Name: Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry
Author: ed. W. B. Yeats

Read the copy these stories were drawn from on the Project Gutenberg.

59: stories drawn from it
59: placed on the map
16: counties: Galway, Cork, Donegal and more
9,780: words in the passages on this page

The stories, best first

59 in all

Each story keeps the passage it was read from. Open one to read the passage as the book has it, and, where the companion has written its own telling, that too.

Bewitchment of Mary Dunbar at Island Magee

near Island Magee · townland · Antrim · 1711

In February 1711, in the reputedly haunted house of James Hattridge at Island Magee, eighteen-year-old Mary Dunbar fell into fits and ravings and accused eight local women of tormenting her by witchcraft. Witnesses described strange noises, sulphureous smells, thrown stones and turf, bedclothes shaped into a corpse, and the girl vomiting feathers, pins, and buttons.

Read the passage

Their alleged crime was tormenting a young woman, called Mary Dunbar, about eighteen years of age, at the house of James Hattridge, Island Magee, and at other places to which she was removed. The circumstances sworn on the trial were as follows:--
"The afflicted person being, in the month of February, 1711, in the house of James Hattridge, Island Magee (which had been for some time believed to be haunted by evil spirits), found an apron on the parlour floor, that had been missing some time, tied with _five strange knots_, which she loosened.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 62
Ireland's Last Witch Trial at Carrickfergus

Carrickfergus · townland · Antrim · 1711

On 31 March 1711, eight women from Islandmagee, Carrickfergus, Braid Island, and Kilroot were tried for witchcraft in the County of Antrim Court — the last witch trial in Ireland. Despite Judge Upton's doubts, they were convicted, sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment and four turns in the Carrickfergus pillory, where an exasperated crowd pelted them so severely that one woman lost an eye.

Read the passage

Tradition says that the people were much exasperated against these unfortunate persons, who were severely pelted in the pillory with boiled cabbage stalks and the like, by which one of them had an eye beaten out.
T'YEER-NA-N-OGE.--Page 200.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 62
The Headless Phantom of Rathdowney: Death of Sarah Kennedy

Rathdowney · townland · Laois · 1759

A priest near Rathdowney, riding home from a deathbed at dawn, encountered a headless pair of legs trotting along a lane and struck it with his whip, whereupon it collapsed in a flood of milk and revealed Sarah Kennedy, an old woman notorious for witchcraft, who had assumed the shape to suck the village cows. She died in torment on the road, was denied Christian burial and interred in a sand-pit, and the villagers burned her cabin on the evening of her burial.

Read the passage

The phantom uttered a wild and unearthly yell, and fell forward on the road, and what was the priest's astonishment when he perceived the whole place running over with milk. He was struck dumb with amazement; the prostrate phantom still continued to eject vast quantities of milk from every part; the priest's head swam, his eyes got dizzy; a stupor came all over him for some minutes, and on his recovering, the frightful spectre had vanished, and in its stead he found stretched on the road, and half drowned in milk, the form of Sarah Kennedy, an old woman of the neighbourhood, who had been long notorious in that district for her witchcraft and superstitious practices, and it was now discovered that she had, by infernal aid, assumed that monstrous shape, and was employed that morning in sucking the cows of the village. Had a volcano burst forth at his feet, he could not be more astonished; he gazed awhile in silent amazement--the old woman groaning, and writhing convulsively.
"Sarah," said he, at length, "I have long admonished you to repent of your evil ways, but you were deaf to my entreaties; and now, wretched woman, you are surprised in the midst of your crimes."

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 36
The Banshee and the Foretold Death at Spring House

Springhouse · townland · Tipperary · 1749–1752

In 1749 Charles Mac Carthy of Spring House fell into a death-like trance and awoke claiming he had stood before God's judgment seat and been granted three years to repent. As the prophesied date approached in October 1752, travellers to his home met a wailing banshee at the crossroads, and Charles, accidentally shot by a wronged woman aiming at James Ryan, died of the mistreated wound on his twenty-seventh birthday, exactly as foretold.

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"The Bourkes kept us up so late on Friday night that yesterday was pretty far advanced before we could begin our journey, and the day closed when we were nearly fifteen miles distant from this place. The roads were excessively deep, from the heavy rains of the last week, and we proceeded so slowly that, at last, my mother resolved on passing the night at the house of Mr. Bourke's brother (who lives about a quarter-of-a-mile off the road), and coming here to breakfast in the morning. The day had been windy and showery, and the sky looked fitful, gloomy, and uncertain. The moon was full, and at times shone clear and bright; at others it was wholly concealed behind the thick, black, and rugged masses of clouds that rolled rapidly along, and were every moment becoming larger, and collecting together as if gathering strength for a coming storm. The wind, which blew in our faces, whistled bleakly along the low hedges of the narrow road, on which we proceeded with difficulty from the number of deep sloughs, and which afforded not the least shelter, no plantation being within some miles of us. My mother, therefore, asked Leary, who drove the jaunting-car, how far we were from Mr. Bourke's? ''Tis about ten spades from this to the cross, and we have then only to turn to the left into the avenue, ma'am.' 'Very well, Leary; turn up to Mr. Bourke's as soon as you reach the cross roads.' My mother had scarcely spoken these words, when a shriek, that made us thrill as if our very hearts were pierced by it, burst from the hedge to the right of our way. If it resembled anything earthly it seemed the cry of a female, struck by a sudden and mortal blow, and giving out her life in one long deep pang of expiring agony. 'Heaven defend us!' exclaimed my mother. 'Go you over the hedge, Leary, and save that woman, if she is not yet dead, while we run back to the hut we have just passed, and alarm the village near it.' 'Woman!' said Leary, beating the horse violently, while his voice trembled, 'that's no woman; the sooner we get on, ma'am, the better;' and he continued his efforts to quicken the horse's pace. We saw nothing. The moon was hid. It was quite dark, and we had been for some time expecting a heavy fall of rain. But just as Leary had spoken, and had succeeded in making the horse trot briskly forward, we distinctly heard a loud clapping of hands, followed by a succession of screams, that seemed to denote the last excess of despair and anguish, and to issue from a person running forward inside the hedge, to keep pace with our progress. Still we saw nothing; until, when we were within about ten yards of the place where an avenue branched off to Mr. Bourke's to the left, and the road turned to Spring House on the right, the moon started suddenly from behind a cloud, and enabled us to see, as plainly as I now see this paper, the figure of a tall, thin woman, with uncovered head, and long hair that floated round her shoulders, attired in something which seemed either a loose white cloak or a sheet thrown hastily about her. She stood on the corner hedge, where the road on which we were met that which leads to Spring House, with her face towards us, her left hand pointing to this place, and her right arm waving rapidly and violently as if to draw us on in that direction. The horse had stopped, apparently frightened at the sudden presence of the figure, which stood in the manner I have described, still uttering the same piercing cries, for about half a minute. It then leaped upon the road, disappeared from our view for one instant, and the next was seen standing upon a high wall a little way up the avenue on which we purposed going, still pointing towards the road to Spring House, but in an attitude of defiance and command, as if prepared to oppose our passage up the avenue. The figure was now quite silent, and its garments, which had before flown loosely in the wind, were closely wrapped around it 'Go on, Leary, to Spring House, in God's name!' said my mother; 'whatever world it belongs to, we will provoke it no longer.' ''Tis the Banshee, ma'am,' said Leary; 'and I would not, for what my life is worth, go anywhere this blessed night but to Spring House. But I'm afraid there's something bad going forward, or _she_ would not send us there.' So saying, he drove forward; and as we turned on the road to the right, the moon suddenly withdrew its light, and we saw the apparition no more; but we heard plainly a prolonged clapping of hands, gradually dying away, as if it issued from a person rapidly retreating. We proceeded as quickly as the badness of the roads and the fatigue of the poor animal that drew us would allow, and arrived here about eleven o'clock last night. The scene which awaited us you have learned from my mother's letter. To explain it fully, I must recount to you some of the transactions which took place here during the last week.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 30
The Slaying of Cucullin at Knockmany

Knockmany · townland · Tyrone

On the top of Knockmany Hill, Fin M'Coul's wife Oonagh tricked the fearsome giant Cucullin, whose strength lay in the middle finger of his right hand. By disguising Fin as an infant and having Cucullin bite into an iron-hardened cake, Oonagh caused him to put his finger in the disguised Fin's mouth, who bit it off, leaving Cucullin helpless to be killed.

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Cucullin was surprised to find such a powerful set of grinders in one so young; but he was still much more so on finding, when he took his hand from Fin's mouth, that he had left the very finger upon which his whole strength depended, behind him. He gave one loud groan, and fell down at once with terror and weakness. This was all Fin wanted, who now knew that his most powerful and bitterest enemy was completely at his mercy. He instantly started out of the cradle, and in a few minutes the great Cucullin, that was for such a length of time the terror of him and all his followers, lay a corpse before him. Thus did Fin, through the wit and invention of Oonagh, his wife, succeed in overcoming his enemy by stratagem, which he never could have done by force: and thus also is it proved that the women, if they bring us _into_ many an unpleasant scrape, can sometimes succeed in getting us _out_ of others that are as bad.
[Footnote 63: A common name for the cloud or rack that hangs, as a forerunner of wet weather, about the peak of a mountain.]

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 55
Frank M'Kenna's Death in the Snow and His Ghost

Mullaghtinny · townland · Tyrone · 1814

On Christmas morning, about 1814, young Frank M'Kenna defied his father's curse and went tracing hares in the mountains dividing Tyrone from Monaghan, where he was lost in a terrible snowstorm; after a thaw his body was found within a circle drawn with his cock-stick, his prayer-book on his mouth. At his funeral a dark hare crossed before the coffin at Mullaghtinny, and a fortnight later his ghost began appearing to the daughter of Daly, a herd, drawing crowds to the lonely mountain cabin. A cairn of stones now marks where the body lay.

Read the passage

In the meantime one of the most terrible snow-storms ever remembered in that part of the country came on, and the consequence was, that the self-willed young man, who had equally trampled on the sanctities of religion and parental authority, was given over for lost. As soon as the tempest became still, the neighbours assembled in a body and proceeded to look for him. The snow, however, had fallen so heavily that not a single mark of a footstep could be seen. Nothing but one wide waste of white undulating hills met the eye wherever it turned, and of M'Kenna no trace whatever was visible or could be found. His father, now remembering the unnatural character of his imprecation, was nearly distracted; for although the body had not yet been found, still by every one who witnessed the sudden rage of the storm and who knew the mountains, escape or survival was felt to be impossible. Every day for about a week large parties were out among the hill-ranges seeking him, but to no purpose. At length there came a thaw, and his body was found on a snow-wreath, lying in a supine posture within a circle which he had drawn around him with his cock-stick. His prayer-book lay opened upon his mouth, and his hat was pulled down so as to cover it and his face. It is unnecessary to say that the rumour of his death, and of the circumstances under which he left home, created a most extraordinary sensation in the country--a sensation that was the greater in proportion to the uncertainty occasioned by his not having been found either alive or dead. Some affirmed that he had crossed the mountains, and was seen in Monaghan; others, that he had been seen in Clones, in Emyvale, in Five-mile-town; but despite of all these agreeable reports, the melancholy truth was at length made clear by the appearance of the body as just stated.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 34
O'Donoghue's Vanishing Walk Across Lough Leane

near Lough Leane · townland · Kerry

The chieftain O'Donoghue, ruler of the lands around Lough Leane, walked out onto the surface of the lake during a feast while prophesying future events, then vanished from sight. Tradition holds he returns every May-day morning to be seen by a fortunate few.

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His end--for it cannot correctly be called his death--was singular and mysterious. At one of those splendid feasts for which his court was celebrated, surrounded by the most distinguished of his subjects, he was engaged in a prophetic relation of the events which were to happen in ages yet to come. His auditors listened, now wrapt in wonder, now fired with indignation, burning with shame, or melted into sorrow, as he faithfully detailed the heroism, the injuries, the crimes, and the miseries of their descendants. In the midst of his predictions he rose slowly from his seat, advanced with a solemn, measured, and majestic tread to the shore of the lake, and walked forward composedly upon its unyielding surface. When he had nearly reached the centre he paused for a moment, then, turning slowly round, looked toward his friends, and waving his arms to them with the cheerful air of one taking a short farewell, disappeared from their view.
The memory of the good O'Donoghue has been cherished by successive generations with affectionate reverence; and it is believed that at sunrise, on every May-day morning, the anniversary of his departure, he revisits his ancient domains: a favoured few only are in general permitted to see him, and this distinction is always an omen of good fortune to the beholders; when it is granted to many it is a sure token of an abundant harvest,--a blessing, the want of which during this prince's reign was never felt by his people.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 43
The Island Magee Witch Trial

near Island Magee · townland · Antrim · 1711

In 1711, eight women from Island Magee and Carrickfergus were tried at the County Antrim court for tormenting Mary Dunbar, an eighteen-year-old girl who suffered fits, vomited pins and feathers, and accused the women of bewitching her. Despite testimony of their piety, the jury found them guilty and they were sentenced to imprisonment and the pillory, where an angry crowd pelted them so badly one lost an eye.

Read the passage

The last trial for witchcraft in Ireland--there were never very many--is thus given in MacSkimin's _History of Carrickfergus_:--"1711, March 31st, Janet Mean, of Braid-island; Janet Latimer, Irish-quarter, Carrickfergus; Janet Millar, Scotch-quarter, Carrickfergus; Margaret Mitchel, Kilroot; Catharine M'Calmond, Janet Liston, alias Seller, Elizabeth Seller, and Janet Carson, the four last from Island Magee, were tried here, in the County of Antrim Court, for witchcraft."
Their alleged crime was tormenting a young woman, called Mary Dunbar, about eighteen years of age, at the house of James Hattridge, Island Magee, and at other places to which she was removed. The circumstances sworn on the trial were as follows:--

Project Gutenberg #33887
Bewitched Butter and the Death of Rachel Higgins at Aghavoe

Aghaboe · townland · Laois · 1700–1739

Bryan Costigan's cattle near Aghavoe began giving bloody, foul milk, and an old wise woman was called to break the curse through ritual churning and chanting. A hare identified as the shapeshifted witch Rachel Higgins was chased and wounded by dogs, and she was later found dying of the same wound in her cabin, dead by morning.

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The hare started off at a brisk pace, squirting up the milk she had sucked from her mouth and nostrils, and the dogs making after her rapidly. Rachel Higgins's cabin appeared, through the grey of the morning twilight, at a little distance; and it was evident that puss seemed bent on gaining it, although she made a considerable circuit through the fields in the rear. Bryan and his comrade, however, had their thoughts, and made towards the cabin by the shortest route, and had just arrived as the hare came up, panting and almost exhausted, and the dogs at her very scut. She ran round the house, evidently confused and disappointed at the presence of the men, but at length made for the door. In the bottom of the door was a small, semicircular aperture, resembling those cut in fowl-house doors for the ingress and egress of poultry. To gain this hole, puss now made a last and desperate effort, and had succeeded in forcing her head and shoulders through it, when the foremost of the dogs made a spring and seized her violently by the haunch. She uttered a loud and piercing scream, and struggled desperately to free herself from his gripe, and at last succeeded, but not until she left a piece of her rump in his teeth. The men now burst open the door; a bright turf fire blazed on the hearth, and the whole floor was streaming with blood. No hare, however, could be found, and the men were more than ever convinced that it was old Rachel, who had, by the assistance of some demon, assumed the form of the hare, and they now determined to have her if she were over the earth. They entered the bedroom, and heard some smothered groaning, as if proceeding from some one in extreme agony. They went to the corner of the room from whence the moans proceeded, and there, beneath a bundle of freshly-cut rushes, found the form of Rachel Higgins, writhing in the most excruciating agony, and almost smothered in a pool of blood. The men were astounded; they addressed the wretched old woman, but she either could not, or would not answer them. Her wound still bled copiously; her tortures appeared to increase, and it was evident that she was dying. The aroused family thronged around her with cries and lamentations; she did not seem to heed them, she got worse and worse, and her piercing yells fell awfully on the ears of the bystanders. At length she expired, and her corpse exhibited a most appalling spectacle, even before the spirit had well departed.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 37

As the companion tells it

Somewhere around here, close to Aghaboe, Bryan Costigan's cattle began giving bloody, foul milk, and an old wise woman was called in to break the curse through ritual churning and chanting. A hare was spotted and identified as the witch Rachel Higgins in animal form, and the dogs were set after her. She ran hard, squirting milk from her mouth and nostrils, and made a desperate dash for Rachel Higgins's cabin through the grey morning twilight, trying to reach a small hole cut in the bottom of the door. The men took a shortcut and arrived as the hare came up exhausted, with the dogs right behind her. She forced her head and shoulders through the gap, but the foremost dog seized her by the haunch, and she screamed and tore herself free, leaving a piece of her rump in his teeth. The men burst open the door and found a bright turf fire on the hearth and the whole floor streaming with blood, but no hare anywhere. They heard smothered groaning from the bedroom, and in the corner, beneath a bundle of freshly cut rushes, they found Rachel Higgins writhing in agony, smothered in a pool of blood. They spoke to her but she could not or would not answer. Her wound bled copiously, her tortures increased, and she was clearly dying. The family gathered around her with cries and lamentations, but she only got worse, her piercing yells falling awfully on the ears of those who stood by. She expired before morning, and her corpse was, as the tale puts it,
Pillorying of the Convicted Witches at Carrickfergus

Carrickfergus · townland · Antrim · 1711

After their conviction, the women were sentenced to be imprisoned for twelve months and to stand four times in the pillory at Carrickfergus. Tradition holds that the people were so exasperated against them that they were severely pelted with boiled cabbage stalks, and one woman had an eye beaten out.

Read the passage

This trial lasted from six o'clock in the morning till two in the afternoon; and the prisoners were sentenced to be imprisoned twelve months, and to stand four times in the pillory of Carrickfergus.
Tradition says that the people were much exasperated against these unfortunate persons, who were severely pelted in the pillory with boiled cabbage stalks and the like, by which one of them had an eye beaten out.

Project Gutenberg #33887
The Banshee at the Dodder Bridge

near River Dodder · townland · Dublin

Walking home at dusk in the first week of November, the labourer Thomas Connolly meets a keening woman with unearthly streaming hair crouched on an old hump-backed bridge over a stream running into the Dodder; when he blesses himself she rises to a great height and glides down into the stream, and he collapses in a dead swoon at his lodgings. The same night a banshee was heard keening round a house where a Mr. O'Neal of the old Tyrone family was visiting, and he was found dead in his bed next morning.

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"Begor, sir, I knew the apparation of her well enough; but 'twas confirmed by a sarcumstance that occurred the same time. There was a Misther O'Nales was come on a visit, ye must know, to a place in the neighbourhood--one o' the ould O'Nales iv the county Tyrone, a rale ould Irish family--an' the banshee was heard keening round the house that same night, be more then one that was in it; an' sure enough, Misther Harry, he was found dead in his bed the next mornin'. So if it wasn't the banshee I seen that time, I'd like to know what else it could a' been."
[Footnote 15: _Na bac leis_--_i.e._, don't mind it.]

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 28
The Cow-House Vigil: Tom Bourke's Son Saved from the Fairies

Kilworth · townland · Cork

When Tom Bourke's son lay dying of fever, a mysterious 'bocough' advised him to move the boy to the cow-house, where Tom's dead father appeared in spirit to comfort him. The boy recovered while, at the same hour, a goat mysteriously dropped dead and two pigeons were seen flying strangely between Kilworth and the farm.

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"Just as I was thinking of getting up, as I told you--I won't belie my father, sir, he was a good father to me--I saw him standing at the bedside, holding out his right hand to me, and leaning his other on the stick he used to carry when he was alive, and looking pleasant and smiling at me, all as if he was telling me not to be afeard, for I would not lose the child. 'Is that you, father?' says I. He said nothing. 'If that's you,' says I again, 'for the love of them that gone, let me catch your hand.' And so he did, sir; and his hand was as soft as a child's. He stayed about as long as you'd be going from this to the gate below at the end of the avenue, and then went away. In less than a week the child was as well as if nothing ever ailed him; and there isn't to-night a healthier boy of nineteen, from this blessed house to the town of Ballyporeen, across the Kilworth mountains."
"But I think, Tom," said Mr. Martin, "it appears as if you are more indebted to your father than to the man recommended to you by Shamous; or do you suppose it was he who made favour with your enemies among the good people, and that then your father----"

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 40

As the companion tells it

Somewhere close to Kilworth, Tom Bourke told the story of his son's fever. The boy was dying, and Tom saw his dead father standing at the bedside, holding out his right hand and leaning on the stick he used to carry when alive, smiling as if to say not to be afraid, that the child would not be lost. Tom asked to catch his hand, and the spirit let him, and the hand was as soft as a child's. The father stayed only a moment, then went away. In less than a week the boy was well, and Tom said there wasn't a healthier boy of nineteen from his house to the town of Ballyporeen across the Kilworth mountains. Mr. Martin thought Tom might be more indebted to his father than to the man recommended by Shamous, perhaps that the father had made favour with his enemies among the good people.
The Demon Cat of Connemara Destroyed by Holy Water

near Connemara · townland · Galway

A monstrous black cat, revealed to be a devil, terrorised a fisherman's wife in Connemara, devouring her stored fish and clawing bloody wounds into all who tried to stop it. The woman finally destroyed it by throwing holy water on the creature, which burned away to nothing in a cloud of black smoke.

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But presently the mistress returned, carrying with her a bottle of holy water; and, looking in, she saw the cat still devouring the fish, and not minding. So she crept over quietly and threw holy water on it without a word. No sooner was this done than a dense black smoke filled the place, through which nothing was seen but the two red eyes of the cat, burning like coals of fire. Then the smoke gradually cleared away, and she saw the body of the creature burning slowly till it became shrivelled and black like a cinder, and finally disappeared. And from that time the fish remained untouched and safe from harm, for the power of the evil one was broken, and the demon cat was seen no more.
[Footnote 56: _Ancient Legends of Ireland._]

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 51

As the companion tells it

Somewhere around here in Connemara, a fisherman's wife had her stored fish devoured by a monstrous black cat. The creature clawed bloody wounds into anyone who tried to stop it, and it was no ordinary animal but a devil. The woman came back carrying a bottle of holy water, found the cat still devouring the fish, and threw the water on it without a word. A dense black smoke filled the place, and through it nothing was seen but the two red eyes of the cat,
The Corpse-Roasters of Inishowen

Culdaff · townland · Donegal

Pat Diver, a tinker refused lodging on the road from Moville and Greencastle to Culdaff, shelters in a barn where four immensely tall men drag in a corpse, roast it over a fire, and force him to turn it on pain of being roasted in its place. They later compel him to carry the corpse to the ruined graveyard of Kiltown Abbey to dig its grave, and only cockcrow saves him from being buried with it. Two months later at a fair in Raphoe the biggest of the men reminds him he now has a story to tell.

Read the passage

"Now, Pat," said they, "you'll turn the corpse, but if you let him burn you'll be tied up there and roasted in his place."
Pat's hair stood on end, and the cold perspiration poured from his forehead, but there was nothing for it but to perform his dreadful task.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 23

As the companion tells it

Close to Culdaff, the tinker Pat Diver, refused lodging on the Moville and Greencastle road, sheltered in a barn where four immensely tall men dragged in a corpse and roasted it on a fire. They forced him to turn it. "If you let him burn you'll be tied up there and roasted in his place," they told him.
Bantry Hearth-Money Collector's Bargain with the Devil

Monamolin · townland · Wexford

The devil and a hearth-money collector for Bantry made a bet to see who could collect the best 'load' of offered souls by sunset. In Monamolin, a poor woman's careless curse against the tax collector was deemed sincere, and the devil claimed the collector as his prize.

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The devil and the hearth-money collector for Bantry set out one summer morning to decide a bet they made the night before over a jug of punch. They wanted to see which would have the best load at sunset, and neither was to pick up anything that wasn't offered with the good-will of the giver. They passed by a house, and they heard the poor ban-a-t'yee[58] cry out to her lazy daughter, "Oh, musha, ---- take you for a lazy sthronsuch[59] of a girl! do you intend to get up to-day?" "Oh, oh," says the taxman, "there's a job for you, Nick." "Ovock," says the other, "it wasn't from her heart she said it; we must pass on." The next cabin they were passing, the woman was on the bawn-ditch[60] crying out to her husband that was mending one of his brogues inside: "Oh, tattheration to you, Nick! you never rung them pigs, and there they are in the potato drills rootin' away; the ---- run to Lusk with them." "Another windfall for you," says the man of the ink-horn, but the old thief only shook his horns and wagged his tail. So they went on, and ever so many prizes were offered to the black fellow without him taking one. Here it was a gorsoon playing _marvels_ when he should be using his clappers in the corn-field; and then it was a lazy drone of a servant asleep with his face to the sod when he ought to be weeding. No one thought of offering the hearth-money man even a drink of buttermilk, and at last the sun was within half a foot of the edge of Cooliagh. They were just then passing Monamolin, and a poor woman that was straining her supper in a skeeoge outside her cabin-door, seeing the two standing at the bawn gate, bawled out, "Oh, here's the hearth-money man--run away wid him." "Got a bite at last," says Nick. "Oh, no, no! it wasn't from her heart," says the collector. "Indeed, an' it was from the very foundation-stones it came. No help for misfortunes; in with you," says he, opening the mouth of his big black bag; and whether the devil was ever after seen taking the same walk or not, nobody ever laid eyes on his fellow-traveller again.
[Footnote 57: _Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts._]

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 52
Davy Roche Dances with the Dead in Kilcrumper Churchyard

Kilcrumper · townland · Cork

Returning merry from the fair of Kilcumber, Davy Roche fell in with a funeral procession in which the only face he knew belonged to a man dead for many years. After the burial in Kilcrumper churchyard the company danced to a piper, and when Davy kissed his partner he was left alone among the tombstones, arriving home near morning in a stupor that lasted until noon the next day.

Read the passage

"Why, then, maybe you never heard, ma'am, what happened to Davy Roche in that same churchyard," said Bourke; and turning to Mr. Martin, added, "'Twas a long time before he went into your service, sir. He was walking home, of an evening, from the fair of Kilcumber, a little merry, to be sure, after the day, and he came up with a berrin. So he walked along with it, and thought it very queer that he did not know a mother's soul in the crowd but one man, and he was sure that man was dead many years afore. Howsomever, he went on with the berrin till they came to Kilcrumper churchyard; and, faith, he went in and stayed with the rest, to see the corpse buried. As soon as the grave was covered, what should they do but gather about a piper that _come_ along with 'em, and fall to dancing as if it was a wedding. Davy longed to be among 'em (for he hadn't a bad foot of his own, that time, whatever he may now); but he was loth to begin, because they all seemed strange to him, only the man I told you that he thought was dead. Well, at last this man saw what Davy wanted, and came up to him. 'Davy,' says he, 'take out a partner, and show what you can do, but take care and don't offer to kiss her.' 'That I won't,' says Davy, 'although her lips were made of honey.' And with that he made his bow to the _purtiest_ girl in the ring, and he and she began to dance. 'Twas a jig they danced, and they did it to th' admiration, do you see, of all that were there. 'Twas all very well till the jig was over; but just as they had done, Davy, for he had a drop in, and was warm with the dancing, forgot himself, and kissed his partner, according to custom. The smack was no sooner off of his lips, you see, than he was left alone in the churchyard, without a creature near him, and all he could see was the tall tombstones. Davy said they seemed as if they were dancing too, but I suppose that was only the wonder that happened him, and he being a little in drink. Howsomever, he found it was a great many hours later than he thought it; 'twas near morning when he came home; but they couldn't get a word out of him till the next day, when he woke out of a dead sleep about twelve o'clock."

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 40

As the companion tells it

Somewhere around here is Kilcrumper churchyard, where Davy Roche had his strange adventure. He was walking home from the fair of Kilcumber, a little merry after the day, when he fell in with a funeral procession. What struck him odd was that he knew not a soul in the crowd but one man, and he was sure that man had been dead for years. He went along with the burial and stayed to see the corpse laid in the ground. As soon as the grave was covered, a piper who had come with the crowd started up, and the whole company fell to dancing as if it were a wedding. Davy wanted to join in, for he had a good foot on him then, but held back because they were all strangers. The one man he knew came up and said, "Davy, take out a partner and show what you can do, but take care and don't offer to kiss her." Davy said he wouldn't, even if her lips were made of honey. He bowed to the prettiest girl in the ring and they danced a jig that won the admiration of everyone there. But when the jig was over, Davy, warm with the dancing and the drink in him, forgot himself and kissed his partner. The moment the kiss left his lips he was alone among the tombstones, with not a creature near him. He said the stones seemed to be dancing too, but that may have been the drink and the wonder of what happened. He got home near morning, and no one could get a word out of him until he woke from a dead sleep about twelve o'clock the next day.
The Phantom Prince Pays Bill Doody's Rent in Fairy Gold

Killarney · townland · Kerry

Bill Doody, facing eviction on rent-day, lamented his fate beside the Lake of Killarney when a mysterious stranger gave him a purse of gold, then vanished and was seen riding a white horse far off on the lake — the spirit O'Donoghue. Bill paid his rent in real guineas, but in the agent's desk the gold turned to gingerbread cakes stamped with the king's head.

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The agent going to his desk shortly after, was confounded at beholding a heap of gingerbread cakes instead of the money he had deposited there. He raved and swore, but all to no purpose; the gold had become gingerbread cakes, just marked like the guineas, with the king's head; and Bill had the receipt in his pocket; so he saw there was no use in saying anything about the affair, as he would only get laughed at for his pains.
From that hour Bill Doody grew rich; all his undertakings prospered; and he often blesses the day that he met with O'Donoghue, the great prince that lives down under the lake of Killarney.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 44
Billy Dawson's Devil Pact and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

Castledawson · townland · Dublin

Billy Dawson, a roguish blacksmith, sells himself to the devil for seven years' money and repeatedly outwits Satan using three wishes granted by St. Moroky — trapping him at the sledge, in an enchanted arm-chair, and in a purse. After death he is refused at heaven's gate and barred from hell, condemned to wander with a burning nose as Will-o'-the-Wisp. His virtuous son James founded the town of Castledawson, said to be named from him to this day.

Read the passage

It would be useless to stop now, merely to inform our readers that Bill was beyond improvement. In short, he once more took to his old habits, and lived on exactly in the same manner as before. He had two sons--one as great a blackguard as himself, and who was also named after him; the other was a well-conducted, virtuous young man, called James, who left his father, and having relied upon his own industry and honest perseverance in life, arrived afterwards to great wealth, and built the town called Castle Dawson; which is so called from its founder until this day.
Bill, at length, in spite of all his wealth, was obliged, as he himself said, "to travel,"--in other words, he fell asleep one day, and forgot to awaken; or, in still plainer terms, he died.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 53

As the companion tells it

Somewhere close to Castledawson, a roguish blacksmith named Billy Dawson once sold himself to the devil for seven years of money. With three wishes granted by St. Moroky, he outwitted Satan three times, trapping him at the sledge, in an enchanted arm-chair, and in a purse. When Billy died, heaven refused him and hell barred him, so he was condemned to wander with a burning nose as the Will-o'-the-Wisp. His virtuous son James left him behind, built up wealth through honest perseverance, and founded the town that still carries his name.
The Murdered Prince and the White Trout of Cong

Cong · townland · Mayo

A lady living in a castle on the lake at Cong was betrothed to a king's son, who was murdered and thrown into the lake before they could marry. She went out of her mind with grief and was said to have been taken by the fairies, afterwards appearing as a white trout in the stream. A soldier who caught and tried to fry the trout was confronted when it transformed into the bleeding lady, and he repented and became a hermit.

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There was wanst upon a time, long ago, a beautiful lady that lived in a castle upon the lake beyant, and they say she was promised to a king's son, and they wor to be married, when all of a sudden he was murthered, the crathur (Lord help us), and threwn into the lake above, and so, of course, he couldn't keep his promise to the fair lady,--and more's the pity.
Well, the story goes that she went out iv her mind, bekase av loosin' the king's son--for she was tendher-hearted, God help her, like the rest iv us!--and pined away after him, until at last, no one about seen her, good or bad; and the story wint that the fairies took her away.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 11
Burning of Sarah Kennedy's Cabin

Rathdowney · townland · Laois · 1759

After Sarah Kennedy died from her transformation and exposure as a witch, her remains were buried in unconsecrated ground in a sand-pit, and the villagers burned her cabin to the ground the same evening. Her daughter fled and never returned.

Read the passage

The priest departed homewards, and called at the next cabin to give notice of the strange circumstances. The remains of Sarah Kennedy were removed to her cabin, situate at the edge of a small wood at a little distance. She had long been a resident in that neighbourhood, but still she was a stranger, and came there no one knew from whence. She had no relation in that country but one daughter, now advanced in years, who resided with her. She kept one cow, but sold more butter, it was said, than any farmer in the parish, and it was generally suspected that she acquired it by devilish agency, as she never made a secret of being intimately acquainted with sorcery and fairyism. She professed the Roman Catholic religion, but never complied with the practices enjoined by that church, and her remains were denied Christian sepulture, and were buried in a sand-pit near her own cabin.
On the evening of her burial, the villagers assembled and burned her cabin to the earth. Her daughter made her escape, and never after returned.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 36
Haunting and Torment at James Hattridge's House

near Island Magee · townland · Antrim · 1711

The house of James Hattridge in Island Magee was believed to be haunted by evil spirits, where Mary Dunbar found an apron tied with five strange knots and afterward suffered violent fits. Witnesses described strange noises, a sulphureous smell, stones and turf thrown about, and bedclothes arranged into the shape of a corpse.

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"It was also deposed that strange noises, as of whistling, scratching, etc., were heard in the house, and that a sulphureous smell was observed in the rooms; that stones, turf, and the like were thrown about the house, and the coverlets, etc., frequently taken off the beds and made up in the shape of a corpse; and that a bolster once walked out of a room into the kitchen with a night-gown about it! It likewise appeared in evidence that in some of her fits three strong men were scarcely able to hold her in the bed; that at times she vomited feathers, cotton yarn, pins, and buttons; and that on one occasion she slid off the bed and was laid on the floor, as if supported and drawn by an invincible power. The afflicted person was unable to give any evidence on the trial, being during that time dumb, but had no violent fit during its continuance."
In defence of the accused, it appeared that they were mostly sober, industrious people, who attended public worship, could repeat the Lord's Prayer, and had been known to pray both in public and private; and that some of them had lately received communion.

Project Gutenberg #33887
The Cursed Grey Stone of Knockmany

Knockmany · townland · Tyrone

A gentleman near Knockmany defied the legend and curse attached to a grey stone shaped like a miscaun of butter and resolved to break it up for building. Two labourers undertook to blast it, but the charge exploded prematurely and one man was killed, which was held as a fulfilment of the curse; the mutilated stone was left untouched thereafter.

Read the passage

Carleton says--"Of the grey stone mentioned in this legend, there is a very striking and melancholy anecdote to be told. Some twelve or thirteen years ago, a gentleman in the vicinity of the site of it was building a house, and, in defiance of the legend and curse connected with it, he resolved to break it up and use it. It was with some difficulty, however, that he could succeed in getting his labourers to have anything to do with its mutilation. Two men, however, undertook to blast it, but, somehow, the process of ignition being mismanaged, it exploded prematurely, and one of them was killed. This coincidence was held as a fulfilment of the curse mentioned in the legend. I have heard that it remains in that mutilated state to the present day, no other person being found who had the hardihood to touch it. This stone, before it was disfigured, exactly resembled that which the country people term a miscaun of butter, which is precisely the shape of a complete prism, a circumstance, no doubt, which, in the fertile imagination of the old Senachies, gave rise to the superstition annexed to it."

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 62
The Fairy Theft of the Dublin Lady at Fanad

near Fanad · townland · Donegal

In Fanad, County Donegal, fairies revelling in a ruined castle each Halloween ride to Dublin to steal a young lady from Stephen's Green, leaving a stick in her likeness that her family bury as her corpse. Jamie Freel snatches her from the troop, and a fairy woman strikes her deaf and dumb in revenge. A year later Jamie steals the fairies' glass, and three drops restore her speech before she is reunited with her parents.

Read the passage

Time flew, and Jamie was enjoying himself very much, when his hosts said, "We're going to ride to Dublin to-night to steal a young lady. Will you come too, Jamie Freel?"
"Ay, that will I!" cried the rash youth, thirsting for adventure.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 16
The Keening Birds of Collooney and Father O'Hart's Stolen Land

Collooney · townland · Sligo · 1700–1800

In penal days Father John O'Hart of Coloony entrusted his freelands to a shoneen, who kept them and gave them as dowers to his daughters. When the beloved priest died at ninety-four there was no human keening, but birds came keening from Knocknarea, Knocknashee and Innismurry. Tradition records that no one who has held the stolen land has prospered.

Read the passage

[Coloony is a few miles south of the town of Sligo. Father O'Hart lived there in the last century, and was greatly beloved. These lines accurately record the tradition. No one who has held the stolen land has prospered. It has changed owners many times.]
[Footnote 53: _Shoneen_--_i.e._, upstart.]

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 48
Grace Dogherty and the Bewitched Kerry Cow

Rathmullan and Ballyboe · townland · Donegal

Near Rathmullan, the Hanlon family's prized Kerry cow stopped giving milk after Grace Dogherty was permitted to milk her. A charm prescribed by Mark McCarrion of Binion — boiling nine new pins in a pint of the cow's milk — forced Grace to the door, crying that the pins were pricking holes in her heart, and she swore never to touch their milk again.

Read the passage

Not far from Rathmullen lived, last spring, a family called Hanlon; and in a farm-house, some fields distant, people named Dogherty. Both families had good cows, but the Hanlons were fortunate in possessing a Kerry cow that gave more milk and yellower butter than the others.
Grace Dogherty, a young girl, who was more admired than loved in the neighbourhood, took much interest in the Kerry cow, and appeared one night at Mrs. Hanlon's door with the modest request--

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 36

As the companion tells it

Somewhere around here, the Hanlon family had a Kerry cow that gave more milk and yellower butter than their other cows. A neighbour, Grace Dogherty, turned up one night at Mrs. Hanlon's door with what the old record calls a modest request. She wanted to milk the cow. After that, the cow stopped giving milk.
Jack Madden's Fatal Second Hump at Knockgraffon

Knockgraffon · townland · Tipperary

At the old moat of Knockgrafton, near Cahir, the fairies removed the hump of Lusmore after he sweetened their song, but punished the greedy hunchback Jack Madden for spoiling their tune. They fixed Lusmore's old hump on top of his own and kicked him from their castle; he was found half dead at the foot of the moat and died soon after, leaving his curse on anyone who would listen to fairy tunes.

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And twenty of the strongest fairies brought Lusmore's hump, and put it down upon poor Jack's back, over his own, where it became fixed as firmly as if it was nailed on with twelve-penny nails, by the best carpenter that ever drove one. Out of their castle they then kicked him; and in the morning, when Jack Madden's mother and her gossip came to look after their little man, they found him half dead, lying at the foot of the moat, with the other hump upon his back. Well to be sure, how they did look at each other! but they were afraid to say anything, lest a hump might be put upon their own shoulders. Home they brought the unlucky Jack Madden with them, as downcast in their hearts and their looks as ever two gossips were; and what through the weight of his other hump, and the long journey, he died soon after, leaving, they say, his heavy curse to any one who would go to listen to fairy tunes again.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 13

As the companion tells it

Close to Knockgraffon, you're near the old moat where the fairies punished Jack Madden. He had spoiled their song, where Lusmore before him had sweetened it and lost his hump for his kindness. Twenty of the strongest fairies brought Lusmore's hump and fixed it on top of Jack's own, as firmly as if it was nailed on with twelve-penny nails by the best carpenter that ever drove one. Then they kicked him out of their castle. In the morning his mother and her gossip found him half dead at the foot of the moat, with the other hump upon his back. They were afraid to say anything, lest a hump might be put upon their own shoulders. They brought him home, and what through the weight of his other hump and the long journey, he died soon after. They say he left his heavy curse on anyone who would go to listen to fairy tunes again.
The Fairy Coffin-Makers of Tonagh Forth

Tonagh · townland · Cavan

During a child's illness at a house built into the fairy-haunted Tonagh Forth, invisible sawing and hammering were heard on the forth, and the fairy-seer Frank Martin declared the fairies were making a child's coffin. The child died that night, and the carpenter's real coffin-making two evenings later exactly echoed the ghostly sounds. Green mounds on the forth were said to be the graves of unchristened children, dangerous and unlucky to pass over.

Read the passage

"They are makin' a child's coffin," he replied; "they have the body already made, an' they're now nailin' the lid together."
That night the child died, and the story goes that on the second evening afterwards, the carpenter who was called upon to make the coffin brought a table out from Thomas's house to the Forth, as a temporary bench; and, it is said, that the sawing and hammering necessary for the completion of his task were precisely the same which had been heard the evening but one before--neither more nor less. I remember the death of the child myself, and the making of its coffin, but I think the story of the supernatural carpenter was not heard in the village for some months after its interment.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 5
The Fatal Hare Hunt and Ghost of Mullaghtinny

Mullaghtinny · townland · Tyrone · 1814

Young M'Kenna, defying his father's curse that he never return alive if he hunted hares on Christmas Day instead of attending mass, was lured deep into the Tyrone mountains by a strange dark hare and died in a snowstorm. His ghost later appeared repeatedly at a lonely herd's cottage near Mullaghtinny, complaining about a dispute over his new breeches.

Read the passage

An incident is said to have occurred at the funeral in fine keeping with the wild spirit of the whole melancholy event. When the procession had advanced to a place called Mullaghtinny, a large dark-coloured hare, which was instantly recognised, by those who had been out with him on the hills, as the identical one that led him to his fate, is said to have crossed the roads about twenty yards or so before the coffin. The story goes, that a man struck it on the side with a stone, and that the blow, which would have killed any ordinary hare, not only did it no injury, but occasioned a sound to proceed from the body resembling the hollow one emitted by an empty barrel when struck.
In the meantime the interment took place, and the sensation began, like every other, to die away in the natural progress of time, when, behold, a report ran abroad like wild-fire that, to use the language of the people, "Frank M'Kenna was _appearing_!"

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 34
The Pedlar's Ghost of Clondavaddog

Clondavaddog · townland · Donegal

Grace Connor, a pedlar living by a turf bog in the parish of Clondavaddog, died suddenly after an illness of a few hours. The night after her funeral her ghost appeared to her husband Thady, bending over the cradle, and later summoned her sister Rose to a tryst in the old wallsteads, where she settled her unfinished pedlar's debts—two red shawls and money owed—before departing to her rest.

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Thady was in bed the night after the funeral, and the fire still burned brightly, when he saw his departed wife cross the room and bend over the cradle. Terrified, he muttered rapid prayers, covered his face with the blanket; and on looking up again the appearance was gone.
Next night he lifted the infant out of the cradle, and laid it behind him in the bed, hoping thus to escape his ghostly visitor; but Grace was presently in the room, and stretching over him to wrap up her child. Shrinking and shuddering, the poor man exclaimed, "Grace, woman, what is it brings you back? What is it you want wi' me?"

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 31
The Banshee's Wail Over Loch Gur

near Lough Gur · townland · Limerick

On the night of a great chief's death, a supernatural keening voice of grief is heard rising over Loch Gur, so mournful it seems to half-freeze the moonlit water, before spreading in echo across the province.

Read the passage

O'er Loch Gur, that night, once--twice--yea, thrice-- Passed a wail of anguish for the Brave That half curled into ice Its moon-mirroring wave. Then uprose a many-toned wild hymn in Choral swell from Ogra's dark ravine, And Mogeely's Phantom Women Mourned the Geraldine!
Far on Carah Mona's emerald plains Shrieks and sighs were blended many hours. And Fermoy in fitful strains Answered from her towers. Youghal, Keenalmeaky, Eemokilly, Mourned in concert, and their piercing keen Woke to wondering life the stilly Glens of Inchiqueen.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 29
The Headless Dallahan and Black Dog of Sligo

Sligo · townland · Sligo

Among the solitary fairies, Yeats records that the Dallahan, a headless phantom, used to stand in a Sligo street on dark nights until lately. The ships at the Sligo quays are also sometimes haunted by the Black Dog, which announces itself with a sound like all the tin porringers in the world flung into the hold, and even follows the ships to sea.

Read the passage

There are other solitary fairies, such as the House-spirit and the _Water-sheerie_, own brother to the English Jack-o'-Lantern; the _Pooka_ and the _Banshee_--concerning these presently; the _Dallahan_, or headless phantom--one used to stand in a Sligo street on dark nights till lately; the Black Dog, a form, perhaps, of the _Pooka_. The ships at the Sligo quays are haunted sometimes by this spirit, who announces his presence by a sound like the flinging of all "the tin porringers in the world" down into the hold. He even follows them to sea.
_The Leanhaun Shee_ (fairy mistress), seeks the love of mortals. If they refuse, she must be their slave; if they consent, they are hers, and can only escape by finding another to take their place. The fairy lives on their life, and they waste away. Death is no escape from her. She is the Gaelic muse, for she gives inspiration to those she persecutes. The Gaelic poets die young, for she is restless, and will not let them remain long on earth--this malignant phantom.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 20

As the companion tells it

Somewhere around here, Yeats records the Dallahan, a headless phantom, and it used to stand in a Sligo street on dark nights until lately. He counts it among the solitary fairies, along with the Pooka and the Banshee and the Water-sheerie, own brother to the English Jack-o'-Lantern. The Black Dog, which may be a form of the Pooka, haunts the ships at the Sligo quays sometimes. It announces its presence by a sound like the flinging of all the tin porringers in the world down into the hold. That is Yeats's own phrase for it. It even follows the ships to sea. So in this place, the hauntings are not only on land. The headless one stood in the street, and the Black Dog went down to the quays and out onto the water, making itself known with a racket like kitchen tin thrown into a ship's belly.
Death by the Cursed Grey Stone of Knockmany

Knockmany · townland · Tyrone · 1875–1888

A gentleman near Knockmany resolved to break up a legendary cursed grey stone to use for building, despite the local legend warning against it. During the blasting, the ignition was mismanaged and one of the labourers was killed, an event the country people saw as fulfillment of the stone's curse.

Read the passage

Carleton says--"Of the grey stone mentioned in this legend, there is a very striking and melancholy anecdote to be told. Some twelve or thirteen years ago, a gentleman in the vicinity of the site of it was building a house, and, in defiance of the legend and curse connected with it, he resolved to break it up and use it. It was with some difficulty, however, that he could succeed in getting his labourers to have anything to do with its mutilation. Two men, however, undertook to blast it, but, somehow, the process of ignition being mismanaged, it exploded prematurely, and one of them was killed. This coincidence was held as a fulfilment of the curse mentioned in the legend. I have heard that it remains in that mutilated state to the present day, no other person being found who had the hardihood to touch it. This stone, before it was disfigured, exactly resembled that which the country people term a miscaun of butter, which is precisely the shape of a complete prism, a circumstance, no doubt, which, in the fertile imagination of the old Senachies, gave rise to the superstition annexed to it."
SOME AUTHORITIES ON IRISH FOLK-LORE.

Project Gutenberg #33887
Murdered Prisoners in the Vaults of Dunmore Castle

Doonmore · townland · Clare

Keeping vigil over the coffin, Connor Crowe recalls the gloomy tower of Dunmore in his own west Clare country, where prisoners were murdered long ago in the vaults under the castle and none were buried decently. He tells of often hearing lamentations and great mourning coming from the castle vaults, though he blamed the waves working through the cliffs.

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"If 'twas near the gloomy tower of Dunmore, in my own sweet country, I was," said Connor Crowe, with a sigh, "one might well believe that the prisoners, who were murdered long ago there in the vaults under the castle, would be the hands to carry off the coffin out of envy, for never a one of them was buried decently, nor had as much as a coffin amongst them all. 'Tis often, sure enough, I have heard lamentations and great mourning coming from the vaults of Dunmore Castle; but," continued he, after fondly pressing his lips to the mouth of his companion and silent comforter, the whiskey bottle, "didn't I know all the time well enough, 'twas the dismal sounding waves working through the cliffs and hollows of the rocks, and fretting themselves to foam. Oh, then, Dunmore Castle, it is you that are the gloomy-looking tower on a gloomy day, with the gloomy hills behind you; when one has gloomy thoughts on their heart, and sees you like a ghost rising out of the smoke made by the kelp burners on the strand, there is, the Lord save us! as fearful a look about you as about the Blue Man's Lake at midnight. Well, then, anyhow," said Connor, after a pause, "is it not a blessed night, though surely the moon looks mighty pale in the face? St. Senan himself between us and all kinds of harm."
It was, in truth, a lovely moonlight night; nothing was to be seen around but the dark rocks, and the white pebbly beach, upon which the sea broke with a hoarse and melancholy murmur. Connor, notwithstanding his frequent draughts, felt rather queerish, and almost began to repent his curiosity. It was certainly a solemn sight to behold the black coffin resting upon the white strand. His imagination gradually converted the deep moaning of old ocean into a mournful wail for the dead, and from the shadowy recesses of the rocks he imaged forth strange and visionary forms.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 19

As the companion tells it

Somewhere close to Doonmore stands the gloomy tower of Dunmore. Connor Crowe, a man of this west Clare country, kept vigil one night over a black coffin resting on the white strand. He told of prisoners murdered long ago in the vaults under the castle, none of them buried decently, not one among them with a coffin. He said it was often he heard lamentations and great mourning coming from those vaults, but blamed the dismal waves working through the cliffs and hollows of the rocks, fretting themselves to foam. He called it a gloomy-looking tower on a gloomy day, with gloomy hills behind it. When one had gloomy thoughts on their heart and saw it like a ghost rising out of the smoke made by the kelp burners on the strand, there was as fearful a look about it as about the Blue Man's Lake at midnight. It was a moonlight night. Nothing around but dark rocks and the white pebbly beach, where the sea broke with a hoarse and melancholy murmur. Connor, for all his draughts from the whiskey bottle, felt queerish and almost repented his curiosity. It was a solemn sight, the black coffin on the white strand. His imagination turned the deep moaning of old ocean into a mournful wail for the dead, and from the shadowy recesses of the rocks he saw strange and visionary forms. He called on St. Senan to stand between him and all kinds of harm.
The Fairy Doctor of Inishshark

Inishshark · townland · Galway

Lady Wilde describes a celebrated fairy doctor living on Innis Sark who abstained from meat and drink, held burial grounds sacred, and guarded his power over the mysteries. He believed he would be struck dead if he revealed his knowledge before death, and once recited the Lord's Prayer backwards as a curse on an enemy.

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"'Though well off, he never, even in his youth, thought of taking a wife; nor was he ever known to love a woman. He stands quite apart from life, and by this means holds his power over the mysteries. No money will tempt him to impart his knowledge to another, for if he did he would be struck dead--so he believes. He would not touch a hazel stick, but carries an ash wand, which he holds in his hand when he prays, laid across his knees; and the whole of his life is devoted to works of grace and charity, and though now an old man, he has never had a day's sickness. No one has ever seen him in a rage, nor heard an angry word from his lips but once, and then being under great irritation, he recited the Lord's Prayer backwards as an imprecation on his enemy. Before his death he will reveal the mystery of his power, but not till the hand of death is on him for certain.'" When he does reveal it, we may be sure it will be to one person only--his successor. There are several such doctors in County Sligo, really well up in herbal medicine by all accounts, and my friends find them in their own counties. All these things go on merrily. The spirit of the age laughs in vain, and is itself only a ripple to pass, or already passing, away.
The spells of the witch are altogether different; they smell of the grave. One of the most powerful is the charm of the dead hand. With a hand cut from a corpse they, muttering words of power, will stir a well and skim from its surface a neighbour's butter.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 35
The Peasant of Aran Lured to His Death by Hy-Brasail

near Aran Islands · townland · Galway

A peasant of Ara (Aran) heard tales of Hy-Brasail, the phantom isle of the blest seen on the ocean's rim, and sailed west in pursuit of it, ignoring the voices calling from the shore and the rising wind. The isle stayed forever distant, he never returned to Ara, and he died on the waters amid tempest and spray.

Read the passage

A peasant who heard of the wonderful tale, In the breeze of the Orient loosened his sail; From Ara, the holy, he turned to the west, For though Ara was holy, _Hy-Brasail_ was blest. He heard not the voices that called from the shore-- He heard not the rising wind's menacing roar; Home, kindred, and safety, he left on that day, And he sped to _Hy-Brasail_, away, far away!
Morn rose on the deep, and that shadowy isle, O'er the faint rim of distance, reflected its smile; Noon burned on the wave, and that shadowy shore Seemed lovelily distant, and faint as before; Lone evening came down on the wanderer's track, And to Ara again he looked timidly back; Oh! far on the verge of the ocean it lay, Yet the isle of the blest was away, far away!

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 45
The Soul Cages of Dunbeg Bay

Doonbeg · townland · Clare

Jack Dogherty, a fisherman living among the wreck-strewn rocks of Dunbeg Bay on the Clare coast, befriends the Merrow Coomara and dines with him beneath the sea. There he discovers lobster-pot 'soul cages' in which the Merrow traps the souls of drowned sailors after storms wreck ships on the coast. Jack twice makes Coomara drunk so he can steal down and release the imprisoned souls.

Read the passage

"Oh! no," replied Coo, quite coolly, "that they have not; but these are the souls of drowned sailors."
"The Lord preserve us from all harm!" muttered Jack, "how in the world did you get them?"

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 18

As the companion tells it

Somewhere close to Doonbeg, fishermen told of Jack Dogherty, who befriended Coomara the Merrow and dined with him beneath the sea. There Jack found lobster-pot soul cages holding "the souls of drowned sailors." He made Coomara drunk twice, so he could slip down and set the imprisoned souls free.
Fairy Battle Over a Corpse; Burial in Kilcrumper Churchyard

Kilcrumper · townland · Cork

When Tom Bourke's mother died, her burial was delayed for four days because the fairy hosts of her people and her husband's people fought a three-night battle at Dunmanwaycross over whose churchyard would receive her. The fairy-man Patrick settled the dispute, and she was buried in Kilcrumper churchyard with her husband's people.

Read the passage

"Well, I believe that I may tell you that, anyhow; his name is Patrick. He was always a smart, 'cute[34] boy, and would be a great clerk if he stuck to it. The first time I knew him, sir, was at my mother's wake. I was in great trouble, for I did not know where to bury her. Her people and my father's people--I mean their friends, sir, among the _good people_--had the greatest battle that was known for many a year, at Dunmanwaycross, to see to whose churchyard she'd be taken. They fought for three nights, one after another, without being able to settle it. The neighbours wondered how long I was before I buried my mother; but I had my reasons, though I could not tell them at that time. Well, sir, to make my story short, Patrick came on the fourth morning and told me he settled the business, and that day we buried her in Kilcrumper churchyard, with my father's people."
"He was a valuable friend, Tom," said Mrs. Martin, with difficulty suppressing a smile. "But you were about to tell how he became so skilful."

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 40

As the companion tells it

Somewhere around here is Kilcrumper churchyard, where a strange burial once took place. When Tom Bourke's mother died, he could not bury her for four days. Her people and his father's people, meaning their friends among the good people, fought the greatest battle known for many a year at Dunmanwaycross, over whose churchyard would receive her. They fought for three nights running and could not settle it. The neighbours wondered why Tom took so long to bury his mother, but he had his reasons and could not tell them at the time. On the fourth morning a fairy-man named Patrick came and told Tom he had settled the business. That same day they buried her here in Kilcrumper churchyard, with his father's people. Patrick, Tom said, was a smart, cute boy who would have been a great clerk if he had stuck to it.
The Banshees' Feast atop Croagh Patrick

near Croagh Patrick · townland · Mayo

The Púca carries the piper to a hidden hall on the summit of Croagh Patrick where hundreds of old women, the Banshee's household, hold a feast and dance to his music, paying him in gold that later turns to leaves.

Read the passage

"There's a great feast in the house of the Banshee, on the top of Croagh Patric to-night," says the Púca, "and I'm for bringing you there to play music, and, take my word, you'll get the price of your trouble."
"By my word, you'll save me a journey, then," says the piper, "for Father William put a journey to Croagh Patric on me, because I stole the white gander from him last Martinmas."

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 25
The Tinker and the Corpse-Turning Ghosts of Innishowen

Culdaff · townland · Donegal

Pat Diver, a tinker seeking shelter near Culdaff, hides in a barn and is forced by four monstrous men to turn a corpse over a fire as part of some grim ritual. When the rope burns through and the body falls into the flames, he flees in terror.

Read the passage

He could not have slept very long when he was awakened by the tramp of feet, and, peeping cautiously through a crevice in his straw covering, he saw four immensely tall men enter the barn, dragging a body, which they threw roughly upon the floor.
They next lighted a fire in the middle of the barn, and fastened the corpse by the feet with a great rope to a beam in the roof. One of them then began to turn it slowly before the fire. "Come on," said he, addressing a gigantic fellow, the tallest of the four--"I'm tired; you be to tak' your turn."

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 23

As the companion tells it

Somewhere close to Culdaff, a tinker named Pat Diver went looking for shelter and hid in a barn. He woke to the tramp of feet and saw four immensely tall men enter, dragging a body they threw roughly on the floor. They lit a fire and hung the corpse by the feet from the roof with a great rope, taking turns turning it slowly before the flames. One said to the tallest, "I'm tired; you be to tak' your turn." When the rope burned through and the body fell into the fire, Diver fled in terror.
Soul-Stealing Fairies of the Further Rosses

Rosses Point · townland · Sligo

The Rosses near Sligo is described as a noted fairy locality. At a little point of rocks there, anyone who falls asleep risks waking mad, because the fairies are believed to carry off the sleeper's soul.

Read the passage

The places mentioned are round about Sligo. Further Rosses is a very noted fairy locality. There is here a little point of rocks where, if anyone falls asleep, there is danger of their waking silly, the fairies having carried off their souls.
SOLITARY FAIRIES.--Page 80.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 62

As the companion tells it

Somewhere around here, in the Further Rosses near Sligo, is a place long noted for fairy activity. There is a little point of rocks where, if anyone falls asleep, there is danger of their waking silly, the fairies having carried off their souls.
The Bewitched Kerry Cow of Rathmullen

Rathmullan and Ballyboe · townland · Donegal · 1887

Grace Dogherty repeatedly asked to milk the Hanlons' prized Kerry cow, after which the cow stopped giving milk. A counter-charm of boiling nine new pins in the cow's milk caused Grace to appear at the door begging for the pot to be removed, revealing her as the witch.

Read the passage

"Let me in, Mrs. Hanlon!" she cried. "Tak off that cruel pot! Tak out them pins, for they're pricking holes in my heart, an' I'll never offer to touch milk of yours again."
[There is hardly a village in Ireland where the milk is not thus believed to have been stolen times upon times. There are many counter-charms. Sometimes the coulter of a plough will be heated red-hot, and the witch will rush in, crying out that she is burning. A new horse-shoe or donkey-shoe, heated and put under the churn, with three straws, if possible, stolen at midnight from over the witches' door, is quite infallible.--ED.]

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 36

As the companion tells it

Somewhere close to Rathmullan and Ballyboe, a story is told from 1887. Grace Dogherty kept asking to milk the Hanlons' prized Kerry cow, and after that the cow stopped giving milk. The Hanlons tried a counter-charm, boiling nine new pins in the cow's milk. Grace appeared at the door crying, "Let me in, Mrs. Hanlon! Take off that cruel pot! Take out them pins, for they're pricking holes in my heart, and I'll never offer to touch milk of yours again." That revealed her as the witch.
The Fairies' Question at Inchigeelagh

Inchigeelagh · townland · Cork

Fairies dancing by the river near Inchigeelagh pulled a fine salmon from Dermod Leary's net, then sent him to ask Father Horrigan whether their souls would be saved at the last day like those of good Christians. When told they must come to the priest themselves for the answer, the whole throng fled in confusion.

Read the passage

"Then," said the little speaking fairy, whilst the rest came crowding after him from all parts, "go and ask Father Horrigan to tell us whether our souls will be saved at the last day, like the souls of good Christians; and if you wish us well, bring back word what he says without delay."
Away went Dermod to his cabin, where he found the potatoes thrown out on the table, and his good woman handing the biggest of them all, a beautiful laughing red apple, smoking like a hard-ridden horse on a frosty night, over to Father Horrigan.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 6
The Stolen Child of Sleuth Wood and Glencar

Glencar · townland · Leitrim

Yeats's poem tells of fairies luring a human child away from the mortal world at named Sligo and Leitrim places: the island in the lake at Sleuth Wood, the sands of the Rosses, and the pools in the hills above Glencar. The child leaves the human world forever, going to the woods and waters wild hand in hand with a fairy.

Read the passage

Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats. There we've hid our fairy vats Full of berries, And of reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O, human child! To the woods and waters wild, With a fairy hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands, and mingling glances, Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap, And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles. And is anxious in its sleep. Come away! O, human child! To the woods and waters wild. With a fairy hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 17
The Banshee at the Bridge over the Dodder

near River Dodder · townland · Dublin

Thomas Connolly, walking home in the dusk near a small bridge over a stream running into the River Dodder, encounters a spectral woman with unearthly long hair and a corpse-pale, freckled face who vanishes into the water; that same night a visiting O'Neill is found dead, confirming she was the banshee.

Read the passage

Well, now, Misther Harry, often as I'd passed by the place before, that night it seemed sthrange to me, an' like a place ye might see in a dhrame; an' as I come up to it I began to feel a could wind blowin' through the hollow o' me heart. "Musha Thomas," sez I to meself, "is it yerself that's in it?" sez I; "or, if it is, what's the matter wid ye at all, at all?" sez I; so I put a bould face on it, an' I made a sthruggle to set one leg afore the other, ontil I came to the rise o' the brudge. And there, God be good to us! in a cantle o' the wall I seen an ould woman, as I thought, sittin' on her hunkers, all crouched together, an' her head bowed down, seemin'ly in the greatest affliction.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 28
The Horned Witches of Slievenamon

near Slievenamon · townland · Tipperary

Twelve horned witches invaded a rich woman's house by night, carding and spinning wool, baking a cake mixed with the sleeping family's blood, and holding the mistress under a spell. Guided by the Spirit of the Well, she tricked them into fleeing to Slievenamon, their chief abode, and barred their return with feet-water, a crossbeam, and the broken blood-cake; a mantle dropped in their flight was kept by the family for five hundred years.

Read the passage

And so the knocks went on, and the call was heard, and the witches entered, until at last twelve women sat round the fire--the first with one horn, the last with twelve horns.
And they carded the thread, and turned their spinning-wheels, and wound and wove.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 38
The Twelve Horned Witches of Slievenamon

near Slievenamon · townland · Tipperary

A woman alone at night was visited by twelve witches, each with a growing number of horns, who forced her into servitude preparing a cake mixed with her family's blood. With help from the Spirit of the Well she broke their enchantment using feet-water, a barred door, and the ritual cake, driving the witches back to their abode at Slievenamon.

Read the passage

When the witches inside heard the call, a great and terrible cry broke from their lips, and they rushed forth with wild lamentations and shrieks, and fled away to Slievenamon,[26] where was their chief abode. But the Spirit of the Well bade the mistress of the house to enter and prepare her home against the enchantments of the witches if they returned again.
And first, to break their spells, she sprinkled the water in which she had washed her child's feet (the feet-water) outside the door on the threshold; secondly, she took the cake which the witches had made in her absence of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping family, and she broke the cake in bits, and placed a bit in the mouth of each sleeper, and they were restored; and she took the cloth they had woven and placed it half in and half out of the chest with the padlock; and lastly, she secured the door with a great crossbeam fastened in the jambs, so that they could not enter, and having done these things she waited.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 38
The cursed grey stone at the Broad Bog near Augher

near Augher · townland · Tyrone

Hurling a huge miscaun of butter to her sister on Cullamore, Oonagh forgot the charm and it fell short at the edge of the Broad Bog near Augher. In her anger she transformed it into a grey stone and laid a curse of evil on any living man who would ever attempt to move or injure it. The stone is said to lie there still, bearing the print of her four fingers and thumb.

Read the passage

"My curse upon you!" she exclaimed; "you've disgraced me. I now change you into a grey stone. Lie there as a testimony of what has happened; and may evil betide the first living man that will ever attempt to remove or injure you!"
And, sure enough, there it lies to this day, with the mark of the four fingers and thumb imprinted in it, exactly as it came out of her hand.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 55
The Púca Seizes the Piper at Dunmore Bridge

Dunmore · townland · Galway

A drunken piper crossing a bridge near Dunmore is seized by the Púca, a horned spirit, and forced to ride upon its back and play music under threat of broken bones. The Púca reveals it will carry him to a feast on Croagh Patrick.

Read the passage

In the old times, there was a half fool living in Dunmore, in the county Galway, and although he was excessively fond of music, he was unable to learn more than one tune, and that was the "Black Rogue." He used to get a good deal of money from the gentlemen, for they used to get sport out of him. One night the piper was coming home from a house where there had been a dance, and he half drunk. When he came to a little bridge that was up by his mother's house, he squeezed the pipes on, and began playing the "Black Rogue" (an rógaire dubh). The Púca came behind him, and flung him up on his own back. There were long horns on the Púca, and the piper got a good grip of them, and then he said----
"Destruction on you, you nasty beast, let me home. I have a ten-penny piece in my pocket for my mother, and she wants snuff."

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 25
The Vanishing of Philip Ronayne

Passage West · townland · Cork

At Ronayne's Court near Passage, seven-year-old Philip Ronayne mysteriously disappeared despite an extensive search and a large reward. Years later, a blacksmith named Robin Kelly dreamed the boy had been taken by the giant Mahon MacMahon and held for seven years' service inside the rock at the Giant's Stairs.

Read the passage

One morning, however, Master Phil, who was then just seven years old, was missing, and no one could tell what had become of him: servants were sent in all directions to seek him, on horseback and on foot, but they returned without any tidings of the boy, whose disappearance altogether was most unaccountable. A large reward was offered, but it produced them no intelligence, and years rolled away without Mr. and Mrs. Ronayne having obtained any satisfactory account of the fate of their lost child.
There lived at this time, near Carrigaline, one Robert Kelly, a blacksmith by trade. He was what is termed a handy man, and his abilities were held in much estimation by the lads and the lasses of the neighbourhood; for, independent of shoeing horses, which he did to great perfection, and making plough-irons, he interpreted dreams for the young women, sung "Arthur O'Bradley" at their weddings, and was so good-natured a fellow at a christening, that he was gossip to half the country round.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 54
The Countess Kathleen O'Shea Sells Her Soul

Blackwater · townland · Clare

Two demonic merchants came to an unnamed Irish city to buy souls from starving people during a famine. The pious Countess Kathleen O'Shea gave away her fortune to the poor, then sold her own soul to save her people from starvation, dying of grief three days later; her sale was declared void by God.

Read the passage

When the door was opened, they found her cold and stiff; she was dead of grief.
But the sale of this soul, so adorable in its charity, was declared null by the Lord; for she had saved her fellow-citizens from eternal death.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 52
The Fairy Ancestor of Castle Hacket

Castlehacket · townland · Galway

The Hackets of Castle Hacket in Galway were reputed to be favoured or plagued by phantoms, and were said to have had a fairy for their ancestor. Yeats notes that fairy legends tended to group themselves around such families.

Read the passage

In the Parochial Survey of Ireland it is recorded how the story-tellers used to gather together of an evening, and if any had a different version from the others, they would all recite theirs and vote, and the man who had varied would have to abide by their verdict. In this way stories have been handed down with such accuracy, that the long tale of Dierdre was, in the earlier decades of this century, told almost word for word, as in the very ancient MSS. in the Royal Dublin Society. In one case only it varied, and then the MS. was obviously wrong--a passage had been forgotten by the copyist. But this accuracy is rather in the folk and bardic tales than in the fairy legends, for these vary widely, being usually adapted to some neighbouring village or local fairy-seeing celebrity. Each county has usually some family, or personage, supposed to have been favoured or plagued, especially by the phantoms, as the Hackets of Castle Hacket, Galway, who had for their ancestor a fairy, or John-o'-Daly of Lisadell, Sligo, who wrote "Eilleen Aroon," the song the Scotch have stolen and called "Robin Adair," and which Handel would sooner have written than all his oratorios,[1] and the "O'Donahue of Kerry." Round these men stories tended to group themselves, sometimes deserting more ancient heroes for the purpose. Round poets have they gathered especially, for poetry in Ireland has always been mysteriously connected with magic.
These folk-tales are full of simplicity and musical occurrences, for they are the literature of a class for whom every incident in the old rut of birth, love, pain, and death has cropped up unchanged for centuries: who have steeped everything in the heart: to whom everything is a symbol. They have the spade over which man has leant from the beginning. The people of the cities have the machine, which is prose and a _parvenu_. They have few events. They can turn over the incidents of a long life as they sit by the fire. With us nothing has time to gather meaning, and too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold. It is said the most eloquent people in the world are the Arabs, who have only the bare earth of the desert and a sky swept bare by the sun. "Wisdom has alighted upon three things," goes their proverb; "the hand of the Chinese, the brain of the Frank, and the tongue of the Arab." This, I take it, is the meaning of that simplicity sought for so much in these days by all the poets, and not to be had at any price.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 2
The Soldier Who Fried the Enchanted White Trout of Cong

Cong · townland · Galway

A soldier scornful of local belief catches the sacred white trout of the stream at Cong and tries to fry it, but it will not cook and instead transforms into a bleeding lady who reveals she was under an enchantment, cursing him unless he repents.

Read the passage

"Look where you cut me, you villain," says she, and she held out her arm to him--and, my dear, he thought the sight id lave his eyes.
"Couldn't you lave me cool and comfortable in the river where you snared me, and not disturb me in my duty?" says she.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 11
The Woman Who Danced Her Toes Off at Ballysadare

Ballysadare · townland · Sligo

A little woman living near the village of Ballisodare was said to have been taken to live among the fairies for seven years. When she came home she had no toes, having danced them off.

Read the passage

Do not think the fairies are always little. Everything is capricious about them, even their size. They seem to take what size or shape pleases them. Their chief occupations are feasting, fighting, and making love, and playing the most beautiful music. They have only one industrious person amongst them, the _lepra-caun_--the shoemaker. Perhaps they wear their shoes out with dancing. Near the village of Ballisodare is a little woman who lived amongst them seven years. When she came home she had no toes--she had danced them off.
They have three great festivals in the year--May Eve, Midsummer Eve, November Eve. On May Eve, every seventh year, they fight all round, but mostly on the "Plain-a-Bawn" (wherever that is), for the harvest, for the best ears of grain belong to them. An old man told me he saw them fight once; they tore the thatch off a house in the midst of it all. Had anyone else been near they would merely have seen a great wind whirling everything into the air as it passed. When the wind makes the straws and leaves whirl as it passes, that is the fairies, and the peasantry take off their hats and say, "God bless them."

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 3

As the companion tells it

Close to Ballysadare, there was once a little woman who lived among the fairies for seven years. When she came home, she had no toes. She had danced them off. The fairies, the book says, are not always little. Everything about them is capricious, even their size, and they take whatever shape pleases them. Their chief occupations are feasting, fighting, making love, and playing the most beautiful music. They have only one industrious person among them, the leprechaun, the shoemaker. Perhaps they wear their shoes out with dancing. That may be what happened to this woman near the village of Ballisodare. The fairies have three great festivals in the year, May Eve, Midsummer Eve, and November Eve. On May Eve, every seventh year, they fight all round, but mostly on the Plain a Bawn, for the harvest, for the best ears of grain belong to them. An old man said he saw them fight once. They tore the thatch off a house in the midst of it. Anyone else passing would merely have seen a great wind whirling everything into the air. When the wind makes straws and leaves whirl, the peasantry take off their hats and say, God bless them.
Billy Dawson's Bargains with the Devil

Castledawson · townland · Dublin

Billy Dawson, a rogue blacksmith, was granted three foolish wishes by St. Moroky, then repeatedly sold his soul to the devil (Nick) for money, tricking him each time using an enchanted sledgehammer, chair, and purse. He tortured the devil by twisting his nose up a chimney, and after death was rejected from both heaven and hell, becoming the Will-o'-the-Wisp, doomed to wander forever with a burning nose.

Read the passage

Such was the sad fate of Billy Dawson, who has been walking without stop or stay, from place to place, ever since; and in consequence of the flame on his nose, and his beard being tangled like a wisp of hay, he has been christened by the country folk Will-o'-the-Wisp, while, as it were, to show the mischief of his disposition, the circulating knave, knowing that he must seek the coldest bogs and quagmires in order to cool his nose, seizes upon that opportunity of misleading the unthinking and tipsy night travellers from their way, just that he may have the satisfaction of still taking in as many as possible.
GIANTS.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 53

As the companion tells it

Somewhere close to Castledawson, Billy Dawson was a rogue blacksmith granted three foolish wishes by St. Moroky. He sold his soul to the devil, Nick, for money, but tricked him each time with an enchanted sledgehammer, chair, and purse, even torturing the devil by twisting his nose up a chimney. After death, both heaven and hell rejected him, and he became the Will-o'-the-Wisp, doomed to wander forever with a burning nose. The country folk named him that for the flame on his nose and his beard tangled like a wisp of hay. He seeks the coldest bogs to cool his nose, misleading tipsy night travellers from their way.
The Fisherman Lost Seeking Hy-Brasail from Aran

near Aran Islands · townland · Galway

A peasant from Aran, having heard tales of the phantom isle of the blest, Hy-Brasail, sailed west in pursuit of the vision on the horizon. He never returned to Aran, perishing at sea in a tempest while still chasing the ever-receding island.

Read the passage

Rash dreamer, return! O, ye winds of the main, Bear him back to his own peaceful Ara again. Rash fool! for a vision of fanciful bliss, To barter thy calm life of labour and peace. The warning of reason was spoken in vain; He never revisited Ara again! Night fell on the deep, amidst tempest and spray, And he died on the waters, away, far away!

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 45
Daniel O'Rourke's Night Under the Pooka's Tower

Carrigaphooca · townland · Cork

Daniel O'Rourke, who lived at the bottom of Hungry Hill on the road to Bantry, fell into the ford of Ballyashenogh on Lady-day after a feast and was carried through a night of bedevilment — flown to the moon by an eagle, cast down by the man in the moon, and dropped into the sea by a wild gander — before waking drenched by his wife. She blames his ordeal on his having lain down under the old walls of Carrigapooka, the Pooka's tower; the teller heard the tale from him on 25 June 1813.

Read the passage

"'Get up,' said she again: 'and of all places in the parish would no place _sarve_ your turn to lie down upon but under the _ould_ walls of Carrigapooka? uneasy resting I am sure you had of it.' And sure enough I had: for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with eagles, and men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales, driving me through bogs, and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the green ocean. If I was in drink ten times over, long would it be before I'd lie down in the same spot again, I know that."
THE KILDARE POOKA.[13]

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 26
The Uncanny Keening of the Birds for Father John O'Hart

Collooney · townland · Sligo

When the beloved Father John O'Hart died at ninety-four in Coloony, no human keening was heard at his death; instead birds from Knocknarea, Knocknashee, and Inishmurray came to keen for him, a sign of reproof to those who had stolen his lands.

Read the passage

There was no human keening; The birds from Knocknarea, And the world round Knocknashee, Came keening in that day,--
Keening from Innismurry, Nor stayed for bit or sup; This way were all reproved Who dig old customs up.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 48
The Gridironed Sacred Trout of Lough Gill

near Lough Gill · townland · Kerry

A well on the border of Lough Gill in Sligo is haunted by a blessed trout placed there long ago by the saint who sanctified the well. A 'paganish person' once put the trout on a gridiron, and it is said to carry the burn marks to this day, visible only to the pious who have done due penance.

Read the passage

[These trout stories are common all over Ireland. Many holy wells are haunted by such blessed trout. There is a trout in a well on the border of Lough Gill, Sligo, that some paganish person put once on the gridiron. It carries the marks to this day. Long ago, the saint who sanctified the well put that trout there. Nowadays it is only visible to the pious, who have done due penance.]
[Footnote 5: The Irish peasant calls his attendance at the confessional "going to his duty."]

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 11

As the companion tells it

Close to Lough Gill, there's a holy well haunted by a blessed trout. Long ago, the saint who sanctified the well put that trout there. Some paganish person once put it on a gridiron, and it carries the marks to this day. Nowadays it is only visible to the pious, who have done due penance.
The Rabbit Ghost of a Sligo Garden

Sligo · townland · Sligo

As an instance of souls of the dead taking animal shapes, there is a garden at Sligo where the gardener sees a previous owner of the place appear in the form of a rabbit. It is cited among Irish beliefs that ghosts linger in animal and insect forms.

Read the passage

The souls of the dead sometimes take the shapes of animals. There is a garden at Sligo where the gardener sees a previous owner in the shape of a rabbit. They will sometimes take the forms of insects, especially of butterflies. If you see one fluttering near a corpse, that is the soul, and is a sign of its having entered upon immortal happiness. The author of the _Parochial Survey of Ireland_, 1814, heard a woman say to a child who was chasing a butterfly, "How do you know it is not the soul of your grandfather." On November eve the dead are abroad, and dance with the fairies.
As in Scotland, the fetch is commonly believed in. If you see the double, or fetch, of a friend in the morning, no ill follows; if at night, he is about to die.

Project Gutenberg #33887, Chapter 30

As the companion tells it

Somewhere close to Sligo there's a garden where the gardener has seen a previous owner of the place come back in the shape of a rabbit. The old Irish belief is that the dead sometimes take the forms of animals, and this garden is given as one example of it. They say it can happen with insects too, especially butterflies. If you saw one fluttering near a corpse, that was the soul, a sign it had entered immortal happiness. The author of the Parochial Survey of Ireland, in 1814, heard a woman say to a child chasing a butterfly,

This book is in the public domain; how the books' rights are judged. The passages are quoted as the scan has them, spelling and all; a story's place is the gazetteer's best reading of the text and can be wrong.

Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry

The stories, best first

Bewitchment of Mary Dunbar at Island Magee

Ireland's Last Witch Trial at Carrickfergus

The Headless Phantom of Rathdowney: Death of Sarah Kennedy

The Banshee and the Foretold Death at Spring House

The Slaying of Cucullin at Knockmany

Frank M'Kenna's Death in the Snow and His Ghost

O'Donoghue's Vanishing Walk Across Lough Leane

The Island Magee Witch Trial

Bewitched Butter and the Death of Rachel Higgins at Aghavoe

Pillorying of the Convicted Witches at Carrickfergus

The Banshee at the Dodder Bridge

The Cow-House Vigil: Tom Bourke's Son Saved from the Fairies

The Demon Cat of Connemara Destroyed by Holy Water

The Corpse-Roasters of Inishowen

Bantry Hearth-Money Collector's Bargain with the Devil

Davy Roche Dances with the Dead in Kilcrumper Churchyard

The Phantom Prince Pays Bill Doody's Rent in Fairy Gold

Billy Dawson's Devil Pact and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

The Murdered Prince and the White Trout of Cong

Burning of Sarah Kennedy's Cabin

Haunting and Torment at James Hattridge's House

The Cursed Grey Stone of Knockmany

The Fairy Theft of the Dublin Lady at Fanad

The Keening Birds of Collooney and Father O'Hart's Stolen Land

Grace Dogherty and the Bewitched Kerry Cow

Jack Madden's Fatal Second Hump at Knockgraffon

The Fairy Coffin-Makers of Tonagh Forth

The Fatal Hare Hunt and Ghost of Mullaghtinny

The Pedlar's Ghost of Clondavaddog

The Banshee's Wail Over Loch Gur

The Headless Dallahan and Black Dog of Sligo

Death by the Cursed Grey Stone of Knockmany

Murdered Prisoners in the Vaults of Dunmore Castle

The Fairy Doctor of Inishshark

The Peasant of Aran Lured to His Death by Hy-Brasail

The Soul Cages of Dunbeg Bay

Fairy Battle Over a Corpse; Burial in Kilcrumper Churchyard

The Banshees' Feast atop Croagh Patrick

The Tinker and the Corpse-Turning Ghosts of Innishowen

Soul-Stealing Fairies of the Further Rosses

The Bewitched Kerry Cow of Rathmullen

The Fairies' Question at Inchigeelagh

The Stolen Child of Sleuth Wood and Glencar

The Banshee at the Bridge over the Dodder

The Horned Witches of Slievenamon

The Twelve Horned Witches of Slievenamon

The cursed grey stone at the Broad Bog near Augher

The Púca Seizes the Piper at Dunmore Bridge

The Vanishing of Philip Ronayne

The Countess Kathleen O'Shea Sells Her Soul

The Fairy Ancestor of Castle Hacket

The Soldier Who Fried the Enchanted White Trout of Cong

The Woman Who Danced Her Toes Off at Ballysadare

Billy Dawson's Bargains with the Devil

The Fisherman Lost Seeking Hy-Brasail from Aran

Daniel O'Rourke's Night Under the Pooka's Tower

The Uncanny Keening of the Birds for Father John O'Hart

The Gridironed Sacred Trout of Lough Gill

The Rabbit Ghost of a Sligo Garden