Chapter IV: Part 4

With regard to their dress, the testimony is undisputed. Young lady fairies wear pure white robes and usually allow their hair to flow loosely over their shoulders; while fairy matrons bind up their tresses in a coil on the top or back of the head, also surrounding the temples with a golden band. Young gentlemen elves wear green jackets, with white breeches and stockings; and when a fairy of either sex has need of a cap or head-covering, the flower of the fox-glove is brought into requisition.

Male fairies are perfect in all military exercises, for, like the other inhabitants of Ireland, fairies are divided into factions, the objects of contention not, in most cases, being definitely known. In Kerry, a number of years ago, there was a great battle among the fairies, one party inhabiting a rath or sepulchral mound, the other an unused and lonely graveyard. Paddy O'Donohue was the sole witness of this encounter, the narrative being in his own words.

"I was lyin' be the road, bein' on me way home an' tired wid the walkin'. A bright moon was out that night, an' I heard a noise like a million av sogers, thrampin' on the road, so I riz me an' looked, an' the way was full av little men, the length o' me hand, wid grane coats on, an' all in rows like wan o' the ridgmints; aitch wid a pike on his showldher an' a shield on his arrum. Wan was in front, beway he was the ginral, walkin' wid his chin up as proud as a paycock. Jagers, but I was skairt an' prayed fasther than iver I did in me life, for it was too clost to me entirely they wor for comfort or convaynience aither. But they all went by, sorra the wan o' thim turnin' his head to raygard me at all, Glory be to God for that same; so they left me. Afther they were clane gone by, I had curosity for to see phat they were afther, so I folly'd thim, a good bit aff, an' ready to jump an' run like a hare at the laste noise, for I was afeared if they caught me at it, they'd make a pig o' me at wanst or change me into a baste complately. They marched into the field bechuxt the graveyard an' the rath, an' there was another army there wid red coats, from the graveyard, an' the two armies had the biggest fight ye iver seen, the granes agin the reds. Afther lookin' on a bit, I got axcited, for the granes were batin' the reds like blazes, an' I up an' give a whilloo an' called out, 'At 'em agin! Don't lave wan o' the blaggards!' An' wid that word, the sight left me eyes an' I remimber no more till mornin', an' there was I, layin' on the road where I seen thim, as shtiff as a crutch."

The homes of the fairies are commonly in raths, tumuli of the pagan days of Ireland, and, on this account, raths are much dreaded, and after sundown are avoided by the peasantry. Attempts have been made to remove some of these raths, but the unwillingness of the peasants to engage in the work, no matter what inducements may be offered in compensation, has generally resulted in the abandonment of the undertaking. On one of the islands in the Upper Lake of Killarney there is a rath, and the proprietor, finding it occupied too much ground, resolved to have it levelled to increase the arable surface of the field. The work was begun, but one morning, in the early dawn, as the laborers were crossing the lake on their way to the island, they saw a procession of about two hundred persons, habited like monks, leave the island and proceed to the mainland, followed, as the workmen thought, by a long line of small, shining figures. The phenomenon was perhaps genuine, for the mirage is by no means an uncommon appearance in some parts of Ireland, but work on the rath was at once indefinitely postponed. Besides raths, old castles, deserted graveyards, ruined churches, secluded glens in the mountains, springs, lakes, and caves all are the homes and resorts of fairies, as is very well known on the west coast.

The better class of fairies are fond of human society and often act as guardians to those they love. In parts of Donegal and Galway they are believed to receive the souls of the dying and escort them to the gates of heaven, not, however, being allowed to enter with them. On this account, fairies love graves and graveyards, having often been seen walking to and fro among the grassy mounds. There are, indeed, some accounts of faction fights among the fairy bands at or shortly after a funeral, the question in dispute being whether the soul of the departed belonged to one or the other faction.

The amusements of the fairies consist of music, dancing, and ball-playing. In music their skill exceeds that of men, while their dancing is perfect, the only drawback being the fact that it blights the grass, "fairy-rings" of dead grass, apparently caused by a peculiar fungous growth, being common in Ireland. Although their musical instruments are few, the fairies use these few with wonderful skill. Near Colooney, in Sligo, there is a "knowlageable woman," whose grandmother's aunt once witnessed a fairy ball, the music for which was furnished by an orchestra which the management had no doubt been at great pains and expense to secure and instruct.

"It was the cutest sight alive. There was a place for thim to shtand on, an' a wondherful big fiddle av the size ye cud slape in it, that was played be a monsthrous frog, an' two little fiddles, that two kittens fiddled on, an' two big drums, baten be cats, an' two trumpets, played be fat pigs. All round the fairies were dancin' like angels, the fireflies givin' thim light to see by, an' the moonbames shinin' on the lake, for it was be the shore it was, an' if ye don't belave it, the glen's still there, that they call the fairy glen to this blessed day."

The fairies do much singing, seldom, however, save in chorus, and their songs were formerly more frequently heard than at present. Even now a belated peasant, who has been at a wake, or is coming home from a fair, in passing a rath will sometimes hear the soft strains of their voices in the distance, and will hurry away lest they discover his presence and be angry at the intrusion on their privacy. When in unusually good spirits they will sometimes admit a mortal to their revels, but if he speaks, the scene at once vanishes, he becomes insensible, and generally finds himself by the roadside the next morning, "wid that degray av pains in his arrums an' legs an' back, that if sixteen thousand divils were afther him, he cudn't stir a toe to save the sowl av him, that's phat the fairies do be pinchin' an' punchin' him for comin' on them an' shpakin' out loud."

Kindly disposed fairies often take great pleasure in assisting those who treat them with proper respect, and as the favors always take a practical form, there is sometimes a business value in the show of reverence for them. There was Barney Noonan, of the County Leitrim, for instance, "An' sorra a betther boy was in the county than Barney. He'd work as reg'lar as a pump, an' liked a bit av divarshun as well as annybody when he'd time for it, that wasn't aften, to be sure, but small blame to him, for he wasn't rich be no manner o' manes. He'd a power av ragard av the good people, an' when he wint be the rath beyant his field, he'd pull aff his caubeen an' take the dudheen out av his mouth, as p'lite as a dancin' masther, an' say, 'God save ye, ladies an' gintlemen,' that the good people always heard though they niver showed thimselves to him. He'd a bit o' bog, that the hay was on, an' afther cuttin' it, he left it for to dhry, an' the sun come out beautiful an' in a day or so the hay was as dhry as powdher an' ready to put away.

"So Barney was goin' to put it up, but, it bein' the day av the fair, he thought he'd take the calf an' sell it, an' so he did, an' comin' up wid the boys, he stayed over his time, bein' hindhered wid dhrinkin' an' dancin' an' palaverin' at the gurls, so it was afther dark when he got home an' the night as black as a crow, the clouds gatherin' on the tops av the mountains like avil sper'ts an' crapin' down into the glens like disthroyin' angels, an' the wind howlin' like tin thousand Banshees, but Barney didn't mind it all wan copper, bein' glorified wid the dhrink he'd had. So the hay niver enthered the head av him, but in he wint an' tumbled in bed an' was shnorin' like a horse in two minnits, for he was a bach'ler, God bless him, an' had no wife to gosther him an' ax him where he'd been, an' phat he'd been at, an' make him tell a hunderd lies about not gettin' home afore. So it came on to thunder an' lighten like as all the avil daymons in the univarse were fightin' wid cannons in the shky, an' by an' by there was a clap loud enough to shplit yer skull an' Barney woke up.

"'Tattheration to me,' says he to himself, 'it's goin' for to rain an' me hay on the ground. Phat 'll I do?' says he.

"So he rowled over on the bed an' looked out av a crack for to see if it was ralely rainin'. An' there was the biggest crowd he iver seen av little men an' wimmin. They'd built a row o' fires from the cow-house to the bog an' were comin' in a shtring like the cows goin' home, aitch wan wid his two arrums full o' hay. Some were in the cow-house, resayvin' the hay; some were in the field, rakin' the hay together; an' some were shtandin' wid their hands in their pockets beways they were the bosses, tellin' the rest for to make haste. An' so they did, for every wan run like he was afther goin' for the docther, an' brought a load an' hurried back for more.

"Barney looked through the crack at thim a crossin' himself ivery minnit wid admiration for the shpeed they had. 'God be good to me,' says he to himself, ''tis not ivery gossoon in Leitrim that's got haymakers like thim,' only he never spake a word out loud, for he knewn very well the good people 'ud n't like it. So they brought in all the hay an' put it in the house an' thin let the fires go out an' made another big fire in front o' the dure, an' begun to dance round it wid the swatest music Barney iver heard.

"Now be this time he'd got up an' feelin' aisey in his mind about the hay, begun to be very merry. He looked on through the dure at thim dancin', an' by an' by they brought out a jug wid little tumblers and begun to drink summat that they poured out o' the jug. If Barney had the sense av a herrin', he'd a kept shtill an' let thim dhrink their fill widout openin' the big mouth av him, bein' that he was as full as a goose himself an' naded no more; but when he seen the jug an' the tumblers an' the fairies drinkin' away wid all their mights, he got mad an' bellered out like a bull, 'Arra-a-a-h now, ye little attomies, is it dhrinkin' ye are, an' never givin' a sup to a thirsty mortial that always thrates yez as well as he knows how,' and immejitly the fairies, an' the fire, an' the jug all wint out av his sight, an' he to bed agin in a timper. While he was layin' there, he thought he heard talkin' an' a cugger-mugger goin' on, but when he peeped out agin, sorra a thing did he see but the black night an' the rain comin' down an' aitch dhrop the full av a wather-noggin. So he wint to slape, continted that the hay was in, but not plazed that the good people 'ud be pigs entirely, to be afther dhrinkin' undher his eyes an' not offer him a taste, no, not so much as a shmell at the jug.

"In the mornin' up he gets an' out for to look at the hay an' see if the fairies put it in right, for he says, 'It's a job they're not used to.' So he looked in the cow-house an' thought the eyes 'ud lave him when there wasn't a shtraw in the house at all. 'Holy Moses,' says he, 'phat have they done wid it?' an' he couldn't consave phat had gone wid the hay. So he looked in the field an' it was all there; bad luck to the bit av it had the fairies left in the house at all, but when he shouted at thim, they got tarin' mad an' took all the hay back agin to the bog, puttin' every shtraw where Barney laid it, an' it was as wet as a drownded cat. But it was a lesson to him he niver forgot, an' I go bail that the next time the fairies help him in wid his hay he'll kape shtill an' let thim dhrink thimselves to death if they plaze widout sayin' a word."

The good people have the family relations of husband and wife, parent and child, and although it is darkly hinted by some that fairy husbands and wives have as many little disagreements as are found in mortal households, "for, sure a woman's tongue is longer than a man's patience," and "a husband is bound for to be gosthered day in an' day out, for a woman's jaw is sharpened on the divil's grindshtone," yet opinions unfavorable to married happiness among the fairies are not generally received. On the contrary, it is believed that married life in fairy circles is regulated on the basis of the absolute submission of the wife to the husband. As this point was elucidated by a Donegal woman, "They're wan, that's the husband an' the wife, but he's more the wan than she is."

The love of children is one of the most prominent traits of fairy character, but as it manifests itself by stealing beautiful babes, replacing them by young Leprechawns, the fairies are much dreaded by west coast mothers, and many precautions are taken against the elves. Thefts of this kind now rarely occur, but once they were common, as "in thim owld times, ye cud see tin fairies where there isn't wan now, be razon o' thim lavin' the counthry."

A notable case of baby stealing occurred in the family of Termon Magrath, who had a castle, now in picturesque ruins, on the shore of Lough Erne, in the County Donegal. The narrator of the incident was "a knowledgable woman," who dwelt in an apology for a cabin, a thatched shed placed against the precipitous side of the glen almost beneath the castle. The wretched shelter was nearly concealed from view by the overhanging branches of a large tree and by thick undergrowth, and seemed unfit for a pig-pen, but, though her surroundings were poor beyond description, "Owld Meg," in the language of one of her neighbors, "knew a dale av fairies an' witches an' could kape thim from a babby betther than anny woman that iver dhrew the breath av life." A bit of tobacco to enable her to take a "dhraw o' the pipe, an' that warms me heart to the whole worruld," brought forth the story.

"It's a manny year ago, that Termon Magrath wint, wid all his army, to the war in the County Tyrone, an' while he was gone the babby was born an' they called her Eva. She was her mother's first, so she felt moighty onaisey in her mind about her 's knowin' that the good people do be always afther the first wan that comes, an' more whin it's a girl that's in it, that they thry to stale harder than they do a boy, bekase av belavin' they're aisier fur to rare, though it's mesilf that doesn't belave that same, fur wan girl makes more throuble than tin boys an' isn't a haporth more good.

"So whin the babby was born they sent afther an owld struckawn av a widdy that set up for a wise woman, that knew no more o' doctherin' than a pig av Paradise, but they thought she could kape away the fairies, that's a job that takes no ind av knowledge in thim that thries it. But the poor owld woman did the best she knew how, an' so, God be good to her, she wasn't to be blamed fur that, but it's the likes av her that do shame thim that's larned in such things, fur they make people think all wise wimmin as ignerant as hersilf. So she made the sign o' the crass on the babby's face wid ashes, an' towld thim to bite aff its nails and not cut thim till nine weeks, an' held a burnin' candle afore its eyes, so it 'ud do the deeds av light an' not av darkness, an' mixed sugar an' salt an' oil, an' give it to her, that her life 'ud be swate an' long presarved an' go smooth, but the owld widdy forgot wan thing. She didn't put a lucky shamrock, that 's got four leaves, in a gospel an' tie it 'round the babby's neck wid a t'read pulled out av her gown, an' not mindin' this, all the rest was no good at all. No more did she tell the mother not to take her eyes aff the child till the ninth day; afther that the fairies cud n't take it.

"So the nurse tuk the babby in the next room an' laid it on the bed, an' wint away for a minnit, but thinkin' she heard it cry, back she come an' there was the babby, bedclothes an' all just goin' through the flure, bein' dhrawn be the fairies. The nurse scraiched an' caught the clothes an' the maid helped her, so that the two o' thim pulled wid all their mights an' got the bedclothes up agin, but while the child was out o' sight, the fairies changed it an' put a fairy child in its place, but the nurse didn't know phat the fairies done, no more did the owld struckawn, that shows she was an ignerant woman entirely. But the fairies tuk Eva away undher the lake where they trated her beautiful. Every night they gev her a dance, wid the loveliest music that was iver heard, wid big drums an' little drums, an' fiddles an' pipes an' thrumpets, fur such a band the good people do have when they give a dance.

"So she grew an' the quane said she should have a husband among the fairies, but she fell in love wid an owld Leprechawn, an' the quane, to sarcumvint her, let her walk on the shore o' the lake where she met Darby O'Hoolighan an' loved him an' married him be the quane's consint. The quane towld her to tell him if he shtruck her three blows widout a razon, she'd lave him an' come back to the fairies. The quane gev her a power av riches, shape an' pigs widout number an' more oxen than ye cud count in a week. So she an' Darby lived together as happy as two doves, an' she hadn't as much care as a blind piper's dog, morebetoken, they had two boys, good lookin' like their mother an' shtrong as their father.

"Wan day, afther they'd been marred siventeen years, she an' Darby were goin' to a weddin', an' she was shlow, so Darby towld her fur to hurry an' gev her a slap on the shouldher wid the palm av his hand, so she begun to cry. He axed her phat ailed her an' she towld him he'd shtruck her the first av the three blows. So he was mighty sorry an' said he'd be careful, but it wasn't more than a year afther, when he was taichin' wan o' the boys to use a shtick, that she got behind him an' got hit wid the shillaly. That was the second blow, an' made her lose her timper, an' they had a rale quarl. So he got mad, sayin' that nayther o' thim blows ought to be counted, bein' they both come be accident. So he flung the shtick agin the wall, 'Divil take the shtick,' says he, an' went out quick, an' the shtick fell back from the wall an' hit her an the head. 'That's the third,' says she, an' she kissed her sons an' walked out. Thin she called the cows in the field an' they left grazin' an' folly'd her; she called the oxen in the shtalls an' they quit atin' an' come out; an' she shpoke to the calf that was hangin' in the yard, that they'd killed that mornin' an' it got down an' come along. The lamb that was killed the day afore, it come; an' the pigs that were salted an' thim hangin' up to dhry, they come, all afther her in a shtring. Thin she called to her things in the house, an' the chairs walked out, an' the tables, an' the chist av drawers, an' the boxes, all o' thim put out legs like bastes an' come along, wid the pots an' pans, an' gridiron, an' buckets, an' noggins, an' kish, lavin' the house as bare as a 'victed tinant's, an' all afther her to the lake, where they wint undher an' disappared, an' haven't been seen be man or mortial to this blessed day.

"Now, there's thim that says the shtory aint thrue, fur, says they, how 'ud a woman do such a thrick as go aff that a way an' take ivery thing she had, just bekase av her husband hittin' her be accident thim three times. But thim that says it forgits that she was a young wan, aven if she did have thim boys I was afther tellin' ye av, an' faith, it's no lie I'm sayin', that it's not in the power av the angels o' God to be knowin' phat a young wan 'ull be doin'. Afther they get owld, an' do be losin' their taythe, an' their beauty goes, thin they're sober an' get over thim notions; but it takes a dale av time to make an owld wan out av a young wan.

"But she didn't forget the boys she'd left, an' wanst in a while she'd come to the aidge av the lake whin they were clost be the bank an' spake wid thim, fur aven, if she was half a fairy, she'd the mother's heart that the good God put in her bosom; an' wan time they seen her wid a little attomy av a man alang wid her, that was a Leprechawn, as they knewn be the look av him, an' that makes me belave that the rale rayzon av her lavin' her husband was to get back to the owld Leprechawn she was in love wid afore she was marr'd to Darby O'Hoolighan."

THE BANSHEE.

Although the Irish have the reputation of being grossly superstitious, they are not a whit more so than the peasantry of England, France, or Germany, nor scarcely as much addicted to superstitious beliefs and fancies as the lower class of Scottish Highlanders. The Irish imagination is, however, so lively as to endow the legends of the Emerald Isle with an individuality not possessed by those of most other nations, while the Irish command of language presents the creatures of Hibernian fancy in a garb so vividly real and yet so fantastically original as to make an impression sometimes exceedingly startling.

Of the creations of the Irish imagination, some are humorous, some grotesque, and some awe-inspiring even to sublimity, and chief among the last class is "the weird-wailing Banshee, that sings by night her mournful cry," giving notice to the family she attends that one of its members is soon to be called to the spirit-world. The name of this dreaded attendant is variously pronounced, as Banshee, Banshi, and Benshee, being translated by different scholars, the Female Fairy, the Woman of Peace, the Lady of Death, the Angel of Death, the White Lady of Sorrow, the Nymph of the Air, and the Spirit of the Air. The Banshee is quite distinct from the Fearshee or Shifra, the Man of Peace, the latter bringing good tidings and singing a joyful lay near the house when unexpected good fortune is to befall any or all its inmates. The Banshee is really a disembodied soul, that of one who, in life, was strongly attached to the family, or who had good reason to hate all its members. Thus, in different instances, the Banshee's song may be inspired by opposite motives. When the Banshee loves those whom she calls, the song is a low, soft chant, giving notice, indeed, of the close proximity of the angel of death, but with a tenderness of tone that reassures the one destined to die and comforts the survivors; rather a welcome than a warning, and having in its tones a thrill of exultation, as though the messenger spirit were bringing glad tidings to him summoned to join the waiting throng of his ancestors. If, during her lifetime, the Banshee was an enemy of the family, the cry is the scream of a fiend, howling with demoniac delight over the coming death-agony of another of her foes.

In some parts of Ireland there exists a belief that the spirits of the dead are not taken from earth, nor do they lose all their former interest in earthly affairs, but enjoy the happiness of the saved, or suffer the punishment imposed for their sins, in the neighborhood of the scenes among which they lived while clothed in flesh and blood. At particular crises in the affairs of mortals, these disenthralled spirits sometimes display joy or grief in such a manner as to attract the attention of living men and women. At weddings they are frequently unseen guests; at funerals they are always present; and sometimes, at both weddings and funerals, their presence is recognized by aerial voices or mysterious music known to be of unearthly origin. The spirits of the good wander with the living as guardian angels, but the spirits of the bad are restrained in their action, and compelled to do penance at or near the places where their crimes were committed. Some are chained at the bottoms of the lakes, others buried under ground, others confined in mountain gorges; some hang on the sides of precipices, others are transfixed on the tree-tops, while others haunt the homes of their ancestors, all waiting till the penance has been endured and the hour of release arrives. The Castle of Dunseverick, in Antrim, is believed to be still inhabited by the spirit of a chief, who there atones for a horrid crime, while the castles of Dunluce, of Magrath, and many others are similarly peopled by the wicked dead. In the Abbey of Clare, the ghost of a sinful abbot walks and will continue to do so until his sin has been atoned for by the prayers he unceasingly mutters in his tireless march up and down the aisles of the ruined nave.

The Banshee is of the spirits who look with interested eyes on earthly doings; and, deeply attached to the old families, or, on the contrary, regarding all their members with a hatred beyond that known to mortals, lingers about their dwellings to soften or to aggravate the sorrow of the approaching death. The Banshee attends only the old families, and though their descendants, through misfortune, may be brought down from high estate to the ranks of peasant-tenants, she never leaves nor forgets them till the last member has been gathered to his fathers in the churchyard. The MacCarthys, Magraths, O'Neills, O'Rileys, O'Sullivans, O'Reardons, O'Flahertys, and almost all other old families of Ireland, have Banshees, though many representatives of these names are in abject poverty.

The song of the Banshee is commonly heard a day or two before the death of which it gives notice, though instances are cited of the song at the beginning of a course of conduct or line of undertaking that resulted fatally. Thus, in Kerry, a young girl engaged herself to a youth, and at the moment her promise of marriage was given, both heard the low, sad wail above their heads. The young man deserted her, she died of a broken heart, and the night before her death, the Banshee's song, loud and clear, was heard outside the window of her mother's cottage. One of the O'Flahertys, of Galway, marched out of his castle with his men on a foray, and, as his troops filed through the gateway, the Banshee was heard high above the towers of the fortress. The next night she sang again, and was heard no more for a month, when his wife heard the wail under her window, and on the following day his followers brought back his corpse. One of the O'Neills of Shane Castle, in Antrim, heard the Banshee as he started on a journey before daybreak, and was accidentally killed some time after, but while on the same journey.

The wail most frequently comes at night, although cases are cited of Banshees singing during the daytime, and the song is often inaudible to all save the one for whom the warning is intended. This, however, is not general, the death notice being for the family rather than for the doomed individual. The spirit is generally alone, though rarely several are heard singing in chorus. A lady of the O'Flaherty family, greatly beloved for her social qualities, benevolence, and piety, was, some years ago, taken ill at the family mansion near Galway, though no uneasiness was felt on her account, as her ailment seemed nothing more than a slight cold. After she had remained in-doors for a day or two several of her acquaintances came to her room to enliven her imprisonment, and while the little party were merrily chatting, strange sounds were heard, and all trembled and turned pale as they recognized the singing of a chorus of Banshees. The lady's ailment developed into pleurisy, and she died in a few days, the chorus being again heard in a sweet, plaintive requiem as the spirit was leaving her body. The honor of being warned by more than one Banshee is, however, very great, and comes only to the purest of the pure.

The "hateful Banshee" is much dreaded by members of a family against which she has enmity. A noble Irish family, whose name is still familiar in Mayo, is attended by a Banshee of this description. This Banshee is the spirit of a young girl deceived and afterwards murdered by a former head of the family. With her dying breath she cursed her murderer, and promised she would attend him and his forever. Many years passed, the chieftain reformed his ways, and his youthful crime was almost forgotten even by himself, when, one night, he and his family were seated by the fire, and suddenly the most horrid shrieks were heard outside the castle walls. All ran out, but saw nothing. During the night the screams continued as though the castle were besieged by demons, and the unhappy man recognized, in the cry of the Banshee, the voice of the young girl he had murdered. The next night he was assassinated by one of his followers, when again the wild, unearthly screams of the spirit were heard, exulting over his fate. Since that night, the "hateful Banshee" has never failed to notify the family, with shrill cries of revengeful gladness, when the time of one of their number had arrived.

Banshees are not often seen, but those that have made themselves visible differ as much in personal appearance as in the character of their cries. The "friendly Banshee" is a young and beautiful female spirit, with pale face, regular, well-formed features, hair sometimes coal-black, sometimes golden; eyes blue, brown, or black. Her long, white drapery falls below her feet as she floats in the air, chanting her weird warning, lifting her hands as if in pitying tenderness bestowing a benediction on the soul she summons to the invisible world. The "hateful Banshee" is a horrible hag, with angry, distorted features; maledictions are written in every line of her wrinkled face, and her outstretched arms call down curses on the doomed member of the hated race. Though generally the only intimation of the presence of the Banshee is her cry, a notable instance of the contrary exists in the family of the O'Reardons, to the doomed member of which the Banshee always appears in the shape of an exceedingly beautiful woman, who sings a song so sweetly solemn as to reconcile him to his approaching fate.

The prophetic spirit does not follow members of a family who go to a foreign land, but should death overtake them abroad, she gives notice of the misfortune to those at home. When the Duke of Wellington died, the Banshee was heard wailing round the house of his ancestors, and during the Napoleonic campaigns, she frequently notified Irish families of the death in battle of Irish officers and soldiers. The night before the battle of the Boyne several Banshees were heard singing in the air over the Irish camp, the truth of their prophecy being verified by the death-roll of the next day.

How the Banshee is able to obtain early and accurate information from foreign parts of the death in battle of Irish soldiers is yet undecided in Hibernian mystical circles. Some believe that there are, in addition to the two kinds already mentioned, "silent Banshees," who act as attendants to the members of old families, one to each member; that these silent spirits follow and observe, bringing back intelligence to the family Banshee at home, who then, at the proper seasons, sings her dolorous strain. A partial confirmation of this theory is seen in the fact that the Banshee has given notice at the family seat in Ireland of deaths in battles fought in every part of the world. From North America, the West Indies, Africa, Australia, India, China; from every point to which Irish regiments have followed the roll of the British drums, news of the prospective shedding of Irish blood has been brought home, and the slaughter preceded by a Banshee wail outside the ancestral windows. But it is due to the reader to state, that this silent Banshee theory is by no means well or generally received, the burden of evidence going to show that there are only two kinds of Banshees, and that, in a supernatural way, they know the immediate future of those in whom they are interested, not being obliged to leave Ireland for the purpose of obtaining their information.

Such is the wild Banshee, once to be heard in every part of Ireland, and formerly believed in so devoutly that to express a doubt of her existence was little less than blasphemy. Now, however, as she attends only the old families and does not change to the new, with the disappearance of many noble Irish names during the last half century have gone also their Banshees, until in only a few retired districts of the west coast is the dreaded spirit still found, while in most parts of the island she has become only a superstition, and from the majesty of a death-boding angel, is rapidly sinking to a level with the Fairy, the Leprechawn and the Pooka; the subject for tales to amuse the idle and terrify the young.

THE ROUND TOWERS.

Among the ruins spread everywhere over the island, relics of prehistoric Ireland are common, but wonderful as are many of these monumental remains of a people as mysterious as their own structures, none are more remarkable than the round towers, found in almost every locality of note either for its history or antiquities. The number of these towers was formerly very great, but from the ravages of time, the convenience of the structures as quarries of ready hewn stone, and intentional destruction by intolerant or thoughtless persons, they have gradually disappeared, until, at present, only eighty-three remain, of which seventeen are nearly perfect, the remainder being in a more or less advanced stage of dilapidation.

The round towers vary in height, those remaining perfect or nearly so being from seventy to two hundred feet, and from eighty to thirty feet in diameter at the base. The entrance is twelve to eighteen feet from the ground, the tower being divided into stories about ten feet high, each story lighted by a single window, the highest compartment having invariably four lancet windows opening to the cardinal points of the compass. The roof is conical, made of overlapping stone slabs, and a circle of grotesquely carved heads and zigzag ornamentation is found beneath the projecting cornice. The masonry is of hewn stone, but not the least regularity is observable in the size or shape of the blocks, some being very large, others small, and every figure known to the geometrician can be found in the stones of a single tower.

All towers still standing occupy sites noted as historical, and evidence, sufficient to warrant the belief, can be adduced to show that almost every historic spot on Irish soil once boasted one or more of these interesting structures. The existing towers are generally found close by the ruins of churches, abbeys, or other ecclesiastical buildings, and the effect on the landscape of the masses of ruins, surmounted by a single tall shaft, is often picturesque in the extreme. The proximity of the tower to the church is so common as to lead writers on Irish antiquities to conjecture that the former was constructed by the monks who built the church; those advocating the Christian origin of the round tower taking the ground that it was built, either as a place of safe-keeping for valuable property, as a belfry for the church, or for the purpose of providing cells for hermits.

No one of these suppositions is tenable. In the troublous times of Ireland, and, unhappily, it has had scarcely any other kind, the monasteries and ecclesiastical buildings of every description were generally spared, even by the most ruthless marauders; and, had this not been the case, those possessing sufficient valuable property to attract the cupidity of the lawless were far more likely to provide an inconspicuous hiding place for their wealth than to advertise its possession by erecting a tower which, from every direction, was invariably the most conspicuous feature of the landscape. That the towers were not intended for belfries is evident from the fact that, in nearly every case, the churches close by are provided with bell-towers forming a part of the sacred edifice, which would not be the case if the round towers had been designed for the purpose of supporting bells. That they were not built for hermit-cells is apparent from the fact that hermit-caves and cells are abundant in Ireland, and, almost without exception, in secluded spots. No doubt, from time to time, some of the round towers were adapted to each of these uses, but, in every case, convenience was the motive, the monks and church-builders altering the existing structure to meet a pressing necessity. In fact, there is excellent reason for believing that the round towers were not built by the monks at all, the monastic writers being very fond of recording, with great particularity, what they built and how they built it, and in no passage do they mention the construction of a round tower. Whenever allusion is made to these structures, their existence is taken for granted, and several church historians who mention the erection of churches at the foot of a round tower demonstrate that this peculiar edifice antedates the introduction of Christianity into Ireland.

The round towers are indisputably of pagan origin, and of antiquity so great as to precede written history. There is no doubt that the early Irish were sun and fire worshippers, and many excellent reasons may be given for the belief that the round towers were built by the Druids for purposes of religion.

Every tower has an extensive view to the East, so as to command an early sight of the rising sun, the dawn being the favorite hour for celebrating sun-worship. Every tower contains, at its base, so extraordinary a quantity of ashes and embers as to compel the conviction that, in each, a sacred or perpetual fire was kept burning. In every locality where a round tower stands, there linger among the peasantry traditions pointing to a use sacred but not Christian. Perhaps the most significant indication of their former character as places sacred to sun and fire-worship is found in the names by which, to the present day, they are known among the common people. The generic Irish name for the round tower is Colcagh, fire-God; but the proper names designating particular towers are still more characteristic. Turaghan, the Tower of Fire; Aidhne, the Circle of Fire; Aghadoe, the Field of Fire; Teghadoe, the Fire House; Arddoe, the Height of Fire; Kennegh, the Chief Fire; Lusk, the Flame; Fertagh, the Burial Fire Tower; Fertagh na Guara, the Burial Fire Tower of the Fire Worshippers; Gall-Ti-mor, the Flame of the Great Circle; Gall-Baal, the Flame of the Community; Baal-Tinne, the Fire of the Community, and many similar names, retain the memory and worship of the Druids when written records are silent or wanting.

In addition to the significance contained in the names of the towers, the hills, mountains, or islands on which they are situated have, very frequently, designations conveying an allusion, either to the circle, a favorite and sacred figure in Druidical holy places, or to the sun or fire worship. Another curious circumstance, still further identifying the round tower with the rites of sun worship, is found in the fact that wherever this form of religion has prevailed, it has been accompanied by well or spring worship, and, generally, by the veneration of the ox as a sacred animal. Most of the Irish round towers have near them springs or wells still regarded as holy, and concerning which many tales of miraculous cures are told, while in not a few instances there yet linger in the same neighborhoods legends of sacred cows, usually the property of some famous local saint or hero.

The round towers of Ireland are, in fact, a portion of a vast system of towers of identical construction, and by following the geographical course of these structures, the march of fire worship from the East may be determined with some accuracy. Pass from Ireland to Brittany, and there, in the mountainous or hilly districts, several towers are found exactly like those of Ireland. In the north of Spain several remain; in Portugal, one; in the south of Spain they are numerous. Opposite the Spanish coast, in the north of Africa, there are also many, being found in various places in Morocco, Algeria, Tunis, and Tripoli. In Sardinia, several hundred are still standing; and written testimony to the purpose for which they were erected is abundant among the Sardinian records. In Minorca, among many others, is the famous Tower of Allaior. The mountain districts of south Italy have numbers of them, and they are also found on several hills in Sicily. Malta has the Giant's Tower, in every particular of appearance and construction identical with the Tower of Cashel in Ireland. Cyprus has them, and they still remain in Candia and on the coast of Asia Minor. In Palestine none have yet been found, or at least have not been recorded by travellers or surveyors; a fact that may, perhaps, be fully accounted for by the zeal of the Hebrews in destroying every vestige of Canaanitish idolatry; but, with some probability, it is conjectured that the "high places" broken down may have been towers of the sun, for the Canaanites were fire worshippers, and the name Baal is found alike in Palestine and Ireland.

In Syria, north of Palestine, they begin again; are found in Armenia, and in the Caucasus, so numerously as to crown almost every hill-top. East of the Caspian Sea they abound, and towards the centre of Asia as far as records of exploration and travel present reliable accounts of the country. Returning to the shores of the Mediterranean, their existence on the northern coast of Africa has been mentioned. In Arabia and on the Egyptian shore of the Red Sea, they stand in considerable numbers, are found in Persia, Afghanistan, Beloochistan, India, Ceylon, and Sumatra, in some places being still used, it is said, for fire worship.

Throughout this vast extent of territory there is no material difference in the shape, appearance, or construction of the round tower. In Sumatra and Java, as in Ireland, the door is elevated, the building divided into stories; the walls are constructed of many sided hewn stones, the upper story is lighted by four windows looking to the cardinal points, the cornice has the same kind of zigzag ornamentation, and the roof is constructed in the same manner, of overlapping stones. Even the names are nearly the same, for in India and Ireland these buildings are Fire-Towers, Fire-Circles, or Sun-Houses.

Another bit of circumstantial evidence going to prove that the round towers of Ireland were erected by a people having the same religion and similar religious observances as the natives of India is seen in the legends concerning the Indian towers. In India, the local traditions tell how each of these towers was built in one night by some notable character who was afterwards buried in it. In Ireland, the same legend is found; to the present day, the peasants of the neighborhood telling with gusto the story of the tower being first seen in the early morning, rising toward the sky on a spot where, the evening before, no preparations for building had been visible.

The Tower Tulloherin, for instance, was built in one night by a monk who came to the neighborhood as a missionary. Finding the people inhospitable, and unable to obtain lodging for the night, he determined to remain, believing there could not be found in Ireland a locality more in need of missionary work. So, on the evening of his arrival, he began to build, and by morning the tower was finished, and he took up his abode in it, preaching from its entrance to the crowds attracted by the fame of the miracle. The story of the Tower of Aghagower is similar, save in one particular, the saint in this case being aided by angels. Kilmackduagh was built in one night by angels without human assistance, the work being done at the solicitation of a saint who watched and prayed while the angels toiled.

Ballygaddy has a history somewhat less miraculous, the local peasant historian attributing its origin to a "giont" of the neighborhood. Having received a belligerent message from another "giont," he took a stand on Ballygaddy hill to watch for the coming of his antagonist, proposing, as the humble chronicler stated, "to bate the head aff the braggin' vagabone if he said as much as Boo." For seven days and nights he stood upon the hill, and at the end of that time, as may readily be believed, "his legs wor that tired he thought they'd dhrop aff him." To relieve those valuable members he put up the tower as a support to lean on. The bellicose gigantic party who proposed the encounter finally came to time, and lovers of antiquities will be glad to learn that the tower-building giant "didn't lave a whole bone in the blaggard's ugly carkidge." After the battle, the victor "shtarted for to kick the tower down," but, upon second thought, concluded to put the roof on it and "lave it for a wondher to thim little mortials that come afther him," for which consideration all honor to his memory.

The Tower Ardpatrick was, according to tradition, built under the auspices of Ireland's great saint, while the high tower on the Rock of Cashel is attributed, by the same authority, to Cormac Macarthy, king and archbishop of Cashel, who, being once engaged in hostilities with a neighboring potentate, needed a watch-tower, so summoned all his people, built the tower in one night, and, at sunrise, was able by its help to ascertain the location of the opposing army and so give it an overwhelming defeat. The Glendalough Tower was built by a demon at the command of Saint Kevin. This saint had conspicuously routed Satan on a previous occasion; so the arch-fiend and all the well-informed of his subjects kept at a safe distance from Glendalough, not caring to take any risks with so doughty a spiritual champion as Saint Kevin had proved himself to be in more than one encounter.

"But there was wan snakin' vagabone av a divil that come from furrin parts an' hadn't heard the news about the saint, and the blessed saint caught him wan avenin' an' set him to work to build that tower. So the black rogue wint at it as hard as he knew how, an' was workin' away wid all the hands he had, as busy as a barmaid at a fair, thinkin' that afore sunrise he'd have it so high it 'ud fall down be itself an' do the blessed saint not a ha'porth av good. But afther batin' owld Satan himself, Saint Kevin wasn't to be deludhered be wan av his undershtrappers, an' was watchin' wid his two eyes every minnit o' the time, so whin the divil had the tower high enough, he threw his bishop's cap at it, an' it become shtone an' made the roof, so the omadhawn divil was baten at his own game."

The round tower is not without a touch of romance, one of the most notable structures, Monaster-Boice, having been built by a woman under peculiar circumstances. According to the legend, she was young, beautiful, and good, but though she ought to have been happy also, she was not, being persecuted by the attentions of a suitor chieftain, whose reputation must have been far from irreproachable, since he was characterized by the narrator of the story either as an "outprobrious ruffin," or "a sootherin', deludherin', murtherin' villin." Loving another chief who was a "gintleman entirely," and determined to escape from the obnoxious attentions of the "ruffin" already mentioned, the lady, having learned that her disagreeable suitor had resolved to carry her off, employed two men to aid her the night before the proposed abduction, and, before morning, built the tower and took up her abode in the topmost chamber. In due season the chieftain came "wid a gang av thaves," but, disappointed in his "endayvor fur to stale away her varchew," besieged the tower. Having taken the precaution to provide a good supply of heavy stones, the lady pelted her persecutors vigorously, "crackin' their haythen shkulls the same as they wor egg-shells." Her heroism was rewarded by her deliverance, for her lover, hearing of her desperate situation, came to her relief and attacked the besiegers, so that "wid the lady flingin' shtones at the front o' them, an' the other fellys beltin' 'em behind, they got disconsarted as not knowin' phat to do next, an' so they up's an' runs like as tin thousand divils wor parshooin' afther thim. So she was saved an' brought down, an' was married to the boy av her heart the next Sunday, Glory be to God, an' that's the way the tower come to be built, an' shows that thim that thries to marry a lady agin her will always comes to grief, fur av she cant bate thim wid her tongue she can some other way, fur a woman can always get phat she's afther, an' bad luck to the lie that's in that."

THE POLICE.