 than usual, that he waited for the report of the 
 servant with anxiety ; for which Desmond felt gra- 
 titude, and a greater warmth of heart towards him, 
 than he had ever before experienced. 
 
 Shortly after this report, Archer expressed his 
 intention of being present at the marriage, which 
 surprised the Earl the more, as he was aware of his 
 former stern and invincible opposition. 
 
 The Jesuit observed the Earl's surprise, and said: 
 " I verily believe that marriages are made in 
 heaven: they say there is a fate in those things, 
 and that there is no use in opposing them ; as, 
 therefore, my Lord, you are determined to marry 
 this sweet girl, I cannot think of acting so ungra- 
 ciously as to absent myself from the ceremony."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 289 
 
 The Earl gave him his hand, which the Jesuit 
 cordially pressed. 
 
 " But I must go and see my old friend," conti- 
 nued Archer ; a he should take some refreshment 
 before this ceremony; perhaps you will have some- 
 thing ordered, and sent to him, and I shall make 
 him take it: a little chicken broth, and some wine." 
 
 " I shall speak to Ellen, or her mother, this 
 moment," replied the Earl, hastening out of the 
 room. He then said to himself, " That man has 
 more kindness than I gave him credit for; I shall 
 think more highly of him after this day. He op- 
 posed this marriage for the sake of his country, and 
 his religion ; but I now see, that in doing so, he op- 
 posed the kindlier feelings of his heart. His rioble 
 motives must justify, or at least palliate, a line of 
 conduct, which gave me very great pain." 
 
 The marriage party, — consisting of the bride and 
 bridegroom, Mrs. Spenser, Archer, Mac Rory, Der- 
 mot, and the domestics of the house, — were assem- 
 bled in the library, at ten o'clock. 
 
 Before the altar knelt the bride and bride- 
 groom; the old priest, with his book in hand, stood 
 in front, as pale and rigid as a statue ; and seemed 
 to be making desperate efforts to master some 
 internal convulsion, which now and then distorted 
 his countenance, and caused his eye-balls to pro- 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 290 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 trude fearfully. But the ceremony, notwithstand- 
 ing, proceeded. When near the conclusion, and 
 just as he took the hand of the bride to place it 
 within that of the bridegroom, he was seized with 
 a spasm which brought him to his knees ; his head 
 falling back on the altar. Here he worked terri- 
 bly, struggling with Death for time. — Only one 
 minute more. — No, the hour is up. — Half a mi- 
 nute. — No. — Yes. — No. — Hurra ! he has it, — for 
 that is not Death. 
 
 "He has fainted," said the Jesuit, rushing forward. 
 " I shall be stronger in a moment," whispered the 
 brave old man ; but in so low a voice, that no one 
 but Archer heard him. 
 
 " I have a cordial here, that will revive you," said 
 the Jesuit, drawing a small vial from his breast. 
 " Taste this, my dear friend," putting it to his mouth. 
 " No" said the priest, turning his mouth aside, 
 with a shudder ; but some drops of the liquid had 
 passed his lips before he spoke. 
 
 The moment after, he opened his eyes with a wild 
 stare, — looked about him, — and seeing Ellen and 
 the Earl before him, seized a hand of each, pressed 
 them together, and said : " God bless you, my chil- 
 dren /" His head then drooped on his bosom, like 
 that of the dying gladiator. He has conquered ! 
 Sleep on, thou brave old man, and take thy rest. 
 " How awful and mysterious all this seems, my
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 291 
 
 Lord," said the Jesuit to the Earl, as they stood 
 beside the dead body, after the marriage party had 
 retired. 
 
 " It may, notwithstanding," said the Earl, with 
 a glance of fearful intelligence, " admit of a simple 
 explanation." 
 
 " What mean you by that, my Lord ?" replied 
 Archer, with far more indignation than became an 
 innocent and unsuspicious man — " What mean you 
 by that ?" 
 
 " That you gave an over dose of that vial ; for 
 he was reviving when you poured that liquid down 
 his throat, and against his will." 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! no, my Lord ; but did it not look 
 like the hand of God, to prevent your contemplated 
 marriage with this maiden ?" 
 
 " Contemplated marriage ! What ! Say you that 
 we are not married ?" 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 " Not married ! — I defy all the Jesuits of Rome, 
 or all the fiends of hell, to deny it." 
 
 " You need not be excited, my Lord. It is a 
 matter easily decided : there were witnesses enough 
 present. But I shall say no more about it, as it 
 appears to displease you." 
 
 You, reader, were present ; and I ask you, was it 
 a marriage ?
 
 292 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 I ask you, ye Marriage Registrars, and Couple- 
 beggars, who by the stroke of a pen, make a spinster 
 and bachelor a man and wife — I ask you, was it a 
 marriage ? 
 
 " Well — I should say not, as the legal forms 
 were not strictly adhered to." 
 
 I expected no other answer from you. 
 
 I ask you, modest maidens, who turn pale at 
 the sight of white gloves, and blush while you 
 weave a garland of roses to adorn the bride's fair 
 brow, was it a marriage ? 
 
 Ye are silent, ye lovely bridesmaids. 
 
 I ask you, pious and decorous matrons, who 
 insist that everything of this kind should be done 
 soberly, seriously, piously, " decently, and in order," 
 was it a marriage ? 
 
 " Did he put the ring on her finger ?" 
 
 No, — but was it a marriage ? 
 
 " Well, I don't really know what to say about 
 it." 
 
 But what would you do, if it were your case ? 
 
 " Really, sir, your questions are very awkward, 
 and very difficult to answer. What did the young 
 lady, Ellen Spenser, do ?" 
 
 I must leave you to imagine that, ladies. She 
 did, I suppose, what you would do yourselves. Ask 
 your own hearts what that is.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " He then uprose 
 And called for his armes ; for he would algates fight. 
 They bene brought, he quickly does him dight, 
 And lightly mounted passeth on his way ; 
 ~No ladie's loves, no sweete entreaties might 
 Appease his heat, or hastie passage stay ; 
 For he has vowd to beene avengd that day." 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 A few days after the interment of the good 
 priest, who was laid in the abbey, the Earl received 
 intelligence from the South, which compelled him 
 to tear himself, in haste, from the embrace of the 
 dear object of his choice. 
 
 " Oh ! how I hate these sudden departures," ex- 
 claim my readers ; " could you not have left him 
 a little longer V 
 
 Not another day : a true knight will start at 
 any moment — that he hears the sound of the 
 trumpet of war — from the arms of his ladye-love ; 
 and the Earl was a brave soldier : duty, patriotism, 
 honour, glory demanded the sacrifice : — 
 
 " But he, halfe discontent, mote nathelesse 
 Himself appease, and issewd forth on shore : 
 The ioyes whereof and happy fruitfulnesse, 
 Such as he saw she gan him lay before,
 
 294 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 And all though pleasaunt, yet she made much more, 
 The fields did laugh, the flowres did freshly spring ; 
 The trees did hud, and early blossomes bore ; 
 And all the quire of birds did sweetly sing, 
 And told that gardin's pleasures in their carolling. 
 
 " And she more sweete than any bird on bough, 
 Would oftentimes emongst them beare a part, 
 And strive to passe (as she could well enough) 
 Their native musicke by her skilful art ; 
 So did she all, that might his constant hart 
 "Withdraw from thought of warlike enterprize, 
 And drown in sweete delights apart, 
 Where noise of armes, or vew of martial guize 
 Might not revive desire of knightly exercise." 
 
 But duty, gentle reader, demanded that he should 
 leave this garden of delights. 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense. What do we read of 
 Ulysses? That 'he preferred his old wife to immor- 
 tality' (vetulam suam prcetulit immortalitati) ; and 
 surely your hero should think more of his new wife 
 than Ulysses did of his old one." 
 
 " Old one /" I wish my wife, or Penelope heard 
 you. I see you have not read " John Anderson my 
 Joe." 
 
 " Nor you your Bible ; for that allows a newly 
 married man to stay at home from the wars with 
 his wife, a whole year."* 
 
 * " When a man hath taken a new wife, he shall not go out 
 to war, neither shall he be charged with any business, but he 
 shall be free at home one year, that he may cheer up his wife 
 which he hath taken." — Detjt. xxiv. 5.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 295 
 
 Well, I will not argue with you, as you are 
 going to quote Scripture ; but our hero thought 
 the separation inevitable ; and that being the case, 
 the more expeditiously it was arranged the better. 
 A speedy and unexpected departure shortens the 
 period of sad misgiving and sorrow which antici- 
 pates the leave-taking. 
 
 The Jesuit proposed to accompany the Earl ; to 
 which he could make no reasonable objection, al- 
 though he felt a strong repugnance to the presence 
 of this man, ever since the morning of the marriage. 
 The old harper, Dermot, also insisted on going 
 with his master to the field. The Earl wished him 
 to remain with Ellen and Mrs. Spenser, but Ellen 
 pressed for his being allowed to go. Mac Kory, 
 the innocent, was left with the ladies. Archer 
 strongly recommended this arrangement. 
 
 Why did the Jesuit recommend that his coadju- 
 tor, Mac Rory, as we shall still call him ( I have a 
 reason for not mentioning this young gentleman's 
 real name), should be left behind with the ladies ? 
 
 For two reasons : first, to prevent the possibility 
 of Ellen's joining her husband, should any unexpect- 
 ed casualty or change of circumstance require it; in 
 which case, he would, of course, acknowledge her as 
 his wife. Secondly, Mac Eory was left as a spy, not 
 so much on her, as on him : not, of course, on his
 
 296 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 person, but on his correspondence. Archer felt that 
 he had, to a great degree, forfeited the Earl's confi- 
 dence ; and that his most private thoughts and 
 feelings would, for the future, be breathed only 
 into Ellen's ears through the medium of his letters. 
 Through this source, and by Mac Eory's vigilance, 
 he hoped to be made acquainted with Desmond's 
 plans and purposes, almost as soon as they were con- 
 ceived. When Mac Rory heard of the decision, — 
 that he was to remain as a spy on the lovely young 
 Countess of Desmond, — a thrill of pleasure shot 
 through his heart. 
 
 Archer, who made the communication to him, — 
 as they walked up and down one of the dark pas- 
 sages of the old abbey, — saw him start, looked up 
 in his face, and asked the cause. 
 
 " The rat," replied Mac Eory, — " it ran across 
 my foot." 
 
 It was not a rat, Father Archer ; but that young 
 man is disposed to rat from his allegiance to you. 
 I warn you to keep an eye upon him, or else
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 " I heard of battles, 
 And longed to follow to the field." 
 
 Noeval. 
 
 The day before the Earl left his sweet retreat, he 
 received, through the Jesuit, the following letter : — 
 
 " TO THE EARL OF DESMOND, GREETING : — 
 
 u Damnation, my good Lord and cousin ! 
 what the devil has caused you not to be present 
 with us for the last two months, that your men "have 
 been waiting for you, and desirous to be led forth 
 against the new President of Munster ? 
 
 " Heard ye of my battle with Captain Flower and 
 Captain Bostocke, before the arrival of the Presi- 
 dent ? Captain Flower is a pretty man, and a good 
 soldier, but, believe me, my Lord, I put him to the 
 pin of his collar ; but Bostocke is a bosthoon* The 
 Commissioners sent Captain Flower and Bostocke 
 to make a prey in Carbery ; they were twelve hun- 
 dred strong, and a hundred horse ; they burned and 
 
 * Bosthoon, a stupid fellow. 
 
 o 2
 
 298 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 spoiled all before them, and got the heads of thirty- 
 seven of our bravest men, which they were carrying 
 away with them, of which, when I heard, I adver- 
 tised Dermond O'Conor, and we collected together 
 the provincials and bownoughs in strong force, and 
 waylaid them betwixt Cork and Kinsale. We lay 
 a long while in close ambush, on the north side of 
 the River Awneby, hiding in a glynne, among the 
 scrubby wood, near the river ; but as the enemy 
 came up to the river, they espied the morions in the 
 ambush, and gave the alarm ; but, damnation, we 
 were on them before they could say Paddy Blake; 
 and sent a goodly number of them to hell, with- 
 out a word of prayer. They had all gone there, if 
 it had not been for Captain Flower, who formed a 
 counter ambush, that gave us a check ; he also 
 rode up, with pike in rest, to encounter Dermond 
 O'Conor, your general of bownoughs, and discharged 
 a pistol, which lighted on his target, whereby he 
 received no harm. Between ourselves, / have my 
 suspicions of Dermond ; but the rest when we 
 meet. 
 
 " Damnation — write soon, and say when we may 
 expect you in Cork. 
 
 " Your loving Friend and Cousin, 
 " Florence Mac Carthy More."
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 299 
 
 The following was the Earl's reply to his friend's 
 " damnation 11 letter : — 
 
 " Accept, my dear Lord and cousin, my 
 hearty congratulations for your victory over the 
 men sent by the Commissioners to prey in your 
 country. I hope we shall soon be able to break 
 the cruel and bloody yoke of our enemies from off 
 the necks of our people. I understand the Presi- 
 dent intends a journey to the county of Limerick. 
 I shall lose no time in gathering my best forces, to 
 resist their wicked designs. I have written to Eed- 
 mond Burke, who is bordering on the confines of 
 Ormond, to be prepared with all his forces. I also 
 pray you, good cousin, slack not time, with your 
 best force and provisions of victuals, to persecute 
 the enemy in the rear, as you respect me, love 
 your religion, and the ease of your country. I look 
 for no excuse at your hands, when you may further 
 the service, and you will find me, with all force, to 
 second you at your need. I have retained for 
 Dermond O'Conor, in Kerry, two hundred soldiers, 
 besides the Clanshillies and other bownoughs, with 
 the rising of my country, so I think I shall make 
 up sixteen hundred or seventeen hundred strong^ 
 well-appointed men, together with the force of Red- 
 mond Burke. Thus, for lack of further novelties, 
 I commit you to the blessed guiding of God.
 
 300 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 " I have just heard you have had a conference 
 with the new President, which much surprised me. 
 He is a wily statesman. See to it, that you be not 
 caught in his net. I rely on you not to be deceived 
 by him. Expect to meet me in a few days. 
 
 " Your most assured Cousin, 
 "James Desmond. 
 " To Florence Mac Carthy More." 
 
 Ah, Florence Mac Carthy ! Florence Mac Carthy ! 
 if only the half that Sir George Carew says of you, 
 in his Pacata Hibernia, be true, you must have 
 been one of the biggest " rogues," " liars," " blas- 
 phemers," " deceivers," and " Machiavellian ambi- 
 dexters," that ever your fair country produced — 
 and it has been fruitful in lying and deceiving 
 scoundrels, as well as in great men. But, to do 
 you justice, Florence Mac Carthy, I believe, like 
 your Kerry cousin, Daniel O'Connell,* you loved 
 your country and religion; and, I may add, were a 
 true rebel at heart, and as faithful to your friend, 
 the Earl, as your nature would allow you ; but to 
 keep faith with infidels or Queens' Presidents, I 
 think I hear you say, " Tol like that" Oh, no : 
 you were true to your cognomen, " The Two-hearted 
 
 * The O'Connells claim kindred, or Kerry-cousinship, with 
 the Mac Car thy s More.
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 301 
 
 Mac Cavihy." You had a hand and a heart — that 
 is, a heart on your palm — as we see in some heraldic 
 devices — for your foes; and a heart in your "busum" 
 for your friends. You might pledge Presidents 
 your sacred word, and sacred oath, and say " Here's 
 my hand on it ;" but, to do you justice, you would 
 rather, at any time, be giving them your fist than 
 your palm ; and you had a big fist ; and by size, 
 as well as descent, had a fair claim to the title of 
 " Mac Carthy More."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 " The rebels they are up, 
 And put the Englishmen unto the sword." 
 
 Shakspeaee. 
 
 The state of the Province, which the Lord Presi- 
 dent of Munster, — whom we must now follow with 
 our hero to the County Cork, — had to govern, or 
 I should rather say subdue, and pacify, — before he 
 could write his " Pacata Hibernia" or have these 
 two words inscribed on her Majesty's tomb, — is 
 thus described by Sir Henry Power, who was sole 
 Commissioner of the Province after the death of 
 Sir Warham St. Leger : — 
 
 " I know not how more fitly to describe unto 
 your honor the estate of this Province, than by 
 comparing the same to a man that is diseased of a 
 languishing, and almost incurable sicknesse, the 
 head so sore, and the heart so sicke, that every 
 member refuseth his natural office ; in so much that 
 I dare boldly affirme, that since the conquest of 
 Ireland, this Province of Mounter was never more 
 distempered then now it is ; for all the inhabitants 
 of the country are in open and actual rebellion,
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 303 
 
 except some few of the better sort ; who, though 
 themselves, in their owne persons, attend the state, 
 yet all their tenants, friends, and followers, yea and 
 for the most part, either their sonnes or brothers 
 publickely professed in the devilish action ; as for 
 example the Lord of Cahir, Cormocke, MacDer- 
 mond, Lord of Muskry, Gerald Fitz-James, Lord of 
 the Decies, Mac Cartie Keugh. The computation 
 and number of the rebels, how many they are, en- 
 pecially of the Province — by reason that they are 
 dispersed in so many severall countries, and com- 
 manded by so many heads — we can gieu no certaine 
 iudgement; but for strangers, (meaning Connaght 
 men that reciue bonnaght amongst them,) we are 
 certainly advertised from divers, that are well ac- 
 quainted with their affaires, that they are enlist 
 fiue thousand men ; which strength, added to the 
 rebels of that Province, doeth make them absolute- 
 ly masters of the field. And Her Majesty's Forces 
 heere garrisoned in the cities and walled townes 
 for their safetie, (by reason of their weaknesse 
 before your coming,) were in condition little better 
 than besieged. Furthermore, all this might seem 
 more tollerable, if the cities and walled townes 
 were (in these times of extremitie) a safe and well 
 assured retreat for them : but all of them are so 
 besotted and bewitched with the Popish Priests,
 
 304 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 Jesuiets, and Seminaries, that for fear of their curs- 
 ings and excommunications, they are ready, upon 
 everie small occasion, to rise in armes against 
 them, and minister all under-hand ayde and succour 
 unto the rebels : so that considering the generaltaie 
 of the inhabitants that are in open rebellion, the 
 infidelitie of those that pretend subjection, the mul- 
 titude of Connaght men, that defend the action, 
 and the little confidence that maybe reposed in 
 cities, (by reason of their contrary religion,) wee 
 may very well conclude, that the estate of this 
 Province is like a man sicke of a most dangerous 
 and desperate disease." 
 
 The daily experience of the President fully real- 
 ized the foregoing description. The intelligence 
 which he almost hourly received, of some new act 
 of violence and rebellion, was almost enough to 
 distract or madden a man who came to the coun- 
 try with peaceable propensities, and who hoped to 
 arrange everything by conciliation or intrigue. 
 He needed the patience of Job, to bear with equa- 
 nimity the sad tidings which every new messenger 
 brought in. 
 
 The 25th of April he heard that " John Fitz- 
 Thomas, the Earl's brother, accompanied with one 
 hundred kerne, or thereabouts, came into the Lord 
 Barry his countrie, near Castle Lyons, and there
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 305 
 
 tooke from him, and his tenants, a prey of three 
 hundred cowes and ten horses. 
 
 11 The morrow following, being the twentie-sixth, 
 intelligence was brought from Cormocke Oge 
 Carty, called by the English Charles Carty, sonne 
 to Sir Cormocke Mac Teg, that the arch-traitor 
 Tyrone had sent letters to Florence Mac Carthy, to 
 encourage both him and his adherents to persist in 
 the action ; assuring them that within one moneth, 
 namely, in May next, he would be with them again 
 in Munster, and for that journey his munition vic- 
 tuals were already prepared. 
 
 " The twenty-seventh, (as Dermond Odwire in- 
 formed the President by his letters,) Redmond 
 Burke, with six hundred men, entred into his coun- 
 trie, to burne and prey the same, which to effect, he 
 divided his forces into three sundry parts. Odwire 
 having assembled as many men as that short warn- 
 ing would permit, fell upon one of the divisions 
 afore mentioned, which consisted of two hundred 
 foot ; of them he slew one hundred and twenty, and 
 many hurt ; in revenge whereof Redmond Burke, 
 upon the sixth of May following, having gotten as 
 many men as he could assemble, entred the second 
 time into the aforesaid countrie, where he slew man, 
 woman, and child, burnt all the houses (castles ex-
 
 306 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 cepted), and drove away all the cattle of the coun- 
 tries 
 
 Sir George said to his council the first day- 
 he met them, " I very much doubt that any good 
 success can be suddenly expected ; yet remembering 
 the old proverb, ardua virtutis est via, and relying 
 on the justness of my measures rather than on the 
 number of my forces, I am resolved to try to the 
 uttermost, my wit and cunning, before I commit 
 the matter to the hazard of war." 
 
 Such calm, resolute language, in the face and 
 teeth of such reports of daily risings, burnings, and 
 taking of preys, was well calculated to inspire men 
 with confidence in the new Lord President of Muns- 
 ter. It was hearing daily such reports as this, that had 
 half maddened the poor Earl of Essex, and caused 
 him to run out of Ireland, as from a burning house. 
 
 It is said that a certain gentleman, whom we 
 need not mention, should get his due meed of 
 praise or blame, as well as every other gentleman. 
 Acting on this fair-play principle, we cannot but 
 award to Sir George Carew his due meed of praise, 
 for patience, resolve, and calm determination ; 
 but 
 
 Yes, Sir George, there is a " but " — the but ex- 
 ceptional — for I cannot allow you to flaunt these 
 feathers like a noble knight, to which title you can
 
 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 307 
 
 lay no claim ; or even allow them to droop grace- 
 fully from your helmet, like the " well-done-good- 
 and-faithful" praise of a Christian soldier, which 
 you profess to be. No, Sir George ; you were not 
 maddened, or distracted by these daily reports of 
 " burnings" and a taking of preys," like that true- 
 hearted knight, and noble lord, the Earl of Essex ; 
 nor had you a spark of the noble daring of Sir 
 John or Sir Thomas Norreys. Your motto was, 
 " Serpens nisi serpentem comederit non sit draco" 
 Your patience, Sir George, was that of a great ser- 
 pent, boa, or " draco," which can lie in its den, for 
 months, without food, and then glide noiselessly out, 
 seize upon, and swallow down some noble prey, — 
 having previously covered it with the slime 6f its 
 lips. 
 
 You may truly say " ardua virtutis est via" for 
 you found it so : the path of virtue was, indeed, 
 too straight and difficult for you to walk in : open 
 war, which you repudiate, would have been ho- 
 nourable compared with the " wit and cunning" 
 of which you boast. 
 
 But you chose the latter. Why ? From 
 cowardice ? No, I call you not coward. Let Sir 
 George, as well as the personage already referred 
 to, get his due : you were not wanting in per- 
 sonal courage ; though I believe — as I have already
 
 308 THE LAST EARL OF DESMOND. 
 
 stated — you were more distinguished for caution 
 than courage, But, from what resulted your re- 
 pugnance to war ? Was it from a distaste to the 
 shedding of human blood ? Oh ! no, it was not 
 this : this could never be received as a plea, from 
 the knight who hired an assassin to shed the 
 noblest blood in Ireland. Heard ye ever of a man 
 named John Nugent, Sir George ? Ah ! his is a 
 name, — or perhaps I should rather say, — yours is a 
 name, to make the ghosts of all noble knights 
 start, and tremble in their shrouds : — 
 
 " Ghost:— Hear me!" 
 "Samlet:— I will." 
 
 No, you shan't ; you shall hear, Sir George. 
 "Though dead, he yet speaketh." He lives in his 
 Paeata Hibernia ; an immortal monument of his 
 own infamy. — Shall I call him up ? 
 
 " Do." 
 
 Perhaps we had better give him time to prepare 
 for his defence, while we look after John Nugent ; 
 and that black scoundrel, the White Knight.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note A. Page 34. 
 
 " The sayd Jurors being duly sworne, doo finde and presente 
 that Mannors, Castell, Towne, and Lands of Mallow, in the 
 
 Countie of Corke, containing * 4 acres of land, 'have been 
 
 granted in fee farme, from the late Queene's Majestie unto 
 Sir Thomas Norreys, Knight; after whose death the same 
 descended unto the Ladie Elizabeth Worries, the daughter and 
 heyre of the said Thomas, and nowe wyefe unto Sir John 
 Jepeson, Knight, who is now seized thereof in right of his 
 said wyefe, as aforesaid." — From the copy of an "Inquisition 
 or Search, in the Rolls Office of His Majesties High Court of 
 Chancery in Ireland," Dated the " 7th day of August, 1611." 
 
 Note B. Page 34. 
 
 The Pour Masters, who state that Sir Thomas Norreys died 
 in Kilmallock, give the following account of the matter: — 
 " Thomas [Burke] alone, of all his people, was on horseback ; 
 he had nearly one hundred Irish soldiers along with him. 
 When the President saw him, he made a determined and 
 dexterous attack upon him, and about twenty of Thomas's 
 people were cut off on the occasion ; and more would have 
 been slain, were it not that the President was so soon mortally 
 wounded, for he received a violent and venomous thrust of a 
 
 * There is a blank here, in the original paper, from which I copied.
 
 310 NOTES. 
 
 pike where the jaw-bone joins the upper part of the neck. 
 When his people saw him thus wounded, they collected 
 around him, and carried him back to Kilmalloch, where he 
 remained on his sick bed, under the care of physicians, when 
 he died, in the month of July precisely." 0' Sullivan Beare 
 says he died in Mallow; and Dr. 0' Donovan says, " 0' Sullivan 
 is probably right, for he appears to have been better ac- 
 quainted with the affairs of Munster at this period than the 
 Four Masters." — See Annals of Ireland, A.D. 1599 : Hodges 
 and Smith, Dublin. 
 
 Note C. Page 35. 
 
 The poet Spenser writes in the following strain of Sir 
 John Norreys : — 
 
 " Most noble Lord, the honor of his age, 
 And Precedent of all that arms ensue ; 
 Whose warlike prowesse and manly courage, 
 Tempred with reason and advizement sage, 
 Hath fild sad Belgicke with victorious spoile ; 
 In Fraunce and Ireland left a famous gage, 
 And lately shakt the Lusitanian soil." 
 
 O'Donovan, the learned commentator of the Annals of Ire- 
 land, calls " Sir John Morris [Norreys] a most distinguished 
 general, who settled the crown of Portugal on the Royal 
 House of Braganza.' 
 
 >> 
 
 Note D. Page 41. 
 
 Hugh O'Neill is described by Irish historians as about the 
 middle stature, well made, and of great personal activity and 
 strength. He was a "warlike, valorous, predatory, enter- 
 prising lord, endowed with wisdom, subtlety, and profundity 
 of intellect." He was styled a man " of brilliant speech and 
 rapid sword." For an example of his ability in speech-
 
 NOTES. 311 
 
 making, I beg to refer the curious reader to the following 
 example, from Cucogry O'Clery : — " Brave comrades, be not 
 dismayed or frightened at the English; at the foreign ap- 
 pearance of their array, at the strangeness of their armour 
 or arms, at the sound of their trumpets, tabours, and warlike 
 instruments, or of their numbers, for it is absolutely certain 
 they shall be defeated in the battle of this day. Of this, we 
 are indeed convinced, that ye are on the side of truth, and 
 they are on the lie ; fettering you in prisons, and beheading 
 you, in order to rob you of your patrimonies. "We have a 
 high expectation that this very day will distinguish between 
 truth; as Morann, the son of Maen, said in the celebrated 
 proverb, ' There has not been found, there never will be found, a 
 more veritable judge than a battle-field.'' Moreover, it is easier 
 for you to defend your inheritance against a race of strangers, 
 than to win another's, after being expulsed from your own." 
 
 Note, E. Page 79. Battle of the Plumes. 
 
 " The English writers make no mention of this attack by 
 O'More; but 0' Sullivan Beare says that five hundred of 
 Essex's army were killed by O'More, in a defile called Bearna 
 na gCleti, i. e., the Gap of the Eeathers. This name is now 
 obsolete, nor has any evidence been yet discovered to prove 
 the exact situation of the place." — See Annals of Ireland : 
 Hodges and Smith, Dublin. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Printed by J. M. O'Toole, 13, Hawkins'-street, Dublin.