him from pursuit by the sheriff and posse in a hidden chamber, the entrance to which is from her own bedroom. He escapes, and she wastes away and dies, the victim of the prophecy. Tyrone eventually secured a pardon from Queen Elizabeth. One incident is related, illustrative of his character. Appearing in person to execute a treaty, immediately on the issue of some sanguinary engagement, Tyrone was requested to sign the terms. "Here is my signature," said he, laying his bloody hand on the deed; "'tis the mark of the Kings of Ulster." Hence, tradition gravely asserts, was the origin of "the bloody hand," the arms of Ulster, and, in heraldic shields, the badge of knighthood. It is scarcely necessary to add that this derivation for the arms is altogether a fable.

THE DRAGON OF UNSWORTH.

TRADITIONS respecting the ravages formerly made by the so-called dragons occur in many counties. Yorkshire has claimed the legend of the Dragon of Wantley, and the Lambton Worm has rendered the county of Durham famous. One of the most noted dragon stories of Lancashire has its locality assigned to Unsworth, a small village or hamlet about three miles from Bury. The principal mansion in this village is occupied by a lineal descendant of the ancient family of Unsworth, who probably derived their name from the homestead they have so long occupied. The house contains little worthy of notice; but it has long been famous for containing an ancient carved oak table and panel connected with a legend attaching to the family. It is said that Thomas Unsworth was the owner of this property when the district was devastated by an enormous dragon, which was not content with its ordinary

fare but proceeded to swallow up the women and children. The scales of this dragon were so hard and firmly set, that bullets shot by the guns of those days took no effect upon the monster; and the owner of Unsworth, finding this the case, loaded his gun with his dagger and mortally wounded the dragon under the throat, as it was raising its head to rush at its assailant. The table is said to have been constructed after this event, and was partly carved by the dagger which had destroyed the reptile. The carvings on the table and panel are somewhat curious. One is a representation of St George and the Dragon, another contains rude figures of the eagle and child, a third the lion and unicorn, and a fourth of the Dragon of Unsworth. The crest of the family consists of a man in black armour holding a battle axe in one hand; and tradition states that this is a portrait of Thomas Unsworth in the dress he wore at the time of the conflict. What may have given rise to the legend it is quite impossible to determine; but an estate was once granted to a member of this family for some important military service, and this may have had something to do with its origin. There are several carvings of the dragon in the possession of the family. One of these resembles a long serpent with the head and wings of a sphinx ; another represents the monster as a serpent with the head of an old man; and a third resembles a serpent in folds with stings at the ends of the tongue and tail. The initials "C.V.,” under the head of one of the figures, serve to indicate that the carvings have been executed for one of the owners of the mansion.

There is a singular circumstance connected with most of these dragon stories which is worthy of special notice. It is that of the frequent use of sacred and mystic numbers in the narratives, and this in some degree supports

the conjecture that they are allegorical in their nature. In the case of the Dragon of Wantley (Wharncliffe) there are seven heads mentioned, and twice seven eyes; the monster itself ate up three children, the fight lasted two days and one night, and he turned twice three times round when he received his fatal wound. The Lambton Worm had nine holes on each side of his mouth, he encircled Worm hill three times, he drank the milk of nine cows; the reckless heir of Lambton returned a true knight at the end of seven years, and for nine generations the sybil's curse remained on his house in consequence of the non-performance of his vow. His mail was also studded all over with spear heads, just the same expedient which was adopted by More of More Hall,

WARDLEY HALL SKULL.

IN the township of Worsley, about seven miles west of Manchester, and to the east of Kempnall Hall, is the ancient pile of Wardley Hall, erected in the reign of Edward VI. It is situated in the midst of a small woody glade, and was originally surrounded by a moat, except on the east side, which was protected by natural defences. This black-and-white half-timbered edifice is of a quadrangular form, consisting of ornamented wood and plaster frames, interlined with bricks (plastered and whitewashed, the wood-work being painted black), and entered by a covered archway, opening into a courtyard in the centre, like so many of the manor houses of the same age in Lancashire. About 1830 it was in a ruinous condition, one part being occupied as a farmhouse, and the other formed into a cluster of nine cottages. The hall has since been thoroughly renovated, and has been occupied

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for many years, under the Earl of Ellesmere, by a gentleman farmer and colliery-owner. In the room called the hall is a coat-of-arms, in a frame, belonging to the Downes family: a stag couchant within the shield; crest, a stag's head. The room has an ornamented wainscot, and a fluted roof of oak. The stairs have an air of noble antiquity about them, which has been somewhat diminished by the daubings of a modern painter. The chimneys are clustered. The Tildesleys became lords of Wardley by marriage with the Worsleys in the reign of Henry IV., and settled here before they occupied Morley. On the eve of the civil wars, Wardley was quitted by the Tildesleys, and became the residence of Roger Downes, Esq., whose son John, married Penelope, daughter of Sir Cecil Trafford, knight, who, endeavouring to convert Mr Downes [a Catholic] to Protestantism, became himself a Catholic. The issue of that marriage was Roger Downes, son and heir, and an only daughter, named Penelope, after her mother. She married Richard, Earl Rivers, a rake, a warrior, and a statesman. There is a human skull kept at the Hall, which tradition says once belonged to Roger Downes, the last male representative of his family, and who was one of the most abandoned courtiers of Charles II.

Roby, in his "Traditions," has represented him as rushing forth "hot from the stews "-drawing his sword as he staggered along-and swearing that he would kill the first man he met. His victim was a poor tailor, whom he ran through with his weapon, and killed him on the spot. He was apprehended for the crime; but his interest at court soon procured him a free pardon, and he immediately began to pursue his usual reckless course. At length "Heaven avenged the innocent blood he had shed;" for "in the lusty vigour," continues Roby, "of

a drunken debauch, passing over London Bridge, he encountered another brawl, wherein, having run at the watchman with his rapier, one blow of the bill which they carried severed his head from his trunk. The latter was cast over the parapet into the Thames, and the head was carefully packed up in a box and sent to his sisters at Wardley. It was Maria who ventured to open the package and read the sad fate of her brother from a paper which was enclosed. The skull was removed, secretly at first, but invariably it returned to the Hall, and not human power could drive it thence. It hath been riven to pieces, burnt, and otherwise destroyed; but on the subsequent day it was seen filling its wonted place. This wilful piece of mortality will not allow the little aperture in which it rests to be walled up-it remains there whitened and bleached by the weather, looking forth from those rayless sockets upon the scenes which, when living, they had once beheld." This curious. legend exists under various forms, and has been noticed by several writers, but all agree in the main facts. One account varies the place of his death, stating, in short, that Roger Downes, in the licentious spirit of the age, having abandoned himself to vicious courses, was killed by a watchman in a fray at Epsom Wells, in June 1676, and dying without issue, the family quitted Wardley. It is of this Roger Downes that Lucas speaks, when he says that, according to tradition, "while in London, in a drunken frolic, he vowed to his companions that he would kill the first man he met; then, sallying forth, he ran his sword through a poor tailor. Soon after this, being in a riot, a watchman made a stroke at him with his bill, which severed his head from his body. The head was enclosed in a box and sent to his sister, who lived at Wardley Hall. "The skull,” adds the narrator, "has