{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_43973/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_43973","id":"gutenberg_43973","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43973","summary":null,"tags":["Atlantic Coast (Ireland) -- Social life and customs","Category: History - Other","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folklore -- Ireland","Ireland -- Social life and customs","Nobel Prizes in Literature"],"text":"Produced by Douglas L. Alley, III, Barbara Tozier, Bill\nTozier and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n _By Lady Gregory_\n\n DRAMA\n\n\n Seven Short Plays\n Folk-History Plays, 2 vols.\n New Comedies\n The Image\n The Golden Apple\n Our Irish Theatre. A Chapter of Autobiography\n\n IRISH FOLK LORE AND LEGEND\n\n Visions and Beliefs, 2 vols.\n Cuchulain of Muirthemne\n Gods and Fighting Men\n Saints and Wonders\n Poets and Dreamers\n The Kiltartan Poetry Book\n\n[Illustration: Coole Lake\n\nFrom a picture by Robert Gregory in Sir Hugh Lane's Collection]\n\n\n\n\n VISIONS AND BELIEFS IN\n THE WEST OF IRELAND\n COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY\n LADY GREGORY: WITH TWO ESSAYS\n AND NOTES BY W. B. YEATS\n\n\n\n \"_There's no doubt at all but that there's the same\n sort of things in other countries; but you hear\n more about them in these parts because the Irish\n do be more familiar in talking of them._\"\n\n\n\n\n\n _FIRST SERIES_\n\n\n\n\n\n G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS\n NEW YORK AND LONDON\n =The Knickerbocker Press=\n 1920\n\n COPYRIGHT, 1920\n BY\n LADY GREGORY\n\n\n\n\n =The Knickerbocker Press, New York=\n\n\n\n\n PREFACE\n\n\nThe Sidhe cannot make themselves visible to all. They are\nshape-changers; they can grow small or grow large, they can take what\nshape they choose; they appear as men or women wearing clothes of\nmany colours, of today or of some old forgotten fashion, or they are\nseen as bird or beast, or as a barrel or a flock of wool. They go by\nus in a cloud of dust; they are as many as the blades of grass. They\nare everywhere; their home is in the forths, the lisses, the ancient\nround grass-grown mounds. There are thorn-bushes they gather near\nand protect; if they have a mind for a house like our own they will\nbuild it up in a moment. They will remake a stone castle, battered by\nCromwell's men, if it takes their fancy, filling it with noise and\nlights. Their own country is Tir-nan-Og--the Country of the Young. It\nis under the ground or under the sea, or it may not be far from any\nof us. As to their food, they will use common things left for them\non the hearth or outside the threshold, cold potatoes it may be, or\na cup of water or of milk. But for their feasts they choose the best\nof all sorts, taking it from the solid world, leaving some worthless\nlikeness in its place; when they rob the potatoes from the ridges\nthe diggers find but rottenness and decay; they take the strength\nfrom the meat in the pot, so that when put on the plates it does not\nnourish. They will not touch salt; there is danger to them in it.\nThey will go to good cellars to bring away the wine.\n\nFighting is heard among them, and music that is more beautiful than\nany of this world; they are seen dancing on the rocks; they are often\nseen playing at the hurling, hitting balls towards the goal. In each\none of their households there is a queen, and she has more power than\nthe rest; but the greatest power belongs to their fool, the Fool of\nthe Forth, Amadan-na-Briona. He is their strongest, the most wicked,\nthe most deadly; there is no cure for any one he has struck.\n\nWhen they are friendly to a man they give him help in his work,\nputting their strength into his body. Or they may tell him where to\nfind treasure, hidden gold; or through certain wise men or women\nwho have learned from them or can ask and get their knowledge they\nwill tell where cattle that have strayed may be found, or they will\ncure the sick or tell if a sickness is not to be cured. They will\nsometimes work as if against their own will or intention, giving back\nto the life of our world one who had received the call to go over to\ntheir own. They call many there, summoning them perhaps through the\neye of a neighbour, the evil eye, or by a touch, a blow, a fall, a\nsudden terror. Those who have received their touch waste away from\nthis world, lending their strength to the invisible ones; for the\nstrength of a human body is needed by the shadows, it may be in their\nfighting, and certainly in their hurling to win the goal. Young men\nare taken for this, young mothers are taken that they may give the\nbreast to newly born children among the Sidhe, young girls that they\nmay themselves become mothers there.\n\nWhile these are away a body in their likeness, or the likeness of a\nbody, is left lying in their place. They may be given leave to return\nto their village after a while, seven years it may be, or twice or\nthree times seven. But some are sent back only at the end of the\nyears allotted them at the time of their birth, old spent men and\nwomen, thought to have been dead a long time, given back to die and\nbe buried on the face of the earth.\n\nThere are two races among the Sidhe. One is tall and handsome, gay,\nand given to jesting and to playing pranks, leading us astray in\nthe fields, giving gold that turns to withered leaves or to dust.\nThese ride on horses through the night-time in large companies and\ntroops, or ride in coaches, laughing and decked with flowers and\nfine clothes. The people of the other race are small, malicious,\nwide-bellied, carrying before them a bag. When a man or woman is\nabout to die, a woman of the Sidhe will sometimes cry for a warning,\nkeening and making lamentation. At the hour of death fighting may be\nheard in the air or about the house--that is, when the man in danger\nhas friends among the shadows, who are fighting on his behalf.\n\nThe dead are often seen among them, and will give help in danger to\ncomrade or brother or friend. Sometimes they have a penance to work\nout, and will come and ask the living for help, for prayers, for the\npayment of a debt. They may wander in some strange shape, or be bound\nin the one place, or go through the air as birds. When the Sidhe pass\nby in a blast of wind we should say some words of blessing, for there\nmay be among them some of our own dead. The dead are of the nature\nof the Saints, mortals who have put on immortality, who have known\nthe troubles of the world. The Sidhe have been, like the Angels, from\nbefore the making of the earth. In the old times in Ireland they were\ncalled gods or the children of gods; now it is laid down they are\nthose Angels who were cast out of heaven, being proud.\n\nThis is the news I have been given of the people of the Sidhe by many\nwho have seen them and some who have known their power.\n\n A. G.\n\n COOLE, February, 1916.\n\n\n\n\n CONTENTS\n\n\n PAGE\n\n I.--SEA-STORIES 3\n\n II.--SEERS AND HEALERS 35\n\n BIDDY EARLY 35\n\n MRS. SHERIDAN 70\n\n MR. SAGGARTON 92\n\n \"A GREAT WARRIOR IN THE BUSINESS\" 103\n\n OLD DERUANE 112\n\n III.--THE EVIL EYE--THE TOUCH--THE PENALTY 127\n\n IV.--AWAY 169\n\n WITCHES AND WIZARDS AND IRISH FOLK-LORE 247\n\n NOTES 265\n\n\n\n\n I\n\n SEA-STORIES\n\n\n\n\n I\n\n SEA-STORIES\n\n\n_\"The Celtic Twilight\" was the first book of Mr. Yeats's that I read,\nand even before I met him, a little time later, I had begun looking\nfor news of the invisible world; for his stories were of Sligo and\nI felt jealous for Galway. This beginning of knowledge was a great\nexcitement to me, for though I had heard all my life some talk of\nthe faeries and the banshee_ (_having indeed reason to believe in\nthis last_), _I had never thought of giving heed to what I, in common\nwith my class, looked on as fancy or superstition. It was certainly\nbecause of this unbelief that I had been told so little about them.\nEven when I began to gather these stories, I cared less for the\nevidence given in them than for the beautiful rhythmic sentences in\nwhich they were told. I had no theories, no case to prove, I but\n\"held up a clean mirror to tradition.\"_\n\n_It is hard to tell sometimes what has been a real vision and what\nis tradition, a legend hanging in the air, a \"vanity\" as our people\ncall it, made use of by a story-teller here and there, or impressing\nitself as a real experience on some sensitive and imaginative\nmind. For tradition has a large place in \"the Book of the People\"\nshowing a sowing and re-sowing, a continuity and rebirth as in\nnature. \"Those,\" \"The Others,\" \"The Fallen Angels\" have some of the\nattributes of the gods of ancient Ireland; we may even go back yet\nfarther to the early days of the world when the Sons of God mated\nwith the Daughters of Men. I believe that if Christianity could be\nblotted out and forgotten tomorrow, our people would not be moved at\nall from the belief in a spiritual world and an unending life; it has\nbeen with them since the Druids taught what Lucan called \"the happy\nerror of the immortality of the soul.\" I think we found nothing so\ntrivial in our search but it may have been worth the lifting; a clue,\na thread, leading through the maze to that mountain top where things\nvisible and invisible meet._\n\n_To gather folk-lore one needs, I think, leisure, patience,\nreverence, and a good memory. I tried not to change or alter\nanything, but to write down the very words in which the story had\nbeen told. Sometimes Mr. Yeats was with me at the telling; or I would\ntake him to hear for himself something I had been told, that he might\nbe sure I had missed or added nothing. I filled many copybooks, and\ncame to have a very faithful memory for all sides of folk-lore,\nstories of saints, of heroes, of giants and enchanters, as well as\nfor these visions. For this I have had to \"pay the penalty\" by losing\nin some measure that useful and practical side of memory that is\nconcerned with names and dates and the multiplication table, and the\nnumbers on friends' houses in a street._\n\n_It was on the coast I began to gather these stories, and I went\nafter a while to the islands Inishmor, Inishmaan, Inisheer, and so I\ngive the sea-stories first._\n\n_I was told by:\n\n\nA Man on the Height near Dun Conor:_\n\nIt's said there's everything in the sea the same as on the land, and\nwe know there's horses in it. This boy here saw a horse one time out\nin the sea, a grey one, swimming about. And there were three men from\nthe north island caught a horse in their nets one night when they\nwere fishing for mackerel, but they let it go; it would have broke\nthe boat to bits if they had brought it in, and anyhow they thought\nit was best to leave it. One year at Kinvara, the people were missing\ntheir oats that was eaten in the fields, and they watched one night\nand it was five or six of the sea-horses they saw eating the oats,\nbut they could not take them, they made off to the sea.\n\nAnd there was a man on the north island fishing on the rocks one\ntime, and a mermaid came up before him, and was partly like a fish\nand the rest like a woman. But he called to her in the name of God to\nbe off, and she went and left him.\n\nThere was a boy was sent over here one morning early by a friend of\nmine on the other side of the island, to bring over some cattle that\nwere in a field he had here, and it was before daylight, and he came\nto the door crying, and said he heard thirty horses or more galloping\nover the roads there, where you'd think no horse could go.\n\nSurely those things are on the sea as well as on the land. My father\nwas out fishing one night off Tyrone and something came beside the\nboat, that had eyes shining like candles. And then a wave came in,\nand a storm rose of a moment, and whatever was in the wave, the\nweight of it had like to sink the boat. And then they saw that it was\na woman in the sea that had the shining eyes. So my father went to\nthe priest, and he bid him always to take a drop of holy water and a\npinch of salt out in the boat with him, and nothing would harm him.\n\n\n_A Galway Bay Lobster-Seller:_\n\nThey are on the sea as well as on the land, and their boats are often\nto be seen on the bay, sailing boats and others. They look like our\nown, but when you come near them they are gone in an instant. (_Note_\n1.)\n\nMy mother one time thought she saw our own boat come in to the pier\nwith my father and two other men in it, and she got the supper ready,\nbut when she went down to the pier and called them there was nothing\nthere, and the boat didn't come in till two hours after.\n\nThere were three or four men went out one day to fish, and it was a\ndead calm; but all of a sudden they heard a blast and they looked,\nand within about three mile of the boat they saw twelve men from the\nwaist, the rest of them was under water. And they had sticks in their\nhands and were striking one another. And where they were, and the\nblast, it was rough, but smooth and calm on each side.\n\nThere's a sort of a light on the sea sometimes; some call it a \"Jack\nO'Lantern\" and some say it is sent by _them_ to mislead them. (_Note_\n2.)\n\nThere's many of them out in the sea, and often they pull the boats\ndown. (_Note_ 3.) It's about two years since four fishermen went out\nfrom Aran, two fathers and two sons, where they saw a big ship coming\nin and flying the flag for a pilot, and they thought she wanted to be\nbrought in to Galway. And when they got near the ship, it faded away\nto nothing and the boat turned over and they were all four drowned.\n\nThere were two brothers of my own went to fish for the herrings, and\nwhat they brought up was like the print of a cat, and it turned with\nthe inside of the skin outside, and no hair. So they pulled up the\nnets, and fished no more that day. There was one of _them_ lying on\nthe strand here, and some of the men of the village came down of a\nsudden and surprised him. And when he saw he was taken he began a\ngreat crying. But they only lifted him down to the sea and put him\nback into it. Just like a man they said he was. And a little way out\nthere was another just like him, and when he saw that they treated\nthe one on shore so kindly, he bowed his head as if to thank them.\n\nWhatever's on the land, there's the same in the sea, and between the\nislands of Aran they can often see the horses galloping about at the\nbottom. (_Note_ 4.)\n\nThere was a sort of a big eel used to be in Tully churchyard, used to\ncome and to root up the bodies, but I didn't hear of him of late--he\nmay be done away with now.\n\nThere was one Curran told me one night he went down to the strand\nwhere he used to be watching for timber thrown up and the like.\nAnd on the strand, on the dry sands, he saw a boat, a grand one\nwith sails spread and all, and it up farther than any tide had ever\nreached. And he saw a great many people round about it, and it was\nall lighted up with lights. And he got afraid and went away. And four\nhours after, after sunrise, he went there again to look at it, and\nthere was no sign of it, or of any fire, or of any other thing. The\nMara-warra (mermaid) was seen on the shore not long ago, combing out\nher hair. She had no fish's tail, but was like another woman.\n\n\n_John Corley:_\n\nThere is no luck if you meet a mermaid and you out at sea, but storms\nwill come, or some ill will happen.\n\nThere was a ship on the way to America, and a mermaid was seen\nfollowing it, and the bad weather began to come. And the captain said,\n\"It must be some man in the ship she's following, and if we knew which\none it was, we'd put him out to her and save ourselves.\" So they drew\nlots, and the lot fell on one man, and then the captain was sorry\nfor him, and said he'd give him a chance till tomorrow. And the next\nday she was following them still, and they drew lots again, and the\nlot fell on the same man. But the captain said he'd give him a third\nchance, but the third day the lot fell on him again. And when they were\ngoing to throw him out he said, \"Let me alone for a while.\" And he went\nto the end of the ship and he began to sing a song in Irish, and when\nhe sang, the mermaid began to be quiet and to rock like as if she was\nasleep. So he went on singing till they came to America, and just as\nthey got to the land the ship was thrown up into the air, and came down\non the water again. There's a man told me that was surely true.\n\nAnd there was a boy saw a mermaid down by Spiddal not long ago, but\nhe saw her before she saw him, so she did him no harm. But if she'd\nseen him first, she'd have brought him away and drowned him.\n\nSometimes a light will come on the sea before the boats to guide them\nto the land. And my own brother told me one day he was out and a\nstorm came on of a sudden, and the sail of the boat was let down as\nquick and as well as if two men were in it. Some neighbour or friend\nit must have been that did that for him. Those that go down to the\nsea after the tide going out, to cut the weed, often hear under the\nsand the sound of the milk being churned. There's some didn't believe\nthat till they heard it themselves.\n\n\n_A Man from Roundstone:_\n\nOne night I was out on the boat with another man, and we saw a big ship\nnear us with about twenty lights. She was as close to us as that rock\n(about thirty yards), but we saw no one on board. And she was like some\nof the French ships that sometimes come to Galway. She went on near us\nfor a while, and then she turned towards the shore and then we knew\nthat she was not a right ship. And she went straight on to the land,\nand when she touched it, the lights went out and we saw her no more.\n\nThere was a comrade of mine was out one night, and a ship came after\nhim, with lights, and she full of people. And as they drew near the\nland, he heard them shouting at him and he got afraid, and he went\ndown and got a coal of fire and threw it at the ship, and in a minute\nit was gone.\n\n\n_A Schoolmaster:_\n\nA boy told me last night of two men that went with poteen to the\nIsland of Aran. And when they were on the shore they saw a ship\ncoming as if to land, and they said, \"We'll have the bottle ready\nfor those that are coming.\" But when the ship came close to the land,\nit vanished. And presently they got their boat ready and put out to\nsea. And a sudden blast came and swept one of them off. And the other\nsaw him come up again, and put out the oar across his breast for him\nto take hold of it. But he would not take it but said, \"I'm all right\nagain now,\" and sank down again and was never seen no more.\n\n\n_John Nagle:_\n\nFor one there's on the land there's ten on the sea. When I lived at\nArdfry there was never a night but there was a voice heard crying\nand roaring, by them that were out in the bay. A baker he was from\nLoughrea, used to give short weight and measure, and so he was put\nthere for a punishment.\n\nI saw a ship that was having a race with another go suddenly down\ninto the sea, and no one could tell why. And afterwards one of the\nGovernment divers was sent down to look for her, and he told me he'd\nnever as long as he'd live go down again, for there at the bottom he\nfound her, and the captain and the saloon passengers, and all sitting\nat the table and eating their dinner, just as they did before.\n\n\n_A Little Girl:_\n\nOne time a woman followed a boat from Galway twenty miles out, and\nwhen they saw that she was some bad thing, wanting some of them,\nthey drowned her.\n\n\n_Mrs. Casey:_\n\nI was at home and I got some stories from a man I had suspected of\nhaving newses. And he told me that when he was a youngster he was\nat a height where there used to be a great many of them. And all of\na sudden he saw them fly out to where a boat was coming from Duras\nwith seaweed. And they went in two flights, and so fast that they\nswept the water away from each side the boat, and it was left on the\nsand, and this they did over and over, just to be humbugging the man\nin the boat, and he was kept there a long time. When they first rose\nup, they were like clouds of dust, but with all sorts of colours, and\nthen he saw their faces turned, but they kept changing colour every\nminute. (_Note_ 5.) Laughing and humbugging they seemed to be.\n\nMy uncle that used to go out fishing for mackerel told me that one\nnight some sort of a monster came under the boat and it wasn't a\nfish, and it had them near upset.\n\n\n_At an evening gathering in Inishmaan, by a Son of the House:_\n\nThere was a man on this island was down on the beach one evening with\nhis dog, and some black thing came up out of the sea, and the dog\nmade for it and began to fight it. And the man began to run home and\nhe called the dog, and it followed him, but every now and again it\nwould stop and begin to fight again. And when he got to the house he\ncalled the dog in and shut the door, and whatever was outside began\nhitting against the door but it didn't get in. But the dog went in\nunder the bed in the room, and before morning it was dead.\n\n\n_The Man of the House:_\n\nA horse I've seen myself on the sea and on the rocks--a brown one,\njust like another. And I threw a stone at it, and it was gone in a\nminute. We often heard there was fighting amongst _these._ And one\nmorning before daybreak I went down to the strand with some others,\nand the whole of the strand, and it low tide, was covered with blood.\n\n\n_Colman Kane:_\n\nI knew a woman on this island and she and her daughter went down to\nthe strand one morning to pick weed, and a wave came and took the\ndaughter away. And a week after that, the mother saw her coming to\nthe house, but she didn't speak to her.\n\nThere was a man coming from Galway here and he had no boatman. And on\nthe way he saw a man that was behind him in the boat, that was putting\nup the sail and taking the management of everything, and he spoke no\nword. And he was with him all the way, but when the boat came to land,\nhe was gone, and the man isn't sure, but he thinks it was his brother.\n\nYou see that sand below on the south side. When the men are out with\nthe mackerel boats at early morning, they often see those sands\ncovered with boys and girls.\n\nThere were some men out fishing in the bay one time, and a man came\nand held on to the boat, and wanted them to make room for him to get\nin, and after a time he left them. He was one of _those_. And there\nwas another of them came up on the rocks one day, and called out to\nMartin Flaherty that was going out and asked what was his name.\n\nThere's said to be another island out there that's enchanted, and\nthere are some that see it. And it's said that a fisherman landed on\nit one time, and he saw a little house, and he went in, and a very\nnice-looking young woman came out and said, \"What will you say to\nme?\" and he said, \"You are a very nice lady.\" And a second came and\nasked him the same thing and a third, and he made the same answer.\nAnd after that they said, \"You'd best run for your life,\" and so he\ndid, and his curragh was floating along and he had but just time to\nget into it, and the island was gone. But if he had said \"God bless\nyou,\" the island would have been saved.\n\n\n_A Fisherman on Kilronan Pier:_\n\nI don't give in to these things myself, but they'd make you believe\nthem in the middle island. Mangan, that I lodged with there, told me of\nseeing a ship when he was out with two other men, that followed them\nand vanished. And he said one of the men took to his bed from that\ntime and died. And Doran told me about the horse he saw, that was in\nevery way like a horse you'd see on land. And a man on the south island\ntold me how he saw a calf one morning on the strand, and he thought it\nbelonged to a neighbour, and was going to drive it up to his field,\nwhen its mother appeared on the sea, and it went off to her.\n\nThey are in the sea as well as on the land. That is well known by\nthose that are out fishing by the coast. When the weather is calm,\nthey can look down sometimes and see cattle and pigs and all such\nthings as we have ourselves. And at nights their boats come out and\nthey can be seen fishing, but they never last out after one o'clock.\n\nThe cock always crows on the first of March every year at one\no'clock. And there was a man brought a cock out with him in his boat\nto try them. And the first time when it crowed they all vanished.\nThat is how they were detected.\n\nThere are more of them in the sea than on the land, and they\nsometimes try to come over the side of the boat in the form of\nfishes, for they can take their choice shape.\n\n\n_Pat O'Hagan:_\n\nThere were two fine young women--red-haired women--died in my village\nabout six months ago. And I believe they're living yet. And there\nare some have seen them appear. All I ever saw myself was one day I\nwas out fishing with two others, and we saw a canoe coming near us,\nand we were afraid it would come near enough to take away our fish.\nAnd as we looked it turned into a three-masted ship, and people in\nit. I could see them well, dark-coloured and dressed like sailors.\nBut it went away and did us no harm.\n\nOne night I was going down to the curragh, and it was a night in\nharvest, and the stars shining, and I saw a ship fully rigged going\ntowards the coast of Clare where no ship could go. And when I looked\nagain, she was gone.\n\nAnd one morning early, I and other men that were with me, and one of\nthem a friend of the man here, saw a ship coming to the island, and he\nthought she wanted a pilot, and put out in the curragh. But when we got\nto where she was, there was no sign of her, but where she was the water\nwas covered with black gulls, and I never saw a black gull before,\nthousands and crowds of them, and not one white bird among them. And\none of the boys that was with me took a tarpin and threw it at one of\nthe gulls and hit it on the head, and when he did, the curragh went\ndown to the rowlocks in the water--up to that--and it's nothing but a\nmiracle she ever came up again, but we got back to land. I never went\nto a ship again, for the people said it was on account of me helping in\nthe Preventive Service it happened, and that if I'd hit at one of the\ngulls myself, there would have been a bad chance for us. But those were\nno right gulls, and the ship was no living ship.\n\n\n_The Old Man in the Kitchen:_\n\nIt's in the middle island the most of them are, and I'll tell you a\nthing that I know of myself that happened not long ago. There was a\nyoung girl, and one evening she was missing, and they made search for\nher everywhere and they thought that she was drowned or that she had\ngone away with some man. And in the evening of the next day there was\na boy out in a curragh, and as he passed by a rock that is out in the\nsea there was the girl on it, and he brought her off. And surely she\ncould not go there by herself. I suppose she wasn't able to give much\naccount of it, and now she's after going to America. (_Note_ 6.)\n\nAnd in Aran there were three boys and their uncle went out to a ship\nthey saw coming, to pilot her into the bay. But when they got to where\nshe was, there was no ship, and a sea broke over the canoe, and they\nwere drowned, all fine strong men. But a man they had with them that\nwas no use or of no account, he came safe to land. And I know a man in\nthis island saw curraghs and curraghs full of people about the island\nof a Sunday morning early, but I never saw them myself. And one Sunday\nmorning in my time there were scores and scores lying their length by\nthe sea on the sand below, and they saw a woman in the sea, up to her\nwaist, and she racking her hair and settling herself and as clean and\nas nice as if she was on land. Scores of them saw that.\n\nThere's a house up there where the family have to leave a plate of\npotatoes ready every night, and all's gone in the morning. (_Note_ 7.)\n\nThey are said to have all things the same as ourselves under the\nsea, and one day a cow was seen swimming as if for the headland, but\nbefore she got to it she turned another way and went down. And one\ntime I got a small muc-warra (porpoise) and I went to cut it up to\nget what was good of it, for it had about two inches of fat, and when\nI cut it open the heart and the liver and every bit of it were for\nall the world like a pig you would cut up on land.\n\nThere's a house in the village close by this that's haunted. My\nsister was sitting near it one day, and it empty and locked, and some\nother little girls, and they heard a noise in it, and at the same\ntime the flags they were sitting on grew red-hot, that they had to\nleave them. And another time the woman of the house was sick, and a\nlittle girl that was sitting by the fire in the kitchen saw standing\nin the door the sister of the woman that was sick, and she a good\nwhile dead, and she put up her arm, as if to tell her not to notice\nher. And the poor woman of that house, she had no luck, nothing but\nmiscarriages or dead babies. And one child lived to be nine months\nold, and there was less flesh on it at the end of the nine months\nthan there was the day it was born. She has a little girl now that's\nnear a year old, but her arm isn't the size of that, and she's\ncrabbed and not like a child as she should be. Many a one that's long\nmarried without having a child goes to the fortune-teller in Galway,\nand those that think anything of themselves go to Roundstone.\n\n\n_A Man near Loughmore:_\n\nI know a woman was washed and laid out, and it went so far that two\nhalf-penny candles were burned over her. And then she sat up, came\nback again, and spoke to her husband, and told him how to divide his\nproperty, and to manage the children well. And her step-son began to\nquestion her, and he might have got a lot out of her but her own son\nstopped him and said to let her alone. And then she turned over on\nher side and died. She was not to say an old woman. It's not often\nthe old are taken. What use would there be for them? But a woman to\nbe taken young, you know there's demand for her. It's the people in\nthe middle island know about these things. There were three boys from\nthere lost in a curragh at the point near the lighthouse, and for\nlong after their friends were tormented when they came there fishing,\nand they would see ships there when the people of this island that\nwere out at the same time couldn't see them. There were three or four\nout in a curragh near the lighthouse, and a conger-eel came and upset\nit, and they were all saved but one, but he was brought down and for\nthe whole day they could hear him crying and screeching under the\nsea. And they were not the only ones, but a fisherman that was there\nfrom Galway had to go away and leave it, because of the screeching.\n\nThere was a coast-guard's wife there was all but gone, but she was\nsaved after. And there's a boy here now was for a long time that\nthey'd give the world he was gone altogether, with the state he was,\nin, and now he's as strong as any boy in the island; and if ever any\none was away and came back again, it was him. Children used often to\nbe taken, but there's a great many charms in use in these days that\nsaves them. A big sewing-needle you'll see the woman looking for to\nput with a baby, and as long as that's with it, it's safe. But anyway\nthey're always put back again into the world before they die in the\nplace of some young person. And even a beast of any consequence if\nanything happens to it, no one in the island would taste it; there\nmight be something in it, some old woman or the like.\n\nThere were a few young men from here were kept in Galway for a day,\nand they went to a woman there that works the cards. And she told\nthem of deaths that would come in certain families. And it wasn't a\nfortnight after that five boys were out there, just where you see the\ncurragh now, and they were upset and every one drowned, and they were\nof the families that she had named on the cards.\n\nMy uncle told me that one night they were all up at that house up\nthe road, making a match for his sister, and they stopped till near\nmorning, and when they went out, they all had a drop taken. And\nhe was going along home with two or three others and one of them,\nMichael Flaherty, said he saw people on the shore. And another of\nthem said that there were not, and my uncle said, \"If Flaherty said\nthat and it not true, we have a right to bite the ear off him, and\nit would be no harm.\" And then they parted, and my uncle had to pass\nby the beach, and then he saw whole companies of people coming up\nfrom the sea, that he didn't know how he'd get through them, but they\nopened before him and let him pass.\n\nThere were men going to Galway with cattle one morning from the beach\ndown there, and they saw a man up to his middle in the sea--all of\nthem saw it.\n\nThere was a man was down early for lobsters on the shore at the\nmiddle island, and he saw a horse up to its middle in the sea, and\nbowing its head down as if to drink. And after he had watched it\nawhile it disappeared.\n\nThere was a woman walking over by the north shore--God have mercy on\nher--she's dead since--and she looked out and saw an island in the\nsea, and she was a long time looking at it. It's known to be there,\nand to be enchanted, but only few can see it.\n\nThere was a man had his horse drawing seaweed up there on the rocks,\nthe way you see them drawing it every day, in a basket on the mare's\nback. And on this day every time he put the load on, the mare would\nlet its leg slip and it would come down again, and he was vexed and\nhe had a stick in his hand and he gave the mare a heavy blow. And\nthat night she had a foal that was dead, not come to its full growth,\nand it had spots over it, and every spot was of a different colour.\nAnd there was no sire on the island at that time, so whatever was the\nsire must have come up from the sea. (_Note_ 8.)\n\n\n_A Man Watching the Weed-gatherers:_\n\nThere's no doubt at all about the sea-horses. There was a man out at\nthe other side of the island, and he saw one standing on the rocks\nand he threw a stone at it and it went off in the sea. He said it was\ngrand to see it swimming, and the mane and the tail floating on the\ntop of the water.\n\n\n_A Woman from the Connemara Side:_\n\nI was told there was a mare that had a foal, and it had never had\na horse. And one day the mare and foal were down by the sea, and a\nhorse put up its head and neighed, and away went the foal to it and\ncame back no more.\n\nAnd there was a man on this island watched his field one night where\nhe thought the neighbours' cattle were eating his grass, and what he\nsaw was horses and foals coming up from the sea. And he caught a foal\nand kept it, and set it racing, and no horse or no pony could ever come\nnear it, till one day the race was on the strand, and away with it into\nthe sea, and the jockey along with it, and they never were seen again.\n\n\n_Mrs. O'Dea and Mrs. Daly:_\n\nThere was a cow seen come up out of the sea one day and it walked\nacross the strand, and its udder like as if it had been lately\nmilked. And Tommy Donohue was running up to tell his father to come\ndown and see it, and when he looked back it was gone out to sea again.\n\nThere was a man here was going to build a new house, and he brought\na wise woman to see would it be in the right place. And she made\nfive heaps of stones in five places, and said, \"Whatever heap isn't\nknocked in the night, build it there.\" And in the morning all the\nheaps were knocked but one, and so he built it there. (_Note_ 9.)\n\nOne time I was out over by that island with another man, and we saw\nthree women standing by the shore, beating clothes with a beetle. And\nwhile we looked, they vanished, and then we heard the cry of a child\npassing over our heads twenty feet in the air.\n\nI know they go out fishing like ourselves, for Father Mahony told me\nso; and one night I was out myself with my brother, beyond where that\nship is, and we heard talk going on, so we knew that a boat was near,\nand we called out to let them know we heard them, and then we saw the\nboat and it was just like any other one, and the talk went on, but we\ncouldn't understand what they were saying. And then I turned to light\nmy pipe, and while I lighted it, the boat and all in it were gone.\n\n\n_Mrs. Casey:_\n\nI got a story from an old man down by the sea at Tyrone. He says\nthere was a man went down one night to move his boat from the shore\nwhere it was to the pier. And when he had put out, he found it was\ngoing out to sea, instead of to touch the pier, and he felt it very\nheavy in the water, and he looked behind him and there on the back of\nthe boat were six men in shiny black clothes like sailors, and there\nwas one like a harvest-man dressed in white flannel with a belt round\nhis waist. And he asked what they were doing, and the man in white\nsaid he had brought the others out to make away with them there, and\nhe took and cut their bodies in two and threw them one by one over\nthe boat, and then he threw himself after them into the sea. And the\nboat went under water too, and the poor man himself lost his wits,\nbut it came up again and he said he had never seen as many people as\nhe did in that minute under the water. And then he got home and left\nthe boat, and in the morning he came down to it, and there was blood\nin it; and first he washed it and then he painted it, but for all he\ncould do, he couldn't get rid of the blood.\n\n\n_Peter Donohue:_\n\nThere was a woman, a friend of this man's, living out in the middle\nisland, and one day she came down to where a man of this island was\nputting out his curragh to come back, and she said, \"I just saw a\ngreat crowd of them--that's the Sheogue--going over to your island\nlike a cloud.\" And when he got home he went up to a house there\nbeyond, where the old woman used to be selling poteen on the sly. And\nwhile he was there her little boy came running in and cried, \"Hide\naway the poteen, for the police are on the island! Such a man called\nto me from his curragh to give warning, for he saw the road full of\nthem with the crowd of them and they with their guns and cutlasses\nand all the rest.\" But the man was in the house first knew well what\nit was, after what he heard from the woman on the other island, and\nthat they were no right police, and sure enough no other one ever saw\nthem. And that same day, my mother had put out wool to dry in front\nof where that house is with the three chimneys, near the Chapel.\nAnd I was there talking to some man, one on each side of the yard,\nand the wall between us. And the day was as fine as this day is and\nfiner, and not a breath of air stirring. And a woman that lived near\nby had her wool out drying too. And the wool that was in my mother's\nyard began to rise up, as if something was under it, and I called to\nthe other man to help me to hold it down, but for all we could do it\nwent up in the air, a hundred feet and more, till we could see it no\nmore. And after a couple of hours it began to drop again, like snow,\nsome on the thatch and some on the rocks and some in the gardens. And\nI think it was a fortnight before my mother had done gathering it.\nAnd one day she was spinning it, I don't know what put it in my mind,\nbut I asked her did she lose much of that wool. And what she said\nwas, \"If I didn't get more than my own, I didn't get less.\" That's\ntrue and no lie, for I never told a lie in my life--I think. But the\nwool belonging to the neighbouring woman was never stirred at all.\n\nAnd the woman that had the wool that wasn't stirred, she is the woman\nI married after, and that's now my wife.\n\nThere was a man, one Power, died in this island, and one night that\nwas bright there was a friend of his going out for mackerel, and he\nsaw these sands full of people hurling, and he well knew Power's\nvoice that he heard among them.\n\nThere was a cousin of my own built a new house, and when they were\nfirst in it and sitting round the fire, the woman of the house that\nwas singing for them saw a great blot of blood come down the chimney\non to the floor, and they thought there would be no luck in the house\nand that it was a wrong place. But they had nothing but good luck\never after.\n\n\n_Peter Dolan:_\n\nThere was a man that died in the middle island, that had two wives.\nAnd one day he was out in the curragh he saw the first wife appear.\nAnd after that one time the son of the second wife was sick, and the\nlittle girl, the first wife's daughter, was out tending cattle, and\na can of water with her and she had a waistcoat of her father's put\nabout her body, where it was cold. And her mother appeared to her in\nthe form of a sheep, and spoke to her, and told her what herbs to\nfind, to cure the step-brother, and sure enough they cured him. And\nshe bid her leave the waistcoat there and the can, and she did. And\nin the morning the waistcoat was folded there, and the can standing\non it. And she appeared to her in her own shape another time, after\nthat. Why she came like a sheep the first time was that she wouldn't\nbe frightened. The girl is in America now, and so is the step-brother\nthat got well. (_Note_ 10.)\n\n\n_A Galway Woman:_\n\nOne time myself, I was up at the well beyond, and looking into it,\na very fine day, and no breath of air stirring, and the stooks were\nripe standing about me. And all in a minute a noise began in them,\nand they were like as if knocking at each other and fighting like\nsoldiers all about me.\n\n\n_Mary Moran:_\n\nThere was a girl here that had been to America and came back, and one\nday she was coming over from Liscannor in a curragh, and she looked\nback and there behind the curragh was the \"Gan ceann\" the headless\none. And he followed the boat a great way, but she said nothing. But\na gold pin that was in her hair fell out, and into the sea, that she\nhad brought from America, and then it disappeared. And her sister was\nalways asking her where was the pin she brought from America, and she\nwas afraid to say. But at last she told her, and the sister said,\n\"It's well for you it fell out, for what was following you would\nnever have left you, till you threw it a ring or something made of\ngold.\" It was the sister herself that told me this.\n\nUp in the village beyond they think a great deal of these things and\nthey won't part with a drop of milk on May Eve, and last Saturday\nweek that was May Eve there was a poor woman dying up there, and she\nhad no milk of her own, and as is the custom, she went out to get a\ndrop from one or other of the neighbours. But not one would give it\nbecause it was May Eve. I declare I cried when I heard it, for the\npoor woman died on the second day after.\n\nAnd when my sister was going to America she went on the first of May\nand we had a farewell party the night before, and in the night a\nlittle girl that was there saw a woman from that village go out, and\nshe watched her, and saw her walk round a neighbour's house, and pick\nsome straw from the roof.\n\nAnd she told of it, and it happened a child had died in that house\nand the father said the woman must have had a hand in it, and there\nwas no good feeling to her for a long while. Her own husband is lying\nsick now, so I hear.\n\n\n\n\n II\n\n SEERS AND HEALERS\n\n\n\n\n II\n\n SEERS AND HEALERS\n\n\n BIDDY EARLY\n\n_In talking to the people I often heard the name of Biddy Early, and\nI began to gather many stories of her, some calling her a healer and\nsome a witch. Some said she had died a long time ago, and some that\nshe was still living. I was sure after a while that she was dead, but\nwas told that her house was still standing, and was on the other side\nof Slieve Echtge, between Feakle and Tulla. So one day I set out and\ndrove Shamrock, my pony, to a shooting lodge built by my grandfather\nin a fold of the mountains, and where I had sometimes, when a young\ngirl, stayed with my brothers when they were shooting the wild deer\nthat came and sheltered in the woods. It had like other places on our\nestate a border name brought over from Northumberland, but though we\ncalled it Chevy Chase the people spoke of its woods and outskirts\nas Daire-caol, the Narrow Oak Wood, and Daroda, the Two Roads, and\nDruim-da-Rod, their Ridge. I stayed the night in the low thatched\nhouse, setting out next day for Feakle \"eight strong miles over the\nmountain.\" It was a wild road, and the pony had to splash his way\nthrough two unbridged rivers, swollen with the summer rains. The red\nmud of the road, the purple heather and foxglove, the brown bogs\nwere a contrast to the grey rocks and walls of Burren and Aidhne,\nand there were many low hills brown when near, misty blue in the\ndistance; then the Golden Mountain, Slieve nan-Or, \"where the last\ngreat battle will be fought before the end of the world.\" Then I was\nout of Connacht into Clare, the brown turning to green pasture as I\ndrove by Raftery's Lough Greine._\n\n_I put up my pony at a little inn. There were portraits of John\nDillon and Michael Davitt hanging in the parlour, and the landlady\ntold me Parnell's likeness had been with them, until the priest had\ntold her he didn't think well of her hanging it there. There was also\non the wall, in a frame, a warrant for the arrest of one of her sons,\nsigned by, I think, Lord Cowper, in the days of the Land War. \"He got\nhalf a year in gaol the same year Parnell did. He got sick there,\nand though he lived for some years the doctor said when he died the\nillness he got in gaol had to do with his death.\"_\n\n_I had been told how to find Biddy Early's house \"beyond the little\nhumpy bridge,\" and I walked on till I came to it, a poor cottage\nenough, high up on a mass of rock by the roadside. There was only a\nlittle girl in the house, but her mother came in afterwards and told\nme that Biddy Early had died about twenty years before, and that\nafter they had come to live in the house they had been \"annoyed for\na while\" by people coming to look for her. She had sent them away,\ntelling them Biddy Early was dead, though a friendly priest had said\nto her, \"Why didn't you let on you were her and make something out of\nthem?\" She told me some of the stories I give below, and showed me\nthe shed where the healer had consulted with her invisible friends. I\nhad already been given by an old patient of hers a \"bottle\" prepared\nfor the cure, but which she had been afraid to use. It lies still\nunopened on a shelf in my storeroom. When I got back at nightfall to\nthe lodge in the woods I found many of the neighbours gathered there,\nwanting to hear news of \"the Tulla Woman\" and to know for certain if\nshe was dead. I think as time goes on her fame will grow and some of\nthe myths that always hang in the air will gather round her, for I\nthink the first thing I was told of her was, \"There used surely to\nbe enchanters in the old time, magicians and freemasons. Old Biddy\nEarly's power came from the same thing.\"_ (_Note_ 11.)\n\n\n_An Old Woman in the Lodge Kitchen_ says:\n\nDo you remember the time John Kevin beyond went to see Biddy Early,\nfor his wife, she was sick at the time. And Biddy Early knew\neverything, and that there was a forth behind her house, and she\nsaid, \"Your wife is too fond of going out late at night.\"\n\n\n_I was told by a Gate-keeper:_\n\nThere was a man at Cranagh had one of his sheep shorn in the night,\nand all the wool taken. And he got on his horse and went to Feakle\nand Biddy Early, and she told him the name of the man that did it,\nand where it was hidden, and so he got it back again.\n\nThere was a man went to Biddy Early, and she told him that the woman\nhe'd marry would have her husband killed by his brother. And so it\nhappened, for the woman he married was sitting by the fire with her\nhusband, and the brother came in, having a drop of drink taken, and\nthrew a pint at him that hit him on the head and killed him. It was\nthe man that married her that told me this.\n\n\n_Mrs. Kearns:_\n\nDid I know any one that was taken by them? Well, I never knew one\nthat was brought back again. Himself went one time to Biddy Early\nfor his uncle, Donohue, that was sick, and he found her there and her\nfingers all covered with big gold rings, and she gave him a bottle,\nand she said: \"Go in no house on your way home, or stop nowhere, or\nyou'll lose it.\" But going home he had a thirst on him and he came to\na public-house, and he wouldn't go in, but he stopped and bid the boy\nbring him out a drink. But a little farther on the road the horse got\na fall, and the bottle was broke.\n\n\n_Mrs. Cregan:_\n\nIt's I was with this woman here to Biddy Early. And when she saw\nme, she knew it was for my husband I came, and she looked in her\nbottle and she said, \"It's nothing put upon him by my people that's\nwrong with him.\" And she bid me give him cold oranges and some other\nthings--herbs. He got better after.\n\n\n_Daniel Curtin:_\n\nDid I ever hear of Biddy Early? There's not a man in this countryside\nover forty year old that hasn't been with her some time or other.\nThere's a man living in that house over there was sick one time, and\nhe went to her, and she cured him, but says she, \"You'll have to lose\nsomething, and don't fret after it.\" So he had a grey mare and she\nwas going to foal, and one morning when he went out he saw that the\nfoal was born, and was lying dead by the side of the wall. So he\nremembered what she said to him and he didn't fret.\n\nThere was one Dillane in Kinvara, Sir William knew him well, and he\nwent to her one time for a cure. And Father Andrew came to the house\nand was mad with him for going, and says he, \"You take the cure out\nof the hands of God.\" And Mrs. Dillane said, \"Your Reverence, none of\nus can do that.\" \"Well,\" says Father Andrew, \"then I'll see what the\ndevil can do and I'll send my horse tomorrow, that has a sore in his\nleg this long time, and try will she be able to cure him.\"\n\nSo next day he sent a man with his horse, and when he got to Biddy\nEarly's house she came out, and she told him every word that Father\nAndrew had said, and she cured the sore. So after that, he left the\npeople alone; but before it, he'd be dressed in a frieze coat and a\nriding whip in his hand, driving away the people from going to her.\n\nShe had four or five husbands, and they all died of drink one after\nanother. Maybe twenty or thirty people would be there in the day\nlooking for cures, and every one of them would bring a bottle of\nwhiskey. Wild cards they all were, or they wouldn't have married her.\nShe'd help too to bring the butter back. Always on the first of May,\nit used to be taken, and maybe what would be taken from one man would\nbe conveyed to another.\n\n\n_Mr. McCabe:_\n\nBiddy Early? Not far from this she lived, above at Feakle. I got\ncured by her myself one time. Look at this thumb--I got it hurted one\ntime, and I went out into the field after and was ploughing all the\nday, I was that greedy for work. And when I went in I had to lie on\nthe bed with the pain of it, and it swelled and the arm with it, to\nthe size of a horse's thigh. I stopped two or three days in the bed\nwith the pain of it, and then my wife went to see Biddy Early and\ntold her about it, and she came home and the next day it burst, and\nyou never seen anything like all the stuff that came away from it. A\ngood bit after I went to her myself, where it wasn't quite healed,\nand she said, \"You'd have lost it altogether if your wife hadn't been\nso quick to come.\" She brought me into a small room, and said holy\nwords and sprinkled holy water and told me to believe. The priests\nwere against her, but they were wrong. How could that be evil doing\nthat was all charity and kindness and healing?\n\nShe was a decent looking woman, no different from any other woman of\nthe country. The boy she was married to at the time was lying drunk\nin the bed. There were side-cars and common cars and gentry and\ncountry people at the door, just like Gort market, and dinner for all\nthat came, and everyone would bring her something, but she didn't\ncare what it was. Rich farmers would bring her the whole side of a\npig. Myself, I brought a bottle of whiskey and a shilling's worth\nof bread, and a quarter of sugar and a quarter pound of tea. She was\nvery rich, for there wasn't a farmer but would give her the grass\nof a couple of bullocks or a filly. She had the full of a field of\nfillies if they'd all been gathered together. She left no children,\nand there's no doubt at all that the reason of her being able to do\ncures was that she was _away_ seven years. She didn't tell me about\nit but she spoke of it to others.\n\nWhen I was coming away I met a party of country people on a cart from\nLimerick, and they asked where was her house, and I told them: \"Go on\nto the cross, and turn to the left, and follow the straight road till\nyou come to the little humpy bridge, and soon after that you'll come\nto the house.\"\n\nBut the priests would be mad if they knew that I told any one the way.\n\nShe died about twelve year ago; I didn't go to the wake myself, or\nthe funeral, but I heard that her death was natural.\n\nNo, Mrs. Early is no relation to Biddy Early--the nuns asked her the\nsame thing when she was married. A cousin of hers had her hand cut with\na jug that was broke, and she went up to her and when she got there,\nBiddy Early said: \"It's a thing you never should do, to beat a child\nthat breaks a cup or a jug.\" And sure enough it was a child that broke\nit, and she beat her for doing it. But cures she did sure enough.\n\n\n_Bartley Coen:_\n\nThere was a neighbour of my own, Andrew Dennehy:\n\nI was knocked up by him one night to go to the house, because he\nsaid _they_ were calling to him. But when they got there, there was\nnothing to be found. But some see these things, and some can't. It's\nagainst our creed to believe in them. And the priests won't let on\nthat they believe in them themselves, but they are more in dread of\ngoing about at night than any of us. They were against, Biddy Early\ntoo. There was a man I knew living near the sea, and he set out to\ngo to her one time. And on his way he went into his brother-in-law's\nhouse, and the priest came in there, and bid him not to go on. \"Well,\nFather,\" says he, \"cure me yourself if you won't let me go to her to\nbe cured.\" And when the priest wouldn't do that (for the priests can\ndo many cures if they like to), he went on to her. And the minute\nhe came in, \"Well,\" says she, \"you made a great fight for me on the\nway.\" For though it's against our creed to believe it, she could hear\nany earthly thing that was said in every part, miles off. But she had\ntwo red eyes, and some used to say, \"If she can cure so much, why\ncan't she cure her own eyes?\"\n\nNo, she wasn't _away_ herself. It is said it was from a son of her\nown she got the knowledge, a little chap that was astray. And one day\nwhen he was lying sick in the bed he said: \"There's such and such a\nwoman has a hen down in the pot, and if I had the soup of the hen, I\nthink it would cure me.\" So the mother went to the house, and when\nshe got there, sure enough, there was a hen in the pot on the fire.\nBut she was ashamed to tell what she came for, and she let on to have\nonly come for a visit, and so she sat down. But presently in the heat\nof the talking she told what the little chap had said. \"Well,\" says\nthe woman, \"take the soup and welcome, and the hen too if it will do\nhim any good.\" So she brought them with her, and when the boy saw the\nsoup, \"It can't cure me,\" says he, \"for no earthly thing can do that.\nBut since I see how kind and how willing you are, and did your best\nfor me, I'll leave you a way of living.\" And so he did, and taught\nher all she knew. That's what's said at any rate.\n\n\n_Mr. Fahy:_\n\nWell, that's what's believed, that it's from her son Biddy Early got\nit. After his death always lamenting for him she was, till he came\nback, and gave her the gift of curing.\n\nShe had no red eyes, but was a fresh clean-looking woman; sure any\none might have red eyes when they'd got a cold.\n\nShe wouldn't refuse even a person that would come from the very\nbottom of the black North.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"I was with Biddy Early myself one time, and got a cure from her for\nmy little girl that was sick. A bottle of whiskey I brought her, and\nthe first thing she did was to open it and to give me a glass out of\nit. \"For,\" says she, \"you'll maybe want it my poor man.\" But I had\nplenty of courage in those days.\"\n\nThe priests were against her; often Father Boyle would speak of her\nin his sermons. They can all do those cures themselves, but that's a\nthing it's not right to be talking about.\n\n\n_The Little Girl of Biddy Early's House:_\n\nThe people do be full of stories of all the cures she did. Once after\nwe came to live here a carload of people came, and asked was Biddy\nEarly here, and my mother said she was dead. When she told the priest\nhe said she had a right to shake a bottle and say she was her, and\nget something from them. It was by the bottle she did all, to shake\nit, and she'd see everything when she looked in it. Sometimes she'd\ngive a bottle of some cure to people that came, but if she'd say to\nthem, \"You'll never bring it home,\" break it they should on the way\nhome, with all the care they'd take of it.\n\nShe was as good, and better, to the poor as to the rich. Any poor\nperson passing the road, she'd call in and give a cup of tea or a\nglass of whiskey to, and bread and what they wanted.\n\nShe had a big chest within in that room, and it full of pounds of tea\nand bottles of wine and of whiskey and of claret, and all things in\nthe world. One time she called in a man that was passing and gave\nhim a glass of whiskey, and then she said to him, \"The road you were\ngoing home by, don't go by it.\" So he asked why not, and she took\nthe bottle--a long shaped bottle it was--and looked into it, holding\nit up, and then she bid him look through it, and he'd see what would\nhappen him. But her husband said, \"Don't show it to him, it might\ngive him a fright he wouldn't get over.\" So she only said, \"Well, go\nhome by another road.\" And so he did and got home safe, for in the\nbottle she had seen a party of men that wouldn't have let him pass\nalive. She got the rites of the Church when she died, but first she\nhad to break the bottle.\n\nIt was from her brother that she got the power, when she had to go to\nthe workhouse, and he came back, and gave her the way of doing the\ncures.\n\n\n_The Blacksmith I met near Tulla:_\n\nI know you to be a respectable lady and an honourable one because I\nknow your brothers, meeting them as I do at the fair of Scariff. No\nfair it would be if they weren't there. I knew Biddy Early well, a\nnice fresh-looking woman she was. It's to her the people used to be\nflocking, to the door and even to the window, and if they'd come late\nin the day, they'd have no chance of getting to her, they'd have to\ntake lodgings for the night in the town. She was a great woman. If\nany of the men that came into the house had a drop too much drink\ntaken, she'd turn them out if they said an unruly word. And if any\nof them were fighting or disputing or going to law, she'd say, \"Be\nat one, and ye can rule the world.\" The priests were against her and\nused to be taking the cloaks and the baskets from the country people\nto keep them back from going to her.\n\nI never went to her myself--for you should know that no ill or harm\never comes to a blacksmith.\n\n\n_An Old Midwife:_\n\nTell me now is there anything wrong about you or your son that you\nwent to that house? I went there but once myself, when my little girl\nthat was married was bad, after her second baby being born. I went to\nthe house and told her about it, and she took the bottle and shook it\nand looked in it, and then she turned and said something to himself\n[her husband] that I didn't hear--and she just waved her hand to me\nlike that, and bid me go home, for she would take nothing from me.\nBut himself came out and told that what she was after seeing in the\nbottle was my little girl, and the coffin standing beside her. So I\nwent home, and sure enough on the tenth day after, she was dead.\n\n * * * * *\n\n_The lodge people came rushing out to see the picture of Biddy\nEarly's house and ask, \"Did she leave the power to any one else?\" and\nI told of the broken bottle. But Mr. McCabe said, \"She only had the\npower for her own term, and-no one else could get it from her.\"_\n\n * * * * *\n\n_I asked old Mr. McCabe if he had lost anything when she cured him,\nand he said: \"Not at that time, but sometimes I thought afterwards it\ncame on my family when I lost so many of my children. A grand stout\ngirl went from me, stout and broad, what would ail her to go?\"_\n\n\n_I was told by Mat King:_\n\nBiddy Early surely did thousands of cures. Out in the stable she used\nto go, where her _friends_ met her, and they told her all things.\nThere was a little priest long ago used to do cures,--Soggarthin\nMina, they used to call him,--and once he came in this house he\nlooked up and said, \"There--it's full of them--there they are.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man, one Flaherty, came to his brother-in-law's house one\nday to borrow a horse. And the next day the horse was sent back, but\nhe didn't come himself. And after a few days more they went to ask\nfor him, but he had never come back at all. So the brother-in-law\nwent to Biddy Early's and she and some others were drinking whiskey,\nand they were sorry that they were near at the bottom of the bottle.\nAnd she said: \"That's no matter, there's a man on his way now,\nthere'll soon be more.\" And sure enough there was, for he brought\na bottle with him. So when he came in, he told her about Flaherty\nhaving disappeared. And she described to him a corner of a garden\nat the back of a house and she said, \"Go look and you'll find him\nthere,\" and so they did, dead and buried.\n\nAnother time a man's cattle was dying, and he went to her and she\nsaid, \"Is there such a place as Benburb, having a forth up on the\nhill beyond there? for it's there they're gone.\" And sure enough, it\nwas towards that forth they were straying before they died.\n\n\n_An Old Man on the Beach:_\n\nThe priests were greatly against Biddy Early. And there's no doubt\nit was from the faeries she got the knowledge. But who wouldn't go\nto hell for a cure if one of his own was sick? And the priests don't\nlike to be doing cures themselves. Father Flynn said to me (rather\nincoherent in the high wind), if I do them, I let the devil into me.\nBut there was Father Carey used to do them, but he went wrong, with\nthe people bringing too much whiskey to pay him--and Father Mahony\nhas him stopped now.\n\n\n_Maher of Slieve Echtge:_\n\nI knew a man went to Biddy Early, and while she was in the other room\nhe made the tongs red hot and laid them down, and when she came back\nshe took them up and burned herself. And he said, if she had known\nanything she'd have known not to touch it, that it was red hot. So\nhe walked off and asked for no cure.\n\n\n_The Spinning-Woman:_\n\nBiddy Early was a witch, wherever she got it. There was a priest at\nFeakle spoke against her one time, and soon after he was passing\nnear her house and she put something on the horse so that he made a\nbolt into the river and stopped there in the middle, and wouldn't go\nback or forward. Some people from the neighbourhood went to her, and\nshe told them all about the whole place, and that one time there was\na great battle about the castle, and that there is a passage going\nfrom here to the forth beyond on Dromore Hill, and to another place\nthat's near Maher's house. And she said that there is a cure for all\nsicknesses hidden between the two wheels of Ballylee mill. And how\ndid she know that there was a mill here at all? Witchcraft wherever\nshe got it; away she may have been in a trance. She had a son, and\none time he went to the hurling beyond at some place in Tipperary,\nand none could stand against him; he was like a deer.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI went to Biddy Early one time myself, about my little boy that's now\nin America that was lying sick in the house. But on the way to her I\nmet a sergeant of police and he asked where was I going, and when I\ntold him, he said, to joke with me, \"Biddy Early's dead.\" \"May the\ndevil die with her,\" says I. Well, when I got to the house, what do\nyou think, if she didn't know that, and what I said. And she was vexed\nand at the first, she would do nothing for me. I had a pound for her\nhere in my bosom. But when I held it out she wouldn't take it, but she\nturned the rings on her fingers, for she had a ring for every one, and\nshe said, \"A shilling for this one, sixpence for another one.\" But all\nshe told me was that the boy was nervous, and so he was, she was right\nin that, and that he'd get well, and so he did.\n\nThere was a man beyond in Cloon, was walking near the gate the same\nday and his little boy with him, and he turned his foot and hurt it,\nand she knew that. She told me she slept in Ballylee mill last night,\nand that there was a cure for all things in the world between the two\nwheels there. Surely she was _away_ herself, and as to her son, she\nbrought him back with her, and for eight or nine year he lay in the\nbed in the house. And he'd never stir so long as she was in it, but no\nsooner was she gone away anywhere than he'd be out down the village\namong the people, and then back again before she'd get to the house.\n\nShe had three husbands, I saw one of them when I was there, but I\nknew by the look of him he wouldn't live long. One man I know went to\nher and she sent him on to a woman at Kilrush--one of her own sort,\nand they helped one another. She said to some woman I knew: \"If you\nhave a bowl broke or a plate throw it out of the door, and don't\nmake any attempt to mend it, it vexes _them_.\"\n\n\n_Mrs. McDonagh:_\n\nOur religion doesn't allow us to go to fortune tellers. They don't\nget the knowledge from God, and so it must be from demons.\n\nThe priests took the bottle from Biddy Early before she died, and\nthey found black things in it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI never went to Biddy Early myself. I think there was a good deal of\ndevilment in the things she did. The priests can do cures as well as\nshe did, but they don't like to do them, unless they're curates that\nlike to get the money.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man in Cloughareeva and his wife was that bad she would\ngo out in her shift at night into the field. And he went to Biddy\nEarly and she said, \"Within three days a disgraced priest will come\nto you and will cure her.\"\n\nAnd after three days the disgraced priest that had been put out for\ndrink came bowling into the house, and they reached down from the\nshelf a bottle of whiskey. Father Boyle was mad when he heard of it,\nbut he cured her all the same.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man on this estate, and he sixty years, and he took to\nthe bed, and his wife went to Biddy Early and she said, \"It can't\nbe by _them_ he's taken, what use would it be to them, he being so\nold.\" And Biddy Early is the one that should surely know. I went to\nher myself one time, to get a cure for myself when I fell coming down\nthat hill up there, and got a hurt on my knee. And she gave me one\nand she told me all about the whole place, and that there was a bowl\nbroken in the house, and so there was. The priests can do cures by\nthe same power that she had, but those that have much stock don't\nlike to be doing them; for they're sure to lose all.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI knew one went to Biddy Early about his wife, and as soon as she saw\nhim, she said, \"On the fourth day a discarded priest will call in and\ncure your wife\"; and so he did--one Father James.\n\n\n_Mrs. Nelly:_\n\nThe old man here that lost his hair went to Biddy Early but he didn't\nwant to go, and we forced him and persuaded him. And when he got to\nthe house she said, \"It wasn't of your own free will you came here,\"\nand she wouldn't do anything for him.\n\nShe didn't like either for you to go too late. Dolan's sister was\nsick a long time, and when the brother went at the last to Biddy\nEarly she gave him a bottle with a cure. But on the way home the\nbottle was broke, and the car, and the horse got a fright and ran\naway. She said to him then, \"Why did you go to cut down the bush of\nwhite thorn you see out of the window?\" And then she told him an old\nwoman in the village had overlooked him--Murphy's sister--and she\ngave him a bottle to sprinkle about her house. I suppose she didn't\nlike that bush being interfered with, she had too much charms.\n\nAnd when Doctor Folan was sent for to see her he was led astray, and\nit is beyond Ballylee he found himself. And surely she was _taken_ if\never any one was.\n\n\n_An Old Woman:_\n\nI went up to Biddy Early's one time with another woman. A fine stout\nwoman she was, sitting straight up on her chair. She looked at me and\nshe told me that my son was worse than what I was, and for myself\nshe bid me to take what I was taking before, and that's dandelions.\nFive leaves she bid me pick and lay them out on the table with three\npinches of salt on the three middle ones. As to my son, she gave me a\nbottle for him but he wouldn't take it and he got better without.\n\nThe priests were against her, but there was one of them passed near\nher house one day, and his horse fell forward. And he sent his boy\nto her and she said, \"Tell him to spit on the horse and to say,\n'God bless it,'\" and he did and it rose again. He had looked at it\nproud-like without saying \"God bless it\" in his heart.\n\n\n_Daniel Shea:_\n\nIt was all you could do to get to Biddy Early with your skin whole,\nthe priests were so set against her. I went to her one time myself,\nand it was hard when you got near to know the way, for all the people\nwere afraid to tell it.\n\nIt was about a little chap of my own I went, that some strange thing\nhad been put upon. When I got to her house there were about fifty to\nbe attended to before me, and when my turn came she looked in the\nbottle, a sort of a common greenish one that seemed to have nothing\nin it. And she told me where I came from, and the shape of the\nhouse and the appearance of it, and of the lake you see there, and\neverything round about. And she told me of a lime-kiln that was near,\nand then she said, \"The harm that came to him came from the forth\nbeyond that.\" And I never knew of there being a forth there, but\nafter I came home I went to look, and there sure enough it was.\n\nAnd she told me how it had come on him, and bid me remember a day\nthat a certain gentleman stopped and spoke to me when I was out\nworking in the hayfield, and the child with me playing about. And I\nremembered it well, it was old James Hill of Creen, that was riding\npast, and stopped and talked and was praising the child. And it was\nclose by that forth beyond that James Hill was born.\n\nIt was soon after that day that the mother and I went to Loughrea,\nand when we came back, the child had slipped on the threshold of the\nhouse and got a fall, and he was screeching and calling out that his\nknee was hurt, and from that time he did no good, and pined away and\nhad the pain in the knee always.\n\nAnd Biddy Early said, \"While you're talking to me now the child lies\ndying,\" and that was at twelve o'clock in the day. And she made up a\nbottle for me, herbs I believe it was made of, and she said, \"Take care\nof it going home, and whatever may happen, don't drop it\"; and she\nwrapped it in all the folds of my handkerchief. So when I was coming\nhome and got near Tillyra I heard voices over the wall talking, and\nwhen I got to the Roxborough gate there were many people talking and\ncoming to where we were. I could hear them and see them, and the man\nthat was with me. But when I heard them I remembered what she said,\nand I took the bottle in my two hands and held it, and so I brought it\nhome safely. And when I got home they told me the child was worse, and\nthat at twelve o'clock the day before he lay as they thought dying. And\nwhen I brought the bottle to him, he pulled the bed-clothes up over his\nhead, and we had the work of the world to make him taste it. But from\nthe time he took it, the pain in the knee left him and he began to get\nbetter, and Biddy Early had told me not to let many days pass without\ncoming to her again, when she gave me the bottle. But seeing him so\nwell, I thought it no use to go again, and it was not on May Day, but\nit was during the month of May he died. He took to the bed before that,\nand he'd be always calling to me to come inside the bed where he was,\nand if I went in, he'd hardly let me go. But I got afraid, and I didn't\nlike to be too much with him.\n\nHe was but eight years old when he died, but Ned Cahel that used to\nlive beyond there then told me privately that when I'd be out of the\nhouse and he'd come in, the little chap would ask for the pipe, and\ntake it and smoke it, but he'd never let me see him doing it. And he\nwas old-fashioned in all his ways.\n\nAnother thing Biddy Early told me to do was to go out before sunrise\nto where there'd be a boundary wall between two or three estates, and\nto bring a bottle, and lay it in the grass and gather the dew into\nit. But there were hundreds of people she turned away, because she'd\nsay, \"What's wrong with you has nothing to do with my business.\"\n\nThere was a Clare woman with me when I went there, and she told me\nthere was a boy from a village near her was brought tied in a cart\nto Biddy Early, and she said, \"If I cure you, will you be willing to\nmarry me?\" And he said he would. So she cured him and married him. I\nsaw him there at her house. It might be that she had the illness put\nupon him first.\n\nThe priests don't do cures by the same means, and they don't like to\ndo them at all. It was in my house that you see that Father Gregan did\none on Mr. Phayre. And he cured a girl up in the mountains after, and\nwhere is he now but in a madhouse. They are afraid of the power they\ndo them by, that it will be too strong for them. Some say the bishops\ndon't like them to do cures because the whiskey they drink to give them\ncourage before they do them is very apt to make drunkards of them. It's\nnot out of the prayer-book they read, but out of the Roman ritual, and\nthat's a book you can read evil out of as well as good.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a boy of the Saggartons in the house went to Biddy Early\nand she told him the house of his bachelor [the girl he would marry]\nand he did marry her after. And she cured him of a weakness he had\nand cured many, but it was seldom the bottle she'd give could be\nbrought home without being spilled. I wonder did she go to _them_\nwhen she died. She got the cure among them anyway.\n\n\n_Mrs. Dillon:_\n\nMy mother got crippled in her bed one night--God save the hearers--and\nit was a long time before she could walk again with the pain in her\nback. And my father was always telling her to go to Biddy Early, and\nso at last she went. But she could do nothing for her, for she said,\n\"What ails you has nothing to do with my business.\" And she said, \"You\nhave lost three, and one was a grand little fair-haired one, and if\nyou'd like to see her again, I'll show her to you.\" And when she said\nthat, my mother had no courage to look and to see the child she lost,\nbut fainted then and there. And then she said, \"There's a field of corn\nbeyond your house and a field with hay, and it's not long since that\nthe little fellow that wears a Llanberis cap fell asleep there on a\ncock of hay. And before the stooks of corn are in stacks he'll be taken\nfrom you, but I'll save him if I can.\" And it was true enough what she\nsaid, my little brother that was wearing a Llanberis cap had gone to\nthe field, and had fallen asleep on the hay a few days before. But no\nharm happened him, and he's all the brother I have living now. Out in\nthe stable she used to go to meet her _people_.\n\n\n_Mrs. Locke:_\n\nIt was my son was thatching Heniff's house when he got the touch, and\nhe came back with a pain in his back and in his shoulders, and took\nto the bed. And a few nights after that I was asleep, and the little\ngirl came and woke me and said, \"There's none of us can sleep, with\nall the cars and carriages rattling round the house.\" But though I\nwoke and heard her say that, I fell into a sound sleep again and\nnever woke till morning. And one night there came two taps at the\nwindow, one after another, and we all heard it and no one there. And\nat last I sent the eldest boy to Biddy Early and he found her in the\nhouse. She was then married to her fourth man. And she said he came\na day too soon and would do nothing for him. And he had to walk away\nin the rain. And the next day he went back and she said, \"Three days\nlater and you'd have been too late.\" And she gave him two bottles,\nthe one he was to bring to a boundary water and to fill it up, and\nthat was to be rubbed to the back, and the other was to drink. And\nthe minute he got them he began to get well, and he left the bed and\ncould walk, but he was always delicate. When we rubbed his back we\nsaw a black mark, like the bite of a dog, and as to his face, it was\nas white as a sheet.\n\nI have the bottle here yet, though it's thirty year ago I got it. She\nbid the boy to bring whatever was left of it to a river, and to pour\nit away with the running water. But when he got well I did nothing\nwith it, and said nothing about it--and here it is now for you to\nsee. I never let on to Father Folan that I went to her, but one time\nthe Bishop came, MacInerny. I knew he was a rough man, and I went to\nhim and made my confession, and I said, \"Do what you like with me,\nbut I'd walk the world for my son when he was sick.\" And all he said\nwas, \"It would have been no wonder if the two feet had been cut off\nfrom the messenger.\" And he said no more and put nothing on me.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a boy I saw went to Biddy Early, and she gave him a bottle\nand told him to mind he did not lose it in the crossing of some road.\nAnd when he came to the place it was broke.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOften I heard of Biddy Early, and I knew of a little girl was sick\nand the brother went to Biddy Early to ask would she get well. And\nshe said, \"They have a place ready for her, room for her they have.\"\nSo he knew she would die, and so she did.\n\nThe priests can do things too, the same way as she could, for there\nwas one Mr. Lyne was dying, a Protestant, and the priest went in and\nbaptized him a Catholic before he died, and he said to the people\nafter, \"He's all right now, in another world.\" And it was more than\nthe baptizing made him sure of that.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMrs. Brennan, in the house beyond, went one time to Biddy Early,\nwhere the old man was losing his health. And all she told him was to\nbid him give over drinking so much whiskey. So after she said that,\nhe used only to be drinking gin.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a boy went to Biddy Early for his father, and she said, \"It's\nnot any of my business that's on him, but it's good for yourself that\nyou came to me. Weren't you sowing potatoes in such a field one day\nand didn't you find a bottle of whiskey, and bring it away and drink\nwhat was in it?\" And that was true and it must have been a bottle\n_they_ brought out of some cellar and dropped there, for they can bring\neverything away, and put in its place what will look like it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a boy near Feakle got the touch in three places, and he\ngot a great desire to go out night-walking, and he got sick. And they\nasked Biddy Early and she said, \"Watch the hens when they come in to\nroost at night, and catch a hold of the last one that comes.\" So the\nmother caught it, and then she thought she'd like to see what would\nBiddy Early do with it. So she brought it up to her house and laid it\non the floor, and it began to rustle its wings, and it lay over and\ndied. It was from her brother Biddy Early got the cure. He was sick a\nlong time, and there was a whitethorn tree out in the field, and he'd\ngo and lie under it for shade from the sun. And after he died, every\nday for a year she'd go to the whitethorn tree, and it is there she'd\ncry her fill. And then he brought her under and gave her the cure. It\nwas after that she was in service beyond Kinvara. She did her first\ncure on a boy, after the doctors giving him up.\n\n\n_An Old Man from Kinvara:_\n\nMy wife is paralysed these thirty-six years, and the neighbours\nsaid she'd get well if the child died, for she got it after her\nconfinement, all in a minute. But the child died in a year and eleven\nmonths, and she got no better. And then they said she'd get taken\nafter twenty-one years, but that passed, and she's just the same way.\nAnd she's as good a Christian as any all the time.\n\nI went to Biddy Early one time about her. She was a very old woman,\nall shaky, and the crankiest woman I ever saw. And the husband was\na fine young man, and he lying in the bed. It was a man from Kinvara\nhalf-paralysed I brought with me, and she would do nothing for him at\nfirst, and then the husband bid her do what she could. So she took\nthe bottle and shook it and looked in it, and she said what was in\nhim was none of her business. And I had work to get him a lodging\nthat night in Feakle, for the priests had all the people warned\nagainst letting any one in that had been to her. She wouldn't take\nthe whiskey I brought, but the husband and myself, we opened it and\ndrank it between us.\n\nShe gave me a bottle for my wife, but when I got to the workhouse,\nwhere I had to put her in the hospital, they wouldn't let me through\nthe gate for they heard where I had been. So I had to hide the bottle\nfor a night by a wall, on the grass, and I sent my brother's wife to\nfind it, and to bring it to her in the morning into the workhouse.\nBut it did her no good, and Biddy Early told her after it was because\nI didn't bring it straight to her, but had left it on the ground for\nthe night.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBiddy Early beat all women. No one could touch her. I knew a girl,\na friend of my own, at Burren and she was sick a long while and the\ndoctors could do nothing for her, and the priests read over her but\nthey could do nothing. And at last the husband went to Biddy Early and\nshe said, \"I can't cure her, and the woman that can cure her lives in\nthe village with her.\" So he went home and told this and the women of\nthe village came into the house and said, \"God bless her,\" all except\none, and nothing would make her come into the house. But they watched\nher, and one night when a lot of them were sitting round the fire\nsmoking, she let a spit fall on the floor. So they gathered that up\n(with respects to you), and brought it in to the sick woman and rubbed\nit to her, and she got well. It might have done as well if they brought\na bit of her petticoat and burned it and rubbed the ashes on her. But\nthere's something strange about spits, and if you spit on a child or a\nbeast it's as good as if you'd say, \"God bless it.\"\n\n\n_John Curtin:_\n\nI was with Biddy Early one time for my brother. She was out away in\nEnnis when we got to the house, and her husband that she called Tommy.\nAnd the kitchen was full of people waiting for her to come in. So then\nshe came, and the day was rainy, and she was wet, and she went over\nto the fire, and began to take off her clothes, and to dry them, and\nthen she said to her husband: \"Tommy, get the bottle and give them\nall a drop.\" So he got the bottle and gave a drink to everyone. But\nmy brother was in behind the door, and he missed him and when he came\nback to the fire she said: \"You have missed out the man that has the\nbest heart of them all, and there he is behind the door.\" And when my\nbrother came out she said, \"Give us a verse of a song,\" and he said,\n\"I'm no songster,\" but she said, \"I know well that you are, and a good\ndancer as well.\" She cured him and his wife after.\n\nThere was a neighbour of mine went to her too, and she said: \"The\nfirst time you got the touch was the day you had brought a cart of\nturf from that bog at Ballinabucky to Scahanagh. And when you were\nin the road you got it, and you had to lie down on the creel of turf\ntill you got to the public road.\" And she told him that he had a pane\nof glass broke in his window and that was true enough. She must have\nbeen away walking with the faeries every night or how did she know\nthat, or where the village of Scahanagh was?\n\n * * * * *\n\nMrs. Kenny has been twice to Biddy Early. Once for her brother who\nwas ill, and light-headed and sent to Galway. And Biddy Early shook\nthe bottle twice, and she said, \"It is none of my business, and it's\na heavy cold that settled in his head.\" And she would not take the\nshilling. A red, red woman she was.\n\n\n_Mary Glyn:_\n\nI am a Clare woman, but the last fifty years I spent in Connacht.\nNear Feakle I lived, but I only saw Biddy Early once, the time she\nwas brought to the committee and to the courthouse. She lived in a\nlittle house near Feakle that time, and her landlord was Dr. Murphy\nin Limerick, and he sent men to evict her and to pull the house\ndown, and she held them in the door and said: \"Whoever will be the\nfirst to put a bar to the house, he'll remember it.\" And then a man\nput his bar in between two stones, and if he did, he turned and got\na fall someway and he broke the thigh. After that Dr. Murphy brought\nher to the court, \"Faeries and all,\" he said, for he brought the\nbottle along with her. So she was put out, but Murphy had cause to\nremember it, for he was living in a house by himself, and one night\nit caught fire and was burned down, and all that was left of him\nwas one foot that was found in a corner of the walls. She had four\nhusbands, and the priest wouldn't marry her to the last one, and\nit was by the teacher that she was married. She was a good-looking\nwoman, but like another, the day I saw her. My husband went to her\nthe time Johnny, my little boy, was dying. He had a great pain in his\ntemple, and she said: \"He has enough in him to kill a hundred; but if\nhe lives till Monday, come and tell me.\" But he was dead before that.\nAnd she said, \"If you came to me before this, I'd not have let you\nstop in that house you're in.\" But Johnny died; and there was a blush\nover his face when he was going, and after that I couldn't look at\nhim, but those that saw him said that _he_ wasn't in it. I never saw\nhim since, but often and often the father would go out thinking he\nmight see him. But I know well he wouldn't like to come back and to\nsee me fretting for him.\n\nWe left the house after that and came here. A travelling woman that\ncame in to see me one time in that house said, \"This is a fine airy\nhouse,\" and she said that three times, and then she said, \"But in that\ncorner of it you'll lose your son,\" and it happened, and I wish now\nthat I had minded what she said. A man and his family went into that\nhouse after, and the first summer they were in it, he and his sons\nwere putting up a stack of hay in the field with pitchforks, and the\npitchfork in his hand turned some way into his stomach and he died.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt is Biddy Early had the great name, but priests were against her.\nThere went a priest one time to stop her, and when he came near the\ndoor the horse fell that was in his car. Biddy Early came out then\nand bid him to give three spits on the horse, and he did that, and it\nrose up then and there. It was himself had put the evil eye on it.\n\"It was yourself did it, you bodach,\" she said to the priest. And he\nsaid, \"You may do what you like from this out, and I will not meddle\nwith you again.\"\n\n\n_Mrs. Crone:_\n\nI was myself digging potatoes out in that field beyond, and a woman\npassed by the road, but I heard her say nothing, but a pain came on\nmy head and I fell down, and I had to go to my bed for three weeks.\nMy mother went then to Biddy Early. Did you ever hear of her? And\nshe looked in the blue bottle she had, and she said my name. And she\nsaw me standing before her, and knew all about me and said, \"Your\ndaughter was digging potatoes with her husband in the field, and a\nwoman passed by and she said, 'It is as good herself is with a spade\nas the man,'\" for I was a young woman at the time. She gave my mother\na bottle for me, and I took three drinks of it in the bed, and then I\ngot up as well as I was before.\n\n\n_Peter Feeney:_\n\nBiddy Early said to a man that I met in America and that went to her\none time, that this place between Finevara and Aughanish is the most\nhaunted place in all Ireland.\n\nSurely Biddy Early was _away_ herself. That's what I always heard.\nAnd I hear that at a hurling near Feakle the other day there was a\nsmall little man, and they say he was a friend of hers and has got\nher gift.\n\n\n MRS. SHERIDAN\n\n_Mrs. Sheridan, as I call her, was wrinkled and half blind, and had\ngone barefoot through her lifetime. She was old, for she had once met\nRaftery, the Gaelic poet, at a dance, and he died before the famine\nof '47. She must have been comely then, for he had said to her: \"Well\nplaned you are; the carpenter that planed you knew his trade\"; and she\nwas ready of reply and answered him back, \"Better than you know yours,\"\nfor his fiddle had two or three broken strings. And then he had spoken\nof a neighbour in some way that vexed her father, and he would let him\nspeak no more with her. And she had carried a regret for this through\nher long life, for she said: \"If it wasn't for him speaking as he did,\nand my father getting vexed, he might have made words about me like he\ndid for Mary Hynes and for Mary Brown.\" She had never been to school\nshe told me, because her father could not pay the penny a week it would\nhave cost. She had never travelled many miles from the parish of her\nbirth, and I am sure had never seen pictures except the sacred ones on\nchapel walls; and yet she could tell of a Cromwellian castle built up\nand of a drawbridge and of long-faced, fair-haired women, and of the\nyet earlier round house and saffron dress of the heroic times, I do not\nknow whether by direct vision, or whether as Myers wrote: \"It may even\nbe that a World-soul is personally conscious of all its past, and that\nindividual souls, as they enter into deeper consciousness enter into\nsomething which is at once reminiscence and actuality.... Past facts\nwere known to men on earth, not from memory only but by written record;\nand these may be records, of what kind we know not, which persist in\nthe spiritual world. Our retrocognitions seem often a recovery of\nisolated fragments of thought and feeling, pebbles still hard and\nrounded amid the indecipherable sands over which the mighty waters are\n'rolling evermore.'\"_\n\n_She had never heard of the great mystic Jacob Behmen, and yet when\nan unearthly visitor told her the country of youth is not far from\nthe place where we live, she had come near to his root idea that \"the\nworld standeth in Heaven and Heaven in the World, and are in one\nanother as day and night.\"_\n\n\n_I was told by Mrs. Sheridan:_\n\nThere was a woman, Mrs. Keevan, killed near the big tree at Raheen, and\nher husband was after that with Biddy Early, and she said it was not\nthe woman that had died at all, but a cow that died and was put in her\nplace. All my life I've seen _them_ and enough of them. One day I was\nwith Tom Mannion by the big hole near his house, and we saw a man and\na woman come from it, and a great troop of children, little boys they\nseemed to be, and they went through the gate into Coole, and there we\ncould see them running and running along the wall. And I said to Tom\nMannion, \"It may be a call for one of us.\" And he said, \"Maybe it's for\nsome other one it is.\" But on that day week he was dead.\n\nOne time I saw the old Colonel standing near the road, I know well\nit was him. But while I was looking at him, he was changed into the\nlikeness of an ass.\n\nI was led astray myself one day in Coole when I went to gather sticks\nfor the fire. I was making a bundle of them, and I saw a boy beside\nme, and a little grey dogeen with him, and at first I thought it was\nWilliam Hanlon, and then I saw it was not. And he walked along with me,\nand I asked him did he want any of the sticks and he said he did not,\nand he seemed as we were walking to grow bigger and bigger. And when\nhe came to where the caves go underground he stopped, and I asked him\nhis name, and he said, \"You should know me, for you've seen me often\nenough.\" And then he was gone, and I know that he was no living thing.\n\nThere was a child I had, and he a year and a half old, and he got\na quinsy and a choking in the throat and I was holding him in my\narms beside the fire, and all in a minute he died. And the men\nwere working down by the river, washing sheep, and they heard the\ncrying of a child from over there in the air, and they said, \"That's\nSheridan's child.\" So I knew sure enough that he was _taken_.\n\nCome here close and I'll tell you what I saw at the old castle there\nbelow (Ballinamantane). I was passing there in the evening and I\nsaw a great house and a grand one with screens (clumps of trees) at\nthe ends of it, and the windows open--Coole house is nothing like\nwhat it was for size or grandeur. And there were people inside and\nladies walking about, and a bridge across the river. For they can\nbuild up such things all in a minute. And two coaches came driving\nup and across the bridge to the castle, and in one of them I saw\ntwo gentlemen, and I knew them well and both of them had died long\nbefore. As to the coaches and the horses I didn't take much notice of\nthem for I was too much taken up with looking at the two gentlemen.\nAnd a man came and called out and asked me would I come across the\nbridge, and I said I would not. And he said, \"It would be better for\nyou if you did, you'd go back heavier than you came.\" I suppose they\nwould have given me some good thing. And then two men took up the\nbridge and laid it against the wall. Twice I've seen that same thing,\nthe house and the coaches and the bridge, and I know well I'll see it\na third time before I die. (_Note_ 12.)\n\nOne time when I was living at Ballymacduff there was two little boys\ndrowned in the river there, one was eight years old and the other\neleven years. And I was out in the fields, and the people looking\nin the river for their bodies, and I saw a man coming away from it,\nand the two boys with him, he holding a hand of each and leading\nthem away. And he saw me stop and look at them and he said, \"Take\ncare would you bring them from me, for you have only one in your own\nhouse, and if you take these from me, she'll never come home to you\nagain.\" And one of the little chaps broke from his hand and ran to\nme, and the other cried out to him, \"Oh, Pat, would you leave me!\" So\nthen he went back and the man led them away. And then I saw another\nman, very tall he was, and crooked, and watching me like this with\nhis head down and he was leading two dogs the other way, and I knew\nwell where he was going and what he was going to do with them.\n\nAnd when I heard the bodies were laid out, I went to the house to\nhave a look at them, and those were never the two boys that were\nlying there, but the two dogs that were put in their places. I knew\nthis by a sort of stripes on the bodies such as you'd see in the\ncovering of a mattress; and I knew the boys couldn't be in it, after\nme seeing them led away.\n\nAnd it was at that time I lost my eye, something came on it, and I\nnever got the sight again. All my life I've seen _them_ and enough of\nthem. One time I saw one of the fields below full of them, some were\npicking up stones and some were ploughing it up. But the next time I\nwent by there was no sign of it being ploughed at all. They can do\nnothing without some live person is looking at them, that's why they\nwere always so much after me. Even when I was a child I could see\nthem, and once they took my walk from me, and gave me a bad foot, and\nmy father cured me, and if he did, in five days after he died.\n\nBut there's no harm at all in them, not much harm.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a woman lived near me at Ballymacduff, and she used to go\nabout to attend women; Sarah Redington was her name. And she was\nbrought _away_ one time by a man that came for her into a hill,\nthrough a door, but she didn't know where the hill was. And there\nwere people in it, and cradles and a woman in labour, and she helped\nher and the baby was born, and the woman told her it was only that\nnight she was brought away. And the man led her out again and put\nher in the road near her home and he gave her something rolled in a\nbag, and he bid her not to look at it till she'd get home, and to\nthrow the first handful of it away from her. But she wouldn't wait to\nget home to look at it, and she took it off her back and opened it,\nand there was nothing in it but cow-dung. And the man came to her and\nsaid, \"You have us near destroyed looking in that, and we'll never\nbring you in again among us.\"\n\nThere was a man I know well was away with them, often and often, and\nhe was passing one day by the big tree and they came about him and he\nhad a new pair of breeches on, and one of them came and made a slit\nin them, and another tore a little bit out, and then they all came\nrunning and tearing little bits till he hadn't a rag left. Just to be\nhumbugging him they did that. And they gave him good help, for he had\nbut an acre of land, and he had as much on it as another would have on\na big farm. But his wife didn't like him to be going and some one told\nher of a cure for him, and she said she'd try it and if she did, within\ntwo hours after she was dead; killed they had her before she'd try it.\nHe used to say that where he was brought was into a round very big\nhouse, and Cairns that went with them told me the same. (_Note_ 13.)\n\nThree times when I went for water to the well, the water spilled\nover me, and I told Bridget after that they must bring the water\nthemselves, I'd go for it no more. And the third time it was done\nthere was a boy, one of the Heniffs, was near, and when he heard what\nhappened me he said, \"It must have been the woman that was at the\nwell along with you that did that.\" And I said there was no woman at\nthe well along with me. \"There was,\" said he; \"I saw her there beside\nyou, and the two little tins in her hand.\"\n\nOne day after I came to live here at Coole, a strange woman came into\nthe house, and I asked what was her name and she said, \"I was in it\nbefore ever you were in it,\" and she went into the room inside and I\nsaw her no more.\n\nBut Bridget and Peter saw her coming in, and they asked me who she\nwas, for they never saw her before. And in the night when I was\nsleeping at the foot of the bed, she came and threw me out on the\nfloor, that the joint of my arm has a mark in it yet. And every night\nshe came, and she'd spite me or annoy me in some way. And at last\nwe got Father Nolan to come and to drive her out. And as soon as he\nbegan to read, there went out of the house a great blast, and there\nwas a sound as loud as thunder. And Father Nolan said, \"It's well for\nyou she didn't have you killed before she went.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere's something that's not right about an old cat and it's well not\nto annoy them. I was in the house one night, and one came in, and he\ntried to bring away the candle that was lighted in the candlestick,\nand it standing on the table. And I had a little rod beside me, and I\nmade a hit at him with it, and with that he dropped the candle and\nmade at me as if to tear me. And I went on my knees and asked his\npardon three times, and when I asked it the third time he got quiet\nall of a minute, and went out at the door.\n\nAnd as to hares--bid Master Robert never to shoot a hare, for you\nwouldn't know what might be in it. There were two women I knew,\nmother and daughter, and they died. And one day I was out by the\nwood, and I saw two hares sitting by the wall, and the minute I saw\nthem I knew well who they were. And the mother made as though she'd\nkill me, but the daughter stopped her. Bad they must have been to\nhave been put into that shape, and indeed I know that they weren't\ntoo good. I saw the mother another time come up near the door as if\nto see me, and when she got near, she turned herself into a red hare.\n\nThe priests can do cures out of their book, and the time the cure is\ndone is when they turn the second leaf. There was a boy near Kinvara\ngot a hurt and he was brought into a house and Father Grogan was got\nto do a cure on him. And he did it, and within two days the priest's\nbrother was made a fool of, and is locked up in a madhouse ever\nsince, and it near seven years ago. (_Note_ 14.)\n\nThere was a boy of the Nally's died near a year ago; and when I heard\nhe was dead I went down to the house, and there I saw him outside and\ntwo men bringing him away, and one of them said to me, \"We couldn't\ndo this but for you being there watching us.\" That's the last time I\nsaw any of them.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a boy got a fall from a cart near the house beyond, and he\nwas brought in to Mrs. Raynor's and laid in the bed and I went in to\nsee him. And he said what he saw was a little boy run across the road\nbefore the cart, and the horse took fright and ran away and threw\nhim from it. And he asked to be brought to my house, for he wouldn't\nstop where he was; \"for\" says he, \"the woman of this house gave me no\ndrink and showed me no kindness, and she'll be repaid for that.\" And\nsure enough within the year she got the dropsy and died. And he was\ncarried out of the door backwards, but the mother brought him to her\nown house and wouldn't let him come to mine, and 'twas as well, for I\nwouldn't refuse him, but I don't want to be annoyed with _them_ any\nmore than I am.\n\nDid you know Mrs. Byrne that lived in Doolin? Swept she was after\nher child was born. And near a year after I saw her coming down the\nroad near the old castle. \"Is that you, Mary?\" I said to her, \"and\nis it to see me you are coming?\" But she went on. It was in May when\n_they_ are all changing. (_Note_ 15.) There was a priest, Father\nWaters, told me one time that he was after burying a boy, one Fahy,\nin Kilbecanty churchyard. And he was passing by the place again in\nthe evening, and there he saw a great fire burning, but whether it\nwas of turf or of sticks he couldn't tell, and there was the boy he\nhad buried sitting in the middle of it.\n\nI know that I used to be away among them myself, but how they brought\nme I don't know, but when I'd come back, I'd be cross with the husband\nand with all. I believe when I was with them I was cross that they\nwouldn't let me go, and that's why they didn't keep me altogether,\nthey didn't like cross people to be with them. The husband would ask\nme where I was, and why I stopped so long away, but I think he knew I\nwas _taken_ and it fretted him, but he never spoke much about it. But\nmy mother knew it well, but she'd try to hide it. The neighbours would\ncome in and ask where was I, and she'd say I was sick in the bed--for\nwhatever was put there in place of me would have the head in under the\nbed-clothes. And when a neighbour would bring me in a drink of milk,\nmy mother would put it by and say, \"Leave her now, maybe she'll drink\nit tomorrow.\" And maybe in a day or two I'd meet someone and he'd say,\n\"Why wouldn't you speak to me when I went into the house to see you?\"\nAnd I was a young fresh woman at that time. Where they brought me to\nI don't know, or how I got there, but I'd be in a very big house, and\nit round, the walls far away that you'd hardly see them, and a great\nmany people all round about. I saw there neighbours and friends that\nI knew, and they in their own clothing and with their own appearance,\nbut they wouldn't speak to me nor I to them, and when I'd meet them\nagain I'd never say to them that I saw them there. But the others had\nstriped clothes of all colours, and long faces, and they'd be talking\nand laughing and moving about. What language had they? Irish of course,\nwhat else would they talk?\n\nAnd there was one woman of them, very tall and with a long face,\nstanding in the middle, taller than any one you ever saw in this\nworld, and a tall stick in her hand; she was the mistress. She had\na high yellow thing on her head, not hair, her hair was turned back\nunder it, and she had a long yellow cloak down to her feet and\nhanging down behind. Had she anything like that in the picture in\nher hand? [a crown of gold balls or apples.] It was not on her head,\nit was lower down here about the body, and shining, and a thing [a\nbrooch] like that in the picture, but down hanging low like the\nother. And that picture you have there in you hand, I saw no one like\nit, but I saw a picture like it hanging on the wall. (_Note_ 16.) It\nwas a very big place and very grand, and a long table set out, but\nI didn't want to stop there and I began crying to go home. And she\ntouched me here in the breast with her stick, she was vexed to see\nme wanting to go away. They never brought me away since. Grand food\nthey'd offer me and wine, but I never would touch it, and sometimes\nI'd have to give the breast to a child.\n\nHimself died, but it was _they_ took him from me. It was in the\nnight and he lying beside me, and I woke and heard him move, and I\nthought I heard some one with him. And I put out my hand and what I\ntouched was an iron hand, like knitting needles it felt. And I heard\nthe bones of his neck crack, and he gave a sort of a choked laugh,\nand I got out of the bed and struck a light and I saw nothing, but I\nthought I saw some one go through the door. And I called to Bridget\nand she didn't come, and I called again and she came and she said she\nstruck a light when she heard the noise and was coming, and someone\ncame and struck the light from her hand. And when we looked in the\nbed, himself was lying dead and not a mark on him.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a woman, Mrs. Leary, had something wrong with her, and she\nwent to Biddy Early. And nothing would do her but to bring my son\nalong with her, and I was vexed. What call had she to bring him with\nher? And when Biddy Early saw him she said, \"You'll travel far, but\nwherever you go you'll not escape them.\" The woman he went up with\ndied about six months after, but he went to America, and he wasn't\nlong there when what was said came true, and he died. They followed\nhim as far as he went.\n\nAnd one day since then I was on the road to Gort, and Madden said to\nme, \"Your son's on the road before you.\" And I said, \"How could that\nbe, and he dead?\" But still I hurried on. And at Coole gate I met a\nlittle boy and I asked did he see any one and he said, \"You know\nwell who I saw.\" But I got no sight of him at all myself.\n\nI saw the coach one night near Kiltartan Chapel. Long it was and\nblack, and I saw no one in it. But I saw who was sitting up driving\nit, and I knew it to be one of the Miskells that was taken before\nthat. (_Note_ 17.)\n\n * * * * *\n\nOne day I was following the goat to get a sup of milk from her, and\nshe turned into the field and up into the castle of Lydican and went\nup from step to step up the stairs to the top, and I followed and on\nthe stairs a woman passed me, and I knew her to be Colum's wife. And\nwhen we got to the room at the top, I looked up, and there standing\non the wall was a woman looking down at me, long-faced and tall and\nwith grand clothes, and on her head something yellow and slippery,\nnot hair but like marble. (_Note_ 18.) And I called out to ask her\nwasn't she afraid to be up there, and she said she was not. And a\nshepherd that used to live below in the castle saw the same woman one\nnight he went up to the top, and a room and a fire and she sitting by\nit, but when he went there again there was no sign of her nor of the\nroom, nothing but the stones as before.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI never saw them on horses; but when I came to live at Peter Mahony's\nhe used to bring in those red flowers [ragweed] that grow by the\nrailway, when their stalks were withered, to make the fire. And one\nday I was out in the road, and two men came over to me and one was\nwearing a long grey dress. And he said to me, \"We have no horses to\nride on and have to go on foot, because you have too much fire.\" So\nthen I knew it was their horses we were burning. (_Note_ 19.)\n\n * * * * *\n\nI know the cure for anything they can do to you, but it's few I'd\ntell it to. It was a strange woman came in and told it to me, and\nI never saw her again. She bid me spit and use the spittle, or to\ntake a graineen of dust from the navel, and that's what you should\ndo if any one you care for gets a cold or a shivering, or _they_ put\nanything upon him.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOne time I went up to a forth beyond Raheen to pick up a few sticks,\nand I was beating one of the sticks on the ground to break it, and a\nvoice said from below, \"Is it to break down the house you want?\" And a\nthing appeared that was like a cat, but bigger than any cat ever was.\nAnd another time in a forth a man said, \"Here's gold for you, but don't\nlook at it till you go home.\" And I looked and I saw horse-dung and I\nsaid, \"Keep it yourself, much good may it do you.\" They never gave me\nanything did me good, but a good deal of torment I had from them. And\nthey're often walking the road, and if you met them you wouldn't know\nthem from any other person; but I'd know them well enough, but I'd say\nnothing--and that's a grand bush we're passing by--whether it belongs\nto them I don't know, but wherever they get shelter, there they might\nbe--but anyway it's a very fine bush--God bless it.\n\nAnd when you speak of them you should always say the day of the week.\nMaybe you didn't notice that I said, \"This is Friday\" just when we\nwere hardly in at the gate.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt's very weak I am, and took to my bed since yesterday. _They've_\nchanged now out of where they were near the castle, and it's inside\nCoole demesne they are. It was an old man told me that, I met him on\nthe road there below. First I thought he was a young man, and then I\nsaw he was not, and he grew very nice-looking after, and he had plaid\nclothes. \"We're moved out of that now,\" he said, \"and it's strangers\nwill be coming in it. And you ought to know me,\" he said. And when I\nlooked at him I thought I did.\n\nAnd one day I was down in Coole I saw their house, more like a big\ndairy, with red tiles and a high chimney and a lot of smoke out of\nit, and there was a woman at the door and two or three outside. But\nthey'll do you no harm, for the man told me so. \"They needn't be\nafraid,\" he said, \"we're good neighbours, but let them not say too\nmuch if the milk might go from the cows now and again.\"\n\nI was over beyond Raheen one time, and I saw a woman milking and she\nat the wrong side of the cow. And when she saw me she got up, and\nshe had a bucket that was like a plate, and it full of milk and she\ngave it to a man that was waiting there, that I thought first was one\nof the O'Heas, and they went away. And the cow was a grand fine one,\nbut who it belonged to I didn't know--maybe to themselves.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt's about a week ago one night some one came into the room in\nthe dark, and I saw it was my son that I lost--he that went to\nAmerica--James. He didn't die, he was whipped away--I knew he wasn't\ndead, for I saw him one day on the road to Gort on a coach, and he\nlooked down and he said, \"That's my poor mother.\" And when he came in\nhere, I couldn't see him, but I knew him by his talk. And he said,\n\"It's asleep she is,\" and he put his two hands on my face and I never\nstirred. And he said, \"I'm not far from you now.\" For he is with the\nothers inside Coole near where the river goes down the swallow hole.\nTo see me he came, and I think he'll be apt to come again before\nlong. And last night there was a light about my head all the night\nand no candle in the room at all.\n\n * * * * *\n\nYes, the Sidhe sing, and they have pipers among them, a bag on each\nside and a pipe to the mouth, I think I never told you of one I saw.\n\nI was passing a field near Kiltartan one time when I was a girl,\nwhere there was a little lisheen, and a field of wheat, and when I was\npassing I heard a piper beginning to play, and I couldn't but begin to\ndance, it was such a good tune; and there was a boy standing there, and\nhe began to dance too. And then my father came by, and he asked why\nwere we dancing, and no one playing for us. And I said there was, and\nI began to search through the wheat for the piper, but I couldn't find\nhim, and I heard a voice saying, \"You'll see me yet, and it will be\nin a town.\" Well, one Christmas eve I was in Gort and my husband with\nme, and that night at Gort I heard the same tune beginning again--the\ngrandest I ever heard--and I couldn't but begin to dance. And Glynn the\nchair-maker heard it too, and he began to dance with me in the street,\nand my man thought I had gone mad, and the people gathered round us,\nfor they could see or hear nothing. But I saw the piper well, and he\nhad plaid clothes, blue and white, and he said, \"Didn't I tell you that\nwhen I saw you again it would be in a town?\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nI never saw fire go up in the air, but in the wood beyond the tree at\nRaheen I used often to see like a door open at night, and the light\nshining through it, just as it might shine through the house door,\nwith the candle and the fire inside, if it would be left open.\n\nMany of _them_ I have seen--they are like ourselves only wearing\nbracket clothes (_Note_ 20.), and their bodies are not so strong or\nso thick as ours, and their eyes are more shining than our eyes. I\ndon't see many of them here, but Coole is alive with them, as plenty\nas grass; I often go awhile and sit inside the gate there. I saw them\nmake up a house one time near the natural bridge, and I saw them\ncoming over the gap twice near the chapel, a lot of little boys, and\ntwo men and a woman, and they had old talk and young talk. One of\nthem came in here twice, and I gave him a bit of bread, but he said,\n\"There's salt in it\" and he put it away. (_Note_ 21.)\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen Annie Rivers died the other day, there were two funerals in it,\na big funeral with a new coffin and another that was in front of\nthem, men walking, the handsomest I ever saw, and they with black\nclothes about their body. I was out there looking at them, and there\nwas a cow in the road, and I said, \"Take care would you drive away\nthe cow.\" And one of them said, \"No fear of that, we have plenty of\ncows _on the other side of the wall_.\" But no one could see them but\nmyself. I often saw them and it was they took the sight of my eyes\nfrom me. And Annie Rivers was not in the grand coffin, she was with\n_them_ a good while before the funeral.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThat time I saw the two funerals at Rivers's that I was telling you\nabout, I heard Annie call to those that were with her, \"You might as\nwell let me have Bartley; it would be better for the two castles to\nmeet.\" And since then the mother is uneasy about Bartley, and he\nfell on the floor one day and I know well he is _gone_ since the day\nAnnie was buried. And I saw others at the funeral, and some that you\nknew well among them. And look now, you should send a coat to some\npoor person, and your own friends among the dead will be covered, for\nyou could see the skin here. [_She made a gesture passing her hand\ndown each arm, exactly the same gesture as old Mary Glynn of Slieve\nEchtge had made yesterday when she said, \"Have you a coat you could\nsend me, for my arms are bare?\" and I had promised her one._]\n\n * * * * *\n\nWould I have gone among them if I had died last month? I think not. I\nthink that I have lived my time out, since my father was taken.\n\nHe was a young man at that time, and one time I was out in the field,\nand I got a knock on the foot, and a lump rose; there is the mark\nof it yet. It was after that I was on the road with my father, near\nKinvara, and a man came and began to beat him. And I thought that he\nwas going to beat me, and I got in near the wall and my father said,\n\"Spare the girl!\" \"I will do that, I will spare her,\" said the man.\nHe went away then, and within a week my father was dead.\n\nAnd my mother told me that before the burying, she saw the corpse on\nthe bed, sitting on the side of the bed, and his feet hanging down. I\nsaw my father often since then, but not this good while now. He had\nalways a young appearance when I saw him.\n\nA big woman came to the window and looked in at me, the time I was on\nthe bed lately. \"Rise up out of that,\" she said. I saw her another\ntime on the road, and the wind blew her dress open, and I could see\nthat she had nothing at all on underneath it.\n\nIn May they are as thick everywhere as the grass, but there's no fear\nat all for you or for Master Robert. I know that, for _one_ told it\nto me.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"Tir-nan-og\" that is not far from us. One time I was in the chapel\nat Labane, and there was a tall man sitting next me, and he dressed\nin grey, and after the Mass I asked him where he came from. \"From\nTir-nan-og,\" says he. \"And where is that?\" I asked him. \"It's not far\nfrom you,\" he said; \"it's near the place where you live.\" I remember\nwell the look of him and him telling me that. The priest was looking\nat us while we were talking together. (_Note_ 22.)\n\n * * * * *\n\n_She died some years ago and I am told:\n\n\"There is a ghost in Mrs. Sheridan's house. They got a priest to say\nMass there, but with all that there is not one in it has leave to lay\na head on the pillow till such time as the cock crows.\"_\n\n\n MR. SAGGARTON\n\n_I was told one day by our doctor, a good fowler an physician, now,\nalas, passed away, of an old man in Clare who had knowledge of \"the\nOthers,\" and I took Mr. Yeats to see him._\n\n_We found him in his hayfield, and he took us to his thatched\nlime-white house and told us many things. A little later we went\nthere again to verify what I had put down. I remember him as very\ngentle and courteous, and that a cloth was spread and tea made for us\nby his daughters, he himself sitting at the head of the table._\n\n_Mr. Yeats at that time wore black clothes and a soft black hat, but\ngave them up later, because he was so often saluted as a priest.\nBut this time another view was taken, and I was told after a while\nthat the curate of the Clare parish had written to the curate of a\nConnacht parish that Lady Gregory had come over the border with \"a\nScripture Reader\" to try and buy children for proselytizing purposes.\nBut the Connacht curate had written back to the Clare curate that he\nhad always thought him a fool, and now he was sure of it._\n\n\n_The old man I have called Mr. Saggarton said:_\n\nOur family diminished very much till at last there were but three\nbrothers left, and they separated. One went to Ennis and another came\nhere and the other to your own place beyond. It was a long time before\nthey could make one another out again. It was my uncle used to go away\namong _them_. When I was a young chap, I'd go out in the field working\nwith him, and he'd bid me go away on some message, and when I'd come\nback it might be in a faint I'd find him. It was he himself was taken;\nit was but his shadow or some thing in his likeness was left behind.\nHe was a very strong man. You might remember Ger Kelly what a strong\nman he was, and stout, and six feet two inches in height. Well, he and\nmy uncle had a dispute one time, and he made as if to strike at him,\nand my uncle, without so much as taking off his coat, gave one blow\nthat stretched him on the floor. And at the barn at Bunahowe he and\nmy father could throw a hundred weight over the collar beam, what no\nother could do. (_Note_ 23.) My father had no notion at all of managing\nthings. He lived to be eighty years, and all his life he looked as\ninnocent as that little chap turning the hay. My uncle had the same\ninnocent look; I think they died quite happy.\n\nOne time the wife got a touch, and she got it again, and the third\ntime she got up in the morning and went out of the house and never\nsaid where she was going. But I had her watched, and I told the boy\nto follow her and never to lose sight of her, and I gave him the sign\nto make if he'd meet any bad thing. So he followed her, and she kept\nbefore him, and while he was going along the road something was up\non top of the wall with one leap--a red-haired man it was, with no\nlegs and with a thin face. (_Note_ 24.) But the boy made the sign and\ngot hold of him and carried him till he got to the bridge. At the\nfirst he could not lift the man, but after he made the sign he was\nquite light. And the woman turned home again, and never had a touch\nafter. It's a good job the boy had been taught the sign. Make that\nsign with your thumbs if ever when you're walking out you feel a sort\nof a shivering in the skin, for that shows there's some bad thing\nnear, but if you hold your hands like that, if you went into a forth\nitself, it couldn't harm you. And if you should any time feel a sort\nof a pain in your little finger, the surest thing is to touch it with\nhuman dung. Don't neglect that, for if they're glad get one of us,\nthey'd be seven times better pleased to get the like of you.\n\nYoungsters they take mostly to do work for them, and they are death\non handsome people, for they are handsome themselves. To all sorts\nof work they put them, and digging potatoes and the like, and they\nhave wine from foreign parts, and cargoes of gold coming in to them.\nTheir houses are ten times more beautiful and ten times grander than\nany house in this world. And they could build one of them up in that\nfield in ten minutes. Clothes of all colours they wear, and crowns\nlike that one in the picture, and of other shapes. (_Note_ 25.) They\nhave different queens, not always the same. The people they bring\naway must die some day; as to themselves, they were living from past\nages, and they can never die till the time when God has His mind made\nup to redeem them.\n\nAnd those they bring away are always glad to be brought back again.\nIf you were to bring a heifer from those mountains beyond and to put\nit into a meadow, it would be glad to get back again to the mountain,\nbecause it is the place it knows.\n\nCoaches they make up when they want to go driving, with wheels and\nall, but they want no horses. There might be twenty of them going out\ntogether sometimes, and all full of them.\n\nThey are everywhere around us, and may be within a yard of us now in\nthe grass. But if I ask you, \"What day is tomorrow,\" and you said,\n\"Thursday,\" they wouldn't be able to overhear us. They have the power\nto go in every place, even on to the book the priest is using.\n\nThere was one John Curran lived over there towards Bunahowe, and he\nhad a cow that died, and they were striving to rear the calf--boiled\nhay they were giving it, the juice the hay was boiled in. And you\nnever saw anything to thrive as it did. And one day some man was\nlooking at it and he said, \"You may be sure the mother comes back\nand gives it milk.\" And John Curran said, \"How can that be, and she\ndead?\" But the man said, \"She's not dead, she's in the forth beyond.\nAnd if you go towards it half an hour before sunrise you'll find\nher, and you should catch a hold of her and bring her home and milk\nher, and when she makes to go away again, take a hold of her tail\nand follow her.\" So he went out next morning, half an hour before\nsunrise, up toward the forth, and brought her home and milked her,\nand when the milking was done she started to go away and he caught a\nhold of the tail and was carried along with her. And she brought him\ninto the forth, through a door. And behind the door stood a barrel,\nand what was in the barrel is what they put their finger in, and\ntouch their forehead with when they go out, for if they didn't do\nthat all people would be able to see them. And as soon as he got in,\nthere were voices from all sides. \"Welcome, John Curran, welcome,\nJohn Curran.\" And he said: \"The devil take you, how well you know my\nname; it's not a welcome I want, it's my cow to bring home again.\"\nSo in the end he got the cow and brought her home. And he saw there\na woman that had died out of the village about ten years before, and\nshe suckling a child. (_Note_ 26.)\n\nSurely I knew Biddy Early, and my uncle was a friend of hers. It\nwas from the same power they got the cures. My uncle left me the\npower, and I was well able to do them and did many, but my stock\nwas all dying and what could I do? So I gave a part of the power to\nMrs. Tobin that lives in Gort, and she can cure a good many things.\nBiddy Early told me herself that where she got it was when she was a\nservant girl in a house, there was a baby lying in the cradle, and he\nwent on living for a few years. But he was friendly to her and used\nto play tunes for her and when he went away he gave her the bottle\nand the power. She had but to look in it and she'd see all that had\nhappened and all that was going to happen. But he made her make a\npromise never to take more than a shilling for any cure she did,\nand she would not have taken fifty pounds if you offered it to her,\nthough she might take presents of bread and wine and such things.\n\nThe cure for all things in the world? Surely she had it and knew\nwhere it was. And I knew it myself too--but I could not tell you of\nit. Seven parts I used to make it with, and one of them is a thing\nthat's in every house.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere's a lake beyond there, and my uncle one day told us by name of\na man that would be drowned there at twelve o'clock that day. And so\nit happened.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOne time I was walking on the road to Galway, near the sea, and\nanother man along with me. And I saw in a field beside the road\na very small woman walking down towards us, and she smiling and\ncarrying a can of water in her hand, and she was dressed in a blue\nspencer. So I asked the other man did he see her, and he said he did\nnot, and when I came up to the wall she was gone.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOne time myself when I went to look for a wife, I went to the house,\nand there was a hen and some chickens before the door. Well, after I\nwent home one of the chickens died. And what do you think they said,\nbut that it was I overlooked it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThey hate me because I do cures, and they hated Biddy Early too. The\npriests do them but not in the same way--they do them by the power of\nAlmighty God.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMy wife got a touch from them, and they have a watch on her ever\nsince. It was the day after I married and I went to the fair at\nClarenbridge. And when I came back the house was full of smoke, but\nthere was nothing on the hearth but cinders, and the smoke was more\nlike the smoke of a forge. And she was within lying on the bed, and\nher brother was sitting outside the door crying. So I went to the\nmother and asked her to come in, and she was crying too. And she knew\nwell what had happened, but she didn't tell me, but she sent for the\npriest. And when he came he sent me for Geoghegan and that was only\nan excuse to get me away, and what he and the mother tried to bring\nher to do was to face death, and they knew I wouldn't allow that if\nI was there. But the wife was very stout and she wouldn't give in to\nthem. So the priest read more, and he asked would I be willing to\nlose something, and I said, so far as a cow or a calf I wouldn't mind\nlosing that. Well, she partly recovered, but from that day, no year\nwent by but I lost ten lambs maybe or other things. And twice they\ntook my children out of the bed, two of them I have lost. And the\nothers they gave a touch to. That girl there,--see the way she is,\nand can't walk. In one minute it came on her out in the field, with\nthe fall of a wall. (_Note_ 27.)\n\nIt was one among _them_ that wanted the wife. A woman and a boy we\noften saw come to the door, and she was the matchmaker. And when we\nwould go out, they would have vanished.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBiddy Early's cure that you heard of, it was the moss on the water\nof the mill-stream between the two wheels of Ballylee. It can cure\nall things brought about by _them_, but not any common ailment. But\nthere is no cure for the stroke given by a queen or a fool. There\nis a queen in every house or regiment of them. It is of those they\nsteal away they make queens for as long as they live or that they are\nsatisfied with them.\n\nThere were two women fighting at a spring of water, and one hit the\nother on the head with a can and killed her. And after that her\nchildren began to die. And the husband went to Biddy Early and as\nsoon as she saw him she said, \"There's nothing I can do for you, your\nwife was a wicked woman, and the one she hit is a queen among them,\nand she is taking your children one by one and you must suffer till\ntwenty-one years are up.\" And so he did.\n\nThe stroke of a fool, there's no cure for either. There are many\nfools among them dressed in strange clothes like one of the mummers\nthat used to be going through the country. But it might be the fools\nare the wisest after all. There are two classes, the Dundonians that\nare like ourselves, and another race, more wicked and more spiteful.\nVery small they are and wide, and their belly sticks out in front, so\nthat what they carry they don't carry it on the back, but in front,\non the belly in a bag. (_Note_ 28.)\n\n * * * * *\n\nThey were fighting when Johnny Casey died; that's what often happens.\nEveryone has friends among them, and the friends would be trying to\nsave you when the others would be trying to bring you away. Youngsters\nthey pick up here and there, to help them in their fights and in their\nwork. They have cattle and horses, but all of them have only three legs.\n\nThey don't have children themselves, only the women that are brought\naway among them, they have children, but they don't live for ever,\nlike the Dundonians.\n\nThe handsome they like, and the good dancers. And if they get a boy\namongst them, the first to touch him, he belongs to her.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a boy was a splendid dancer, and straight and firm, for\nthey don't like those that go to right or left as they walk. Well,\none night he was going to a house where there was a dance, and when\nhe was about half-way to it, he came to another house, where there\nwas music and dancing going on. So he turned in, and there was a room\nall done up with curtains and with screens, and a room inside where\nthe people were sitting, and it was only those that were dancing sets\nthat came to the outside room.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAs to their treasure, it's best to be without it. There was a man\nliving by a forth, and where his house touched the forth, he built a\nlittle room and left it for them, clean and in good order, the way\nthey'd like it. And whenever he'd want money, for a fair or the like,\nhe'd find it laid on the table in the morning. And when he had it\nagain, he'd leave it there, and it would be taken away in the night.\nBut after that going on for a time he lost his son.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a room at Crags where things used to be thrown about, and\neveryone could hear the noises there. They had a right to clear it\nout and settle it the way they'd like it. You should do that in your\nown big house. Set a little room for them--with spring water in it\nalways--and wine you might leave--no, not flowers--they wouldn't want\nso much as that--but just what would show your good will.\n\nNow I have told you more than I told my wife.\n\n\n \"A GREAT WARRIOR IN THE BUSINESS\"\n\n_It was on the bounds of Connemara I heard of this healer, and went to\nsee his wife in her little rock-built cabin among the boulders, to ask\nif a cure could be done for Mr. Yeats, who was staying at a friend's\nhouse near, and who was at that time troubled by uncertain eyesight._\n\n_One evening later we walked beside the sea to the cottage where we\nwere to meet the healer; a storm was blowing and we were glad when\nthe door was opened and we found a bright turf fire._\n\n_He was short and broad, with regular features, and his hair was\nthick and dark, though he was an old man. He wore a flannel-sleeved\nwaistcoat, and his trousers were much patched on the knees. He sat\non a low bench in the wide chimney nook, holding a soft hat in his\nhands which kept nervously moving. The woman of the house came over\nnow and then to look at the iron tripod on the hearth. She, like the\nhealer, spoke only Irish. The man of the house sat between us and\ninterpreted, holding a dip candle in his hands. A dog growled without\nceasing at one side of the hearth, a reddish cat sat at the other.\nThe woman seemed frightened and angry at times as the old man spoke,\nand clutched the baby to her breast._\n\n\n_I was told by the man of the house, Coneely:_\n\nThere's a man beyond is a great warrior in this business, and no man\nwithin miles of the place will build a house or a cabin or any other\nthing without him going there to say if it's in a right place.\n\nIt was Fagan cured me of a pain I had in my arm, I couldn't get rid\nof. He gave me a something to drink, and he bid me go to a quarry and\nto touch some of the stones that were lying outside it and not to\ntouch others of them. Anyway I got well.\n\nAnd one time down by the hill we were gathering in the red seaweed,\nand there was a boy there that was leading a young horse, the same\nway he'd been leading him a year or more. But this day of a sudden he\nmade a snap to bite him, and secondly he reared as if to jump on top\nof him, and thirdly turned around and made at him with the hoofs. And\nthe boy threw himself to one side and escaped, but with the fright he\ngot he went into his bed and stopped there. And the next day Fagan\ncame and told him everything that had happened, and he said, \"I saw\nthousands on the strand near where it was last night.\"\n\n\n_Fagan's wife said to me in her house:_\n\nAre you _right_? You are? Then you're my friend. Come here close and\ntell me is there anything himself can do for you?\n\nI do the fortunes no more since I got great abuse from the priest for\nit. Himself got great abuse from the priest too--Father Haverty--and\nhe gave him plaster of Paris,--I mean by that he spoke soft and\nblathered him, but he does them all the same, and Father Kilroy gave\nhim leave when he was here.\n\nIt was from his sister he got the cure. Taken she was when her baby\nwas born. She died in the morning and the baby at night. We didn't\ntell John of it for a month after, where he was away, caring horses.\nBut he knew of it before he came home, for she followed him there one\nday he was out in the field, and when he didn't know her she said,\n\"I'm your sister Kate.\" And she said, \"I bring you a cure that you\nmay cure both yourself and others.\" And she told him of the herb and\nthe field he'd find it growing, and that he must choose a plant with\nseven branches, the half of them above the clay and the half of them\ncovered up. And she told him how to use it.\n\nTwenty years she's gone, but she's not dead yet, but the last time he\nsaw her he said that she was getting grey. Every May and November he\nsees her, he'll be seeing her soon now. When her time comes to die,\nshe'll be put in the place of some other one that's taken, and so\nshe'll get absolution. (_Note_ 29.)\n\nHe has cured many. But sometimes they are vexed with him, for some\ncure he has done, when he interferes with some person they're meaning\nto bring away. And many's the good beating they gave him out in the\nfields for doing that.\n\nMyself they gave a touch to, here in the thigh, so that I lost my\nwalk; vexed with me they are for giving up the throwing of the cup.\n\nA nurse she's been all the time among them. And don't believe those\nthat say they have no children. A boy among them is as clever as any\nboy here, but he must be matched with a woman from earth. And the\nsame way with their women, they must get a husband here. And they\nnever can give the breast to a child, but must get a nurse from here.\n\nOne time I saw them myself, in a field and they hurling. Bracket caps\nthey wore and bracket clothes that were of all colours.\n\nSome were the same size as ourselves and some looked like gossoons\nthat didn't grow well. But himself has the second sight and can see\nthem in every place.\n\nThere's as many of them in the sea as on the land, and sometimes they\nfly like birds across the bay.\n\nThe first time he did a cure it was on some poor person like\nourselves, and he took nothing for it, and in the night the sister\ncame and bid him not to do it any more without a fee. And that time\nwe lost a fine boy.\n\nThey'll all be watching round when a person is dying; and suppose it\nwas myself, there'd be my own friends crying, crying, and themselves\nwould be laughing and jesting, and glad I'd go. (_Note_ 30.)\n\nThere is always a mistress among them. When one of us goes among them\nthey would all be laughing and jesting, but when that tall mistress you\nheard of would tip her stick on the ground, they'd all draw to silence.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTell me the Christian name of your friend you want the cure for.\n\"William Butler,\" I'll keep that. (_Note_ 31.) And when himself\ngathers the herb, if it's for a man, he must call on the name of some\nother man, and call him a king--Righ--and if it's for a woman he must\ncall on the name of some other woman and call her a queen that is\ncalling on the king or the queen of the plant.\n\n\n_Fagan said to W. B. Yeats and to me:_\n\nIt's not from _them_ the harm came to your eyes. I see them in all\nplaces--and there's no man mowing a meadow that doesn't see them at\nsome time or other. As to what they look like, they'll change colour\nand shape and clothes while you look round. Bracket caps they always\nwear. There is a king and a queen and a fool in each house of them,\nthat is true enough--but they would do you no harm. The king and the\nqueen are kind and gentle, and whatever you'll ask them for they'll\ngive it. They'll do no harm at all if you don't injure them. You might\nspeak to them if you'd meet them on the road, and they'd answer you, if\nyou'd speak civil and quiet and show respect, and not be laughing or\nhumbugging--they wouldn't like that. One night I was in bed with the\nwife beside me, and the child near me, near the fire. And I turned and\nsaw a woman sitting by the fire, and she made a snap at the child, and\nI was too quick for her and got hold of it, and she was at the door and\nout of it in one minute, before I could get to her.\n\nAnother time in the field a woman came beside me, and I went on to a\ngap in the wall and she was in it before me. And then she stopped me\nand she said: \"I'm your sister that was taken; and don't you remember\nhow I got the fever first and you tended me, and then you got it\nyourself, and one had to be taken and I was the one.\" And she taught me\nthe cure, and the way to use it. And she told me that she was in the\nbest of places, and told me many things that she bound me not to tell.\nAnd I asked was it here she was kept ever since, and she said it was,\nbut she said, \"In six months I'll have to move to another place, and\nothers will come where I am now, and it would be better for you if we\nstopped here, for the most of us here now are your neighbours and your\nfriends.\" And it was she gave me the second sight. (_Note_ 32.)\n\nLast year I was digging potatoes and a man came by, one of _them_,\nand one that I knew well before. And he said, \"You have them this\nyear, and we'll have them the next two years.\" And you know the\npotatoes were good last year and you see that they are bad now, and\nhave been made away with. (_Note_ 33.) And the sister told me that\nhalf the food in Ireland goes to them, but that if they like they can\nmake out of cow-dung all they want, and they can come into a house\nand use what they like and it will never be missed in the morning.\n\n * * * * *\n\n_The old man suddenly stooped and took a handful of hot ashes in\nhis hand, and put them in his pocket. And presently he said he'd be\nafraid tonight going home the road. When we asked him why, he said\nhe'd have to tell what errand he had been on._\n\n_He said one eye of W. B. Y.'s was worse than the other, and asked if\nhe had ever slept out at nights. We asked if he goes to enquire of_\nthem (_the Others_) _what is wrong with those who came to him and he\nsaid, \"Yes, when it has to do with their business--but in this case\nit has nothing to do with it.\"_ (_Note_ 34.)\n\n\n_Coneely said next day:_\n\nI walked home with the old man last night, he was afraid to go by\nhimself. He pointed out to me on the way a graveyard where he had got\na great beating from _them_ one night. He had a drop too much taken\nafter being at a funeral, and he went there and gathered the plant\nwrong. And they came and punished him, that his head is not better of\nit ever since.\n\nHe told me the way he knows in the gathering of the plant what is\nwrong with the person that is looking for a cure. He has to go on\nhis knees and say a prayer to the king and the queen and the gentle\nand the simple among them, and then he gathers it, and if there are\nblack leaves about it, or white ones, but chiefly a black leaf folded\ndown, he knows the illness is some of their business; but for this\nyoung man the plant came fresh and green and clean. He has been among\nthem and has seen the king and the queen, and he says that they are\nno bigger than the others, but the queen wears a wide cap, and the\nothers have bracket caps.\n\nHe never would allow me to build a shed there beside the house,\nthough I never saw anything there myself.\n\n\n OLD DERUANE\n\n_Old Deruane lived in the middle island of Aran, Inishmaan, where I\nhave stayed more than once. He was one of the evening visitors to the\ncottage I stayed in, when the fishers had come home and had eaten, and\nthe fire was stirred and flashed on the dried mackerel and conger eels\nhanging over the wide hearth, and the little vessel of cod oil had a\nfresh wick put in it and lighted. The men would sit in a half-circle\non the floor, passing the lighted pipe from one to another; the women\nwould find some work with yarn or wheel. The talk often turned on the\nfallen angels or the dead, for the dwellers in those islands have not\nbeen moulded in that dogma which while making belief in the after-life\nan essential, makes belief in the shadow-visit of a spirit yearning\nafter those it loved a vanity, a failing of the great essential, common\nsense, and sets down one who believes in such things as what Burton\ncalls in his Anatomy \"a melancholy dizzard.\"_\n\n\n_I was told by Old Deruane:_\n\nI was born and bred in the North Island, and ten old fathers of mine\nare buried there.\n\nI can speak English, because I went to earn in England in the\nhard times, and I was for five quarters in a country town called\nManchester; and I have threescore and fifteen years.\n\nI knew two fine young women were brought away after childbirth, and\nthey were seen after in the North Island going about with _them_. One\nof them I saw myself there, one time I was out late at night going to\nthe east village. I saw her pattern walking on the north side of the\nwall, on the road near me, but she said nothing. And my body began\nto shake, and I was going to get to the south side of the wall, to\nput it between us; but then I said, \"Where is God?\" and I walked on\nand passed her, and she looked aside at me but she didn't speak. And\nI heard her after me for a good while, but I never looked back, for\nit's best not to look back at them.\n\nAnd there was another woman had died, and one evening late I was\ncoming from the schoolmaster, for he and I are up to one another, and\nhe often gives me charity. And then I saw her or her pattern walking\nalong that field of rock you passed by just now. But I stopped and I\ndidn't speak to her, and she went on down the road, and when she was\nabout forty fathoms below me I could hear her abusing some one, but\nno one there. I thought maybe it was that she was vexed at me that\nI didn't question her. She was a young woman too. I'll go bail they\nnever take an old man or woman--what would they do with them? If by\nchance they'd come among them they'd throw them out again.\n\nAnother night I was out and the moon shining, I knew by the look of it\nthe night was near wore away. And when I came to the corner of the road\nbeyond, my flesh began to shake and my hair rose up, and every hair was\nas stiff as that stick. So I knew that some evil thing was near, and\nI got home again. This island is as thick as grass with them, or as\nsand; but good neighbours make good neighbours, and no woman minding a\nhouse but should put a couple of the first of the potatoes aside on the\ndresser, for there's no house but they'll visit it some time or other.\nMyself, I always brush out my little tent clean of a night before I lie\ndown, and the night I'd do it most would be a rough night. How do we\nknow what poor soul might want to come in?\n\nI saw them playing ball one day when the slip you landed at was being\nmade, and I went down to watch the work. There were hundreds of them\nin the field at the top of it, about three feet tall, and little caps\non them; but the men that were working there, they couldn't see\nthem. (_Note_ 35.) And one morning I went down to the well to leave\nmy pampooties in it to soak--it was a Sabbath morning and I was going\nto Mass--and the pampooties were hard and wore away my feet, and I\nleft them there. And when I came back in a few minutes they were\ngone, and I looked in every cleft, but I couldn't find them. And when\nI was going away, I felt _them_ about me, and coming between my two\nsticks that I was walking with. And I stopped and looked down and\nsaid, \"I know you're there,\" and then I said, \"_Gentlemen_, I know\nyou're here about me,\" and when I said that word they went away. Was\nit they took my pampooties? Not at all--what would they want with\nsuch a thing as pampooties? It was some children must have taken\nthem, and I never saw them since.\n\nOne time I wanted to settle myself clean, and I brought down my\nwaistcoat and a few little things I have, to give them a rinse in\nthe sea-water, and I laid them out on a stone to dry, and I left\none of my sticks on them. And when I came back after leaving them\nfor a little time, the stick was gone. And I was vexed at first to\nbe without it, but I knew that they had taken it to be humbugging\nme, or maybe for their own use in fighting. For there is nothing\nthere is more fighting among than them. So I said, \"Welcome to it,\n_Gentlemen_, may it bring you luck; maybe you'll make more use of it\nthan ever I did myself.\"\n\nOne night when I was sleeping in my little tent, I heard a great noise\nof fighting, and I thought it was down at Mrs. Jordan's house, and that\nmaybe the children were troublesome in the bed, she having a great\nmany of them. And in the morning as I passed the house I said to her,\n\"What was on you in the night?\" And she said there was nothing happened\nthere, and that she heard no noise. So I said nothing but went on; and\nwhen I came to the flag-stones beyond her house, they were covered with\ngreat splashes and drops of blood. So I said nothing of that either,\nbut went on. What time of the year? Wait till I think, it was this very\nsame time of the year, the month of May.\n\nOne time I was out putting seed in the ground, and the ridges all\nready and the seaweed spread in them; and it was a fine day, but I\nheard a storm in the air, and then I knew by signs that it was they\nwere coming. And they came into the field and tossed the seaweed and\nthe seed about, and I spoke to them civil and then they went in to\na neighbour's field, and from that down to the sea, and there they\nturned into a ship, the grandest that ever I saw.\n\nThere was a man on this island went out with two others fishing in his\ncurragh, and when they were about a mile out they saw a ship coming\ntowards them, and when they looked again, instead of having three masts\nshe had none, and just when they were going to take up the curragh to\nbring it ashore, a great wave came and turned it upside down. And the\nman that owned her got such a fright that he couldn't walk, and the\nother two had to hold him under the arms to bring him home. And he went\nto his bed, and within a week after, he was dead.\n\nOne night I heard a crying down the road, and the next day, there was\na child of Tom Regan's dead. And it was a few months after that, that\nI heard a crying again. And the next day another of his children was\ngone.\n\nThere was a fine young man was buried in the graveyard below, and\na good time after that, there was work being done in it, and they\ncame on his coffin, and the mother made them open it, and there was\nnothing in it at all but a broom, and it tied up with a bit of a rope.\n\nThere was a man was passing by that Sheoguy place below, \"Breagh\" we\ncall it. And he saw a man come riding out of it on a white horse. And\nwhen he got home that night there was nothing for him or for any of\nthem to eat, for the potatoes were not in yet. And in the morning he\nasked the wife was there anything to eat, and she said a neighbour\nhad sent in a pan of meal. So she made that into stirabout, and he\ntook but a small bit of it out of her hand to leave more for the\nrest. And then he took a sheet, and bid her make a bag of it, and he\ngot a horse and rode to the place where he saw the man ride out, for\nhe knew he was the master of _them_. And he asked for the full of the\nbag of meal, and said he'd bring it back again when he had it. And\nthe man brought the bag in, and filled it for him and brought it out\nagain. And when the oats were ripe, the first he cut, he got ground\nat the mill and brought it to the place and gave it in. And the man\ncame out and took it, and said whatever he'd want at any time, to\ncome to him and he'd get it.\n\nIn a bad year they say they bring away the potatoes and that may be so.\nThey want provision, and they must get them at one place or another.\n\n\n_Mr. McArdle joins in and says:_\n\nThis I can tell you and be certain of, and I remember well that the\nman in the third house to this died after being sick a long time. And\nthe wife died after, and she was to be buried in the same place, and\nwhen they came to the husband's coffin they opened it, and there was\nnothing in it at all, neither brooms nor anything else.\n\nThere's a boy, I know him well, that was up at that forth above the\nhouse one day, and a blast of wind came and blew the hat off him. And\nwhen he saw it going off in the air he cried out, \"Do whatever is\npleasing to you, but give me back my cap!\" And in the moment it was\nsettled back again on to his head.\n\n\n_Old Deruane goes on:_\n\nThere are many can do cures, because they have something walking\nwith them, what one may call a ghost from among the Sheogue. A few\ncures I can do myself, and this is how I got them. I told you that\nI was for five quarters in Manchester, and where I lodged were two\nold women in the house, from the farthest end of Mayo, for they were\nrunning from Mayo at the time because of the hunger. And I knew that\nthey were likely to have a cure, for St. Patrick blessed the places\nhe was not in more than the places he was in, and with the cure he\nleft and the fallen angels, there are many in Mayo can do them.\n\nNow it's the custom in England never to clean the table but once\nin the week and that on a Saturday night. And on that night all is\nset out clean, and all the crutches of bread and bits of meat and\nthe like are gathered together in a tin can, and thrown out in the\nstreet, and women that have no other way of living come round then\nwith a bag that would hold two stone, and they pick up all that's\nthrown out in the street, and live on it for a week. And often I\ndidn't eat the half of what was before me, and I wouldn't throw it\nout, but I'd bring it to the two old women that were in the house, so\nthey grew very fond of me.\n\nWell, when the time came that I thought to draw towards home, I brought\nthem one day to a public-house and made a drop of punch for them, and\nthen I picked the cure out of them, for I was wise in those days.\n\nThose that get a touch I could save from being brought away, but I\ncouldn't bring back a man that's away, for it's only those that have\nbeen living among them for a while that can do that. There was a\nneighbour's child was sick, and I got word of it, and I went to the\nhouse, for the woman there had showed me kindness. And I went in to the\ncradle and I lifted the quilt off the child's face and you could see by\nit, and I knew the sign, that there was some of their work there. And\nI said, \"You are not likely to have the child long with you, Ma'am.\"\nAnd she said, \"Indeed I know I won't have him long.\" So I said nothing\nbut I went out, and whatever I did, and whatever I got there, I brought\nit again and gave it to the child, and he began to get better. And the\nnext day I brought the same thing again, and gave it the child, and I\nlooked at it and I said to the mother, \"He'll live to comb his hair\ngrey.\" And from that time he got better, and now there's no stronger\nchild in the island, and he the youngest in the house.\n\nAfter that the husband got sick, and the woman said to me one day,\n\"If there's anything you can do to cure him, have pity on me and on\nmy children, and I'll give you what you'll wish.\" But I said, \"I'll\ndo what I can for you, but I'll take nothing from you except maybe\na grain of tea or a glass of porter, for I wouldn't take money for\nthis, and I refused \u00a32 one time for a cure I did.\" So I went and I\nbrought back the cure, and I mixed it with flour and made it into\nthree little pills that it couldn't be lost, and gave them to him,\nand from that time he got well.\n\nThere's a woman lived down the road there, and one day I went in to\nthe house, when she was after coming from Galway town, and I asked\ncharity of her. And it was in the month of August when the bream\nfishing was going on, and she said, \"There's no one need be in want\nnow, with fresh fish in the sea and potatoes in the gardens\"; and\ngave me nothing. But when I was out the door she said, \"Well, come\nback here.\" And I said, \"If you were to offer me all you brought from\nGalway, I wouldn't take it from you now.\"\n\nAnd from that time she began to pine and to wear away and to lose her\nhealth, and at the end of three years, she walked outside her house\none day, and when she was two yards from her own threshold she fell\non the ground, and the neighbours came and lifted her up on a door\nand brought her into the house, and she died.\n\nI think I could have saved her then--I think I could, when I saw her\nlying there. But I remembered that day, and I didn't stretch out a\nhand and I spoke no word.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI'm going to rise out of the cures and not to do much more of them,\nfor _they_ have given me a touch here in the right leg, so that it's\nthe same as dead. And a woman of my village that does cures, she is\nafter being struck with a pain in the hand.\n\nDown by the path at the top of the slip from there to the hill,\nthat's the way they go most nights, hundreds and thousands of them.\nThere are two old men in the island got a beating from them; one of\nthem told me himself and brought me out on the ground, that I'd see\nwhere it was. He was out in a small field, and was after binding up\nthe grass, and the sky got very black over him and very dark. And he\nwas thrown down on the ground, and got a great beating, but he could\nsee nothing at all. He had done nothing to vex them, just minding his\nbusiness in the field.\n\nAnd the other was an old man too, and he was out on the roads, and\nthey threw him there and beat him that he was out of his mind for a\ntime.\n\nOne night sleeping in that little cabin of mine, I heard them ride\npast, and I could hear by the feet of the horses that there was a\nlong line of them.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThis is a story was going about twenty years ago. There was a curate\nin the island, and one day he got a call to the other island for the\nnext day. And in the evening he told the servant maid that attended him\nto clean his boots good and very good, for he'd be meeting good people\nwhere he was going. And she said, \"I will, Holy Father, and if you'll\ngive me your hand and word to marry me for nothing, I'll clean them\ngrand.\" And he said \"I will; whenever you get a comrade I'll marry you\nfor nothing, I give you my hand and word.\" So she had the boots grand\nfor him in the morning. Well, she got a sickness after, and after seven\nmonths going by, she was buried. And six months after that, the curate\nwas in his parlour one night and the moon shining, and he saw a boy and\na girl outside the house, and they came to the window, and he knew it\nwas the servant girl that was buried. And she said, \"I have a comrade\nnow, and I came for you to marry us as you gave your word.\" And he\nsaid, \"I'll hold to my word since I gave it,\" and he married them then\nand there, and they went away again. (_Note_ 36.)\n\n\n\n\n III\n\n THE EVIL EYE--THE TOUCH--THE\n PENALTY\n\n\n\n\n III\n\n THE EVIL EYE--THE TOUCH--THE\n PENALTY\n\n\n_\"Some friendly Tey\u00e2mena, sorry to see my suffering plight, said to\nme: 'This is because thou hast been eye-struck--what! you do not\nunderstand 'eye-struck'? Certainly they have looked in your eyes,\nKhal\u00eel. We have lookers_ (_God cut them off!_) _among us, that with\ntheir only_ (_malignant_) _eye-glances may strike down a fowl flying;\nand you shall see the bird tumble in the air with loud shrieking\nk\u00e2k-k\u00e2-k\u00e2-k\u00e2-k\u00e2. Wellah their looking can blast a palm-tree so that\nyou shall see it wither away. These are things well ascertained by\nmany faithful witnesses.\"_--DOUGHTY'S _Travels in the Arabian Desert_.\n\n * * * * *\n\n_There is one visit I have always been a little remorseful about. It\nwas in Mayo where I had gone to see the broken walls and grass-grown\nhearthstone that remain of the house where Raftery the poet was born.\nI was taken to see an old woman near, and the friend who was with me\nasked her about \"Those.\" I could see she was unwilling to speak, and\nI would not press her, for there are some who fear to vex invisible\nhearers; so we talked of America where she had lived for a little\nwhile. But presently she said, \"All I ever saw of_ them _myself was one\nnight when I was going home, and they were behind in the field watching\nme. I couldn't see them but I saw the lights they carried, two lights\non the top of a sort of dark oak pole. So I watched them and they\nwatched me, and when we were tired watching one another the lights all\nwent into one blaze, and then they went away and it went out.\" She told\nalso one or two of the traditional stories, of the man who had a hump\nput on him, and the woman \"taken\" and rescued by her husband, who she\nhad directed to seize the horse she was riding with his left hand._\n\n_Then she gave a cry and took up her walking stick from the hearth,\nburned through, and in two pieces, though the fire had seemed to be but\na smouldering heap of ashes. We were very sorry, but she said \"Don't be\nsorry. It is well it was into it the harm went.\" I passed the house two\nor three hours afterwards; shutters and door were closed, and I felt\nthat she was fretting for the stick that had been \"to America and back\nwith me, and had walked every part of the world,\" and through the loss\nof which, it may be, she had \"paid the penalty.\"_\n\n_I told a neighbour about the doctor having attended a man on the\nmountains--and how after some time, he found that one of the children\nwas sick also, but this had been hidden from him, because if one had\nto die they wanted it to be the child._\n\n_\"That's natural,\" he said. \"Let the child pay the penalty if it has\nto be paid. That's a thing that might happen easy enough.\"_\n\n\n_I was told by M. McGarity:_\n\nThere was a boy of the Cloonans I knew was at Killinane thatching\nHenniff's house. And a woman passed by, and she looked up at him, but\nshe never said, \"God bless the work.\" And Cloonan's mother was in\nthe road to Gort and the woman met her and said, \"Where did your son\nlearn thatching?\" And that day he had a great fall and was brought\nhome hurt, and the mother went to Biddy Early. And she said, \"Didn't\na red-haired woman meet you one day going into Gort and ask where\ndid your son learn thatching? And didn't she look up at him as she\npassed? It was then it was done.\" And she gave a bottle and he got\nwell after a while. (_Note_ 37.)\n\n * * * * *\n\nSome say the evil eye is in those who were baptized wrong, but I\nbelieve it's not that, but if, when a woman is carrying, some one\nthat meets her says, \"So you're in that way,\" and she says, \"The\ndevil a fear of me,\" as even a married woman might say for sport or\nnot to let on, the devil gets possession of the child at that moment,\nand when it is born it has the evil eye.\n\n\n_Margaret Bartly:_\n\nThere was a woman below in that village where I lived to my grief and\nmy sorrow, and she used to be throwing the evil eye, but she is in\nthe poor-house now--Mrs. Boylan her name is. Four she threw it on,\nnot children but big men, and they lost the walk and all, and died.\nMaybe she didn't know she had it, but it is no load to any one to say\n\"God bless you.\" I faced her one time and told her it would be no\nload to her when she would see the man in the field, and the horses\nploughing to say \"God bless them,\" and she was vexed and she asked\ndid I think she had the evil eye, and I said I did. So she began\nto scold and I left her. That was five years ago, and it is in the\npoor-house in Ballyvaughan she is this two years; but she can do no\nharm there because she has lost her sight.\n\n\n_Mrs. Nelly of Knockmogue:_\n\nThere was a girl lived there near the gate got sick. And after\nwaiting a long time and she getting no better the mother brought in\na woman that lived in the bog beyond, that used to do cures. And\nwhen she saw the girl, she knew what it was, and that she had been\noverlooked. And she said, \"Did you meet three men on the road one\nday, and didn't one of them, a dark one, speak to you and give no\nblessing?\" And she said that was so. And she would have done a cure\non her, but we had a very good priest at that time, Father Hayden, a\ncurate, and he used to take a drop of liquor and so he had courage\nto do cures. And he said this was a business for him, and he cured\nher, and the mother gave him money for it.\n\nIt was by herbs that woman used to do cures, and whatever power she\ngot in the gathering of them, she was able to tell what would happen.\nBut she was in great danger all her life from gathering the herbs, for\n_they_ don't like any one to be cured that they have put a touch on.\n\n\n_Mrs. Clerey:_\n\nI can tell you what happened to two sons of mine. A woman that passed\nby them said, \"You've often threatened me by night, and my curse is\non you now.\" And the one answered her back but the other didn't. And\nafter that they both took sick, but the one that didn't answer her\nwas the worst. And they pined a long time. And I brought the one\nthat was so bad over to Kilronan to the priest and he read over him.\nIt was a lump in his mouth he had, that you could hardly put down a\nspoonful of milk, and there was a good doctor there and he sliced\nit, and he got well. But the priest often told me that but for what\nhe did for him he would never have got well. For there's no doubt\nthere's _some_ in the world it's not well to talk with.\n\nThe time my son got the pain, he came in roaring and said he got\na stab in the knee. It was surely some evil thing that put it on\nhim. There are some that have the evil eye, and that don't know it\nthemselves. Father McEvilly told me that. He said a woman that was\ncarrying, and that was not married, but that got married while she\nwas carrying, she might put the evil eye on you, and not know it at\nall. And he said anyway it would be no great load to say \"God bless\nyou\" to any one you might meet.\n\nThe priests can do cures if they like, but those that have stock\ndon't like to be doing it, Father Folan won't do it, but Father\nMcEvilly would.\n\nOne time my brother got a great pain, and my father sent me to Father\nGallagher, to ask could he cure and read the Mass of the Holy Ghost\nover him. But when I asked him he called out, \"I won't do that, I\nwon't read for any one.\" He was afraid to go as far as that for fear\nit might fall on his stock, that he had a great deal of.\n\n\n_James Fahey:_\n\nDo you think the _drohuil_ is not in other places besides Aran? My\nmother told me herself that she was out at a dance one evening, and\nthere was a fine young man there and he dancing till he had them all\ntired; and a woman that was sitting there said \"He can do what he\nlikes with his legs,\" and at that instant he fell dead. My mother\ntold me that herself, and she heard the woman say it, and so did many\nothers that were there.\n\n\n_Frank McDaragh:_\n\nThere's none can do cures well in this island like Biddy Early used to\ndo. I want to know of some good man or woman in that line to go to, for\nthat little girl of my own got a touch last week. Coming home from Mass\nshe was, and she felt a pain in her knee, and it ran down to the foot\nand up again, and since then the feet are swelled, you might see them.\n\n\n_Mrs. Meade:_\n\nAnd about here they all believe in the faeries--and I hear them\nsay--but I don't give much heed to it--that Mrs. Hehir the butcher's\nsister that died last week--but I don't know much about it. But\nanyhow she was married three years, and had a child every year, and\nthis time she died. And when the coffin was leaving the house, the\nyoung baby began to scream, and to go into convulsions, for all the\nworld as if it was put on the fire.\n\n\n_Another says about this same woman, Mrs. Hehir:_\n\nIt's overlooked she was when she went out for a walk with a scholar\nfrom the seminary that is going to be a priest, and she without a shawl\nover her head. It's then she was overlooked; they seeing what a fine\nhandsome woman she was, she was took away to be nurse to _themselves_.\n\n\n_Mrs. Quade:_\n\nA great pity it was about Mrs. Hehir and she leaving three young\norphans. But sure they do be saying a great big black bird flew into\nthe house and around about the kitchen--and it was the next day the\nsickness took her.\n\n\n_The Doctor:_\n\nMrs. Hehirs was a difficult case to diagnose, and I could not give it\na name. At the end she was flushed and delirious; and when one of the\nwomen attending her said, \"She looks so well you wouldn't think it\nwas herself that was in it at all,\" I knew what was in their minds.\nAfterwards I was told that the day the illness began she had been\nchurning, and a strange woman came in and said, \"Give me a hold of\nthe staff and I'll do a bit of the churning for you.\" But she refused\nand the woman said, \"It's the last time you'll have the chance of\nrefusing anyone that asks you\" and went out, and she was not seen\nagain, then or afterwards.\n\n\n_J. Madden:_\n\nThere's one thing should never be done, and that's to say \"That's\na fine woman,\" or such a thing and not to say \"God bless her.\" I\nnever believed that till a man that lives in the next holding to my\nown told me what happened to a springer he had. She was as fine a\ncreature as ever you seen, and one day a friend of his came in to see\nhim, and when he was going away, \"That's a grand cow,\" says he, but\nhe didn't say \"God bless it.\" Well, the owner of the cow went into\nthe house and he sat down by the fire and lit a pipe, and when he\nhad the pipe smoked out he came out again, and there she was lying\ndown and not able to stir. So he remembered what happened and he\nwent after his friend, and found him in a neighbour's house. And he\nbrought him back with him, and made him go into the field and say,\n\"God bless it,\" and spit on the cow. And with that she got up and\nwalked away as well as before.\n\n\n_John McManus:_\n\nThey can only take a child or a horse or such things through the eye\nof a sinner. If his eye falls on it, and he speaks to praise it and\ndoesn't say \"God bless it,\" they can bring it away then. But if you\nsay it yourself in your heart, it will do as well.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man lived about a mile beyond Spiddal, and he was one day\nat a play, and he was the best at the hurling and the throwing and\nevery game. And a woman of the crowd called out to him, \"You're the\nstraightest man that's in it.\" And twice after that a man that was\nbeside him and that heard that said, saw him pass by with his coat on\nbefore sunrise. And on the fifth day after that he was dead.\n\nHe left four or five sons and some of them went to America and the\neldest of them married and was living in the place with his wife.\nAnd he was going to Galway for a fair, and his wife was away with\nher father and mother on the road to Galway and she bid him to come\nearly, that she'd have some commands for him to do. So it was before\nsunrise when he set out, and he was going over a little side road\nthrough the fields, and he came on the biggest fair he ever saw, and\nthe most people in it. And they made a way for him to pass through\nand a man with a big coat and a tall hat came out from them and\nsaid, \"Do you know me?\" And he said, \"Are you my father?\" And the\nman said, \"I am, and but for me you'd be sorry for coming here, but\nI saved you, but don't be coming out so early in the morning again.\"\nAnd he said, \"It was a year ago that Jimmy went to America. And that\nwas time enough.\" And then he said, \"And it was you that drove your\nsister away, and gave her no fortune.\" And that was true enough.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOne time there was two brothers standing in a gap in that field\nyou're looking at. And a woman passed by, I wouldn't like to tell you\nher name, for we should speak no evil of her and she's dead now,--the\nLord have mercy on her. And when she passed they heard her say in\nIrish, \"The devil take you,\" but whether she knew they were there or\nnot, I don't know. And the elder of the brothers called out, \"The\ndevil take yourself as well.\" But the younger one said nothing. And\nthat night the younger one took sick, and through the night he was\ncalling out and talking as if to people in the room. And the next day\nthe mother went to a woman that gathered herbs, the mother of the\nwoman that does cures by them now, and told her all that happened.\n\nAnd she took a rag of an old red coat, and went down to the last\nvillage, and into the house of the woman that had put it, the evil\neye, on him. And she sat there and was talking with her, and watched\nuntil she made a spit on the floor, and then she gathered it up on\nthe rag and came to the sick man in the bed and rubbed him with it,\nand he got well on the minute.\n\nIt was hardly ever that woman would say \"God bless the work\" as she\npassed, and there were some would leave the work and come out on the\nroad and hold her by the shoulder till she'd say it.\n\n\n_A Man on the Boat:_\n\nThere are many can put on the _drohuil_. I knew a child in our\nvillage and a neighbour came in and said, \"That's a fine child\"; and\nno sooner was he gone than the child got a fit. So they brought him\nback and made him spit on the child and it got well after. Those that\nhave that power, I believe it's born with them, and it's said they\ncan do it on their own children as well as on ours.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a boy called Faherty, nephew to Faherty that keeps the\nlicensed house, and he was a great one for all games, and at every\npattern, and whenever anything was going on. And one time he went\nover to Kilronan where they had some sports, and it the 24th of June.\nAnd they were throwing the weight, and he took it up and he threw it\nfarther than the police or any that were there; and the second time\nhe did the same thing. And when he was going to throw it the third\ntime, his uncle came to him and said \"It's best for you to leave it\nnow; you have enough done.\" But he wouldn't mind him, and threw it\nthe third time, and farther than they all.\n\nAnd the next year at that time on the 24th of June, he was stretched\non his bed, and he died. And some one was talking about the day he did\nso much at Kilronan, and the father said: \"I remember him coming into\nthe house after that, and he put up his arm on the dresser as if there\nwas something ailed him.\" And the boy spoke from his bed and said, \"You\nought to have said 'God bless you' then. If my mother had been living\nthen she'd have said it, and I wouldn't be lying here now.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere were two other fine young men died in the same year, and one\nnight after, the three of them appeared to a sick man, Jamsie Power,\non the south island, and talked with him. But they didn't stay long\nbecause, they said, they had to go on to the coast of Clare.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMy own first-born child wasn't spared. He was born in February and\nall the neighbours said they never saw so fine a child. And one night\ntowards the end of March, I was in the bed, and the child on my\narm between me and the wall, sleeping warm and well, and the wife\nwas settling things about the house. And when she got into bed, she\nwanted to take the child, and I said, \"Don't stir him, where he's\nso warm and so well\"; but she took him in her own arm. And in the\nmorning he was dead. And up to the time he was buried, you'd say he\nwasn't dead at all, so fresh and so full in the face he looked.\n\nThere was a neighbour about the same time had a child and it was\nin the bed with them, but it was sick. And one night he was sure\nhe heard some one say outside the house, \"It's time he should be\nstretched out to me.\" So he got up and opened the window, and he\nthrew a vessel of dirty water over whatever was outside, and he heard\nno more, and his child got well and grew up strong.\n\n\n_An Island Woman:_\n\nAnd there's some people the fishermen wouldn't pass when they are\ngoing to the boats, but would turn back again if they'd meet them.\nOne day two boys of mine, Michael and Danny, were down on the rocks,\nbream-fishing with lines, and I had a job of washing with the wife of\nthe head coast-guard. But when it came to one o'clock something came\nover me, and I thought the boys might have got the hunger, and I went\nto Mrs. Patterson and said I must leave work for that day, and I went\nand bought a three-halfpenny loaf and brought it down to where they\nwere fishing, and when I got there I saw that Michael the younger one\nwas limping, and I said, \"It must be from the hunger you're not able\nto walk.\" \"Oh, no,\" he said, \"but it's a pain I got in my heel, and I\ncan't put it to the ground.\" And when we got home he went into his bed,\nand he didn't leave it for three months. And one day I said to him,\n\"What was it happened you, did you meet any one on the road that day\nthat said anything to you?\" And he said, \"I did, I met a woman of the\nvillage and she said, 'It's good to be you and to have a fine basket of\nbream,' and she said no more than that, and that very minute the pain\ncame on my heel. But I won't tell you her name, for fear there'd be a\nrow.\" But I made him tell me, and I promised never to say a word to her\nand I never did; but he's not the first she did that to.\n\n\n_An Old Man with a Basket:_\n\nThey can put the _drohuil_ here and I suppose in all parts, and you\nshould watch not to let any one meet you unless they would say, \"God\nbless you,\" and spit.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a woman in this island lost her walk for a year and a half,\ntill they went to Galway to a woman that throws the cups, and she bid\nthem go into the next house where there was a black man living, and\ngive him tobacco to be smoking, and take up the spit and rub his leg.\nAnd she got well after that.\n\nThere was another man in that island besides that neighbour of mine\nthat would give the _drohuil_--the evil eye. Tom Griffith his name was.\nThere was one Flanagan came back from Clare one day with three bonifs\nhe bought there. And Griffith came out as he passed and said, \"No\nbetter bonifs than those ever came into the island.\" And when Flanagan\ncame home, there was a little hill in the front of his house and two of\nthem fell down against it on their side. And when Mrs. Flanagan came\nout to see the bonifs, there was only one of them living before her.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere's a man in this island now puts the evil eye--the _drohuil_.\nIt's about four years since I heard of him doing it last. There was\na nice young woman he passed and he said, \"You're the best walker in\nAran.\" And that day she got a pain in her leg and she took to her bed,\nand there she lay for six months, and then she sent for him, and he was\nmade--with respects to you--to throw a spit on her. And after that she\ngot well and got up again. And there was a child died about the same\ntime, and the friends said it was he did it. Ned Buckley is his name.\nDevil a foot he ever goes to a wedding or such like; they wouldn't ask\nhim, they'd be afraid of him. But he goes to Mass--at least he did in\nhis bloom--but he's an old man now. Does the priest know about him?\nIt's not likely he does. There's no one would like to go and make an\nattack on him like that. And anyway the priests don't like any one to\nspeak to them of such things, they'd sooner not hear about them.\n\n\n_Mrs. Folan:_\n\nThere was one of my brothers overlooked, no doubt at all about that.\nHe was the best rower of a canoe that ever was, and there was a match\nat Kinvara today and he won it, and there was a match at Ballyvaughan\ntomorrow and he was in it, and the foam was as high as mountains,\nthat the hooker could hardly stand, and he won there. And when he was\ncome to the pier and the people all running to carry him in their\narms, the way the jockey is carried after a race, he was ruz up his\nown height off the ground, and no one could see what did it.\n\nHe was wrong in the head after that, and he would sit by the hearth\nwithout speaking. My mother that would be out binding the wheat would\nsay to me now and again \"There he is coming across to us,\" and she\nput it on me to think it, but I could see nothing, for it is not\neveryone can see those things. Then she would ask the father when we\nwent in, did he stir from the fireside, and when he said he never\nstirred she knew it was his shadow she saw and that he had not long\nto live, and it was not long till he was gone.\n\n\n_Mr. Stephens:_\n\nThere was a man coming along the road from Gort to Garryland one\nnight, and he had a drop taken, and before him on the road he saw a\npig walking. And having a drop in, he gave a shout and made a kick at\nit and bid it get out of that.\n\nAnd from the time he got home, his arm had swelled from the shoulder\nto be as big as a bag, and he couldn't use his hand with the pain in\nit. And his wife brought him after a few days to a woman that used to\ndo cures at Rahasane.\n\nAnd on the road all she could do would hardly keep him from lying\ndown to sleep on the grass. And when they got to the woman, she knew\nall that happened, and says she: \"It's well for you that your wife\ndidn't fall asleep on the grass, for if you had done that but for an\ninstant, you'd be a gone man.\"\n\n\n_Mrs. Casey:_\n\nThere was a woman lived near Ballinasloe and she had two children,\nand they both died, one after the other. And when the third was born,\nshe consulted an old woman, and she said to watch the cradle all day\nwhere it was standing by the side of the fire. And so she did, and\nshe saw a sort of a shadow come into it, and give the child a touch.\nAnd she came in, and drove it away. And the second day the same thing\nhappened, and she was afraid that the third time the child would go,\nthe same as the others. So she went to the old woman again, and she\nbid her take down the hanger from the chimney, and the tongs and the\nwaistcoat of the child's father and to lay them across the cradle,\nwith a few drops of water from a blessed well. So she did all this\nand laid these three things in the cradle, but she saw the shadow or\nwhatever it was come again, and she ran in and drove it away.\n\nBut when she told the old woman she said \"You need trouble yourself\nno more about it being touched or not, for no harm will come to it if\nyou keep those three things on it for twelve days.\" So she did that,\nand reared eight children after, and never lost one.\n\n\n_An Old Woman from Kinvara:_\n\nDid I know any one was taken? My own brother was, and no mistake\nabout it. It was one day he was out following two horses with the\nplough, and it was about five o'clock, for a gentleman was passing\nwhen he got the touch, and one of his tenants asked him the time, and\nhe said five o'clock. And what way it came I don't know, but he fell\ntwice on the stones--God bless the hearers and the place I'm telling\nit in. And at ten o'clock the next morning he was dead in his bed.\nYoung he was, not twenty year, and nothing ailed him when he went\nout, but the place he was ploughing in that day was a bad pass. Sure\nand certain I am it's by _them_ he was taken. I used often to hear\ncrying in the field after, but I never saw him again.\n\n\n_A Connemara Woman:_\n\nThere was a boy going to America, and when he was going he said to\nthe girl next door \"Wherever I am, when you are married I'll come\nback to the wedding\"; and not long after he went to America he died.\nAnd when the girl was married and all the friends and neighbours\nin the house, he appeared in the room, but no one saw him but his\ncomrade he used to have here, and the girl's brother saw him too,\nbut no one else. And the comrade followed him and went close to him\nand said, \"Is it you indeed?\" And he said, \"It is, and from America\nI came tonight.\" And he asked, \"How long did that journey take?\" and\nhe said, \"Three-quarters of an hour,\" and then he went away. And the\ncomrade was never the better of it, or he got the touch or the other\ncalled him, very true friends as they were, and he soon died. But the\ngirl is now middle-aged and is living in that house we are just after\npassing and is married to one Kelly.\n\nWhether all that die go among them I can't say, but it is said they\ncan take no one without the touch of a Christian hand, or the want of\na blessing from a Christian that would be noticing them.\n\n\n_A North Galway Woman:_\n\nThere are many young women taken in childbirth. I lost a sister of my\nown in that way.\n\nThere's a place in the river at Newtown where there's stepping-stones\nin the middle you can get over by, and one day she was crossing,\nand there in the middle of the river, and she standing on a stone,\nshe felt a blow on the face. And she looked round to see who gave\nit and there was no one there, so then she knew what had happened,\nand she came to the mother's house, and she carrying at the time. I\nwas a little slip at that time, with my books in my hand coming from\nschool, and I ran in and said to my mother, \"Here's Biddy coming,\"\nand she said, \"What would bring her at this time of day?\" But she\ncame in and sat down on a chair and she opened the whole story, and\nmy mother said to quiet her, \"It was only a pain in the ear you got,\nand you thought it was a blow.\" And she said, \"I never got a blow\nthat hurted me like that.\" And the next day, and every day after\nthat, the ear would swell a little in the afternoon, and then she\nbegan to eat nothing, and five minutes after her baby was born she\ndied. And my mother used to watch for her for three or four years\nafter, thinking she'd come back, but she never did.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a forth near our house in Meath, and when I was a baby a\nwoman was carrying me in her arms, and she walked down the four steps\nthat led into it, and there was a nice garden around it, and she\nslipped and fell, and my cheek struck against one of the steps--you can\nsee the mark yet that I got there. And the woman told my mother and\nsaid, \"It's a wonder the child wasn't taken altogether then and there.\"\n\nOne day I was out digging in the field for my brothers, and there\nwas a sort of a half-ditch between the oats and the potatoes, and I\nwas digging it down, and of a sudden a sleep came on me and I lay\ndown. And I suppose I had been asleep about twenty minutes when I was\nwaked with a hard clout on the face. And I thought it was one of my\nbrothers and I called out, \"You have no right to give me a clout like\nthat.\" But my brother was away down the field, and came when he heard\nme calling. And I felt a pain in my side as well, and I went into the\nhouse and didn't leave it for two months after with pleurisy, and the\npain never left me till after I was married. I suppose I must have\nbeen on some way of theirs, or some place that belonged to them and\nthat was known to be an enchanted place, and my father used often to\nsee it lighted up with candles.\n\n\n_A Man Herding Sheep:_\n\nI'll tell you now what happened to a little one of my own. She was\njust five years. And the day I'm speaking of she was running to\nschool down the path before me, as strong and as funny as the day she\nwas born, and laughing and looking back at me. And that night she\nwent to bed as well as ever she was. And it was about eleven o'clock\nin the night she awoke and gave a great cry, and she said there was\na great pain in her knee, and it was in no other part of her. And in\nthe morning she had it yet, and her walk had gone, and I lifted her\nand brought her out into the street, and she couldn't walk one step\nif you were to give her the three isles of Aran. And she lived for\ntwo nights after that.\n\nWhen the doctor came and I told him, he said it was the strangest\ncase he ever heard of, and the schoolmistress said, \"I thought if I'd\nbrought that child to the hill beyond and threw her down into the sea\nit would do her no harm, she was that strong.\"\n\nBut if such things happen, it happened to her, and touched she was.\nIt was not death, it was being took away.\n\n\n_An Old Woman in an Aran village:_\n\nI'll tell you what happened a son of my own that was so strong and so\nhandsome and so good a dancer, he was mostly the pride of the island.\nAnd he was that educated that when he was twenty-six years, he could\nwrite a letter to the Queen. And one day a pain came in the thigh,\nand a little lump came inside it, and a hole in it that you could\nhardly put the point of a pin in, and it was always drawing. And he\ntook to his bed and was there for eleven months. And every night when\nit would be twelve o'clock, he would begin to be singing and laughing\nand going on. And what the neighbours said was, that it was at that\nhour there was some other left in his place. I never went to any one\nor any witchcraft, for my husband wouldn't let me but left it to the\nwill of God; and anyway at the end of the eleven months he died.\n\nAnd his sister was in America, and the same thing came to her there,\na little lump by the side of the face, and she came home to die. But\nshe died quiet and was like any other in the night.\n\nAnd a daughter-in-law of mine died after the second birth, and even\nthe priest said it was not _dead_ she was, he that was curate then. I\nwas surprised the priest to say that, for they mostly won't give in\nto it, unless it's one that takes a drop of drink.\n\n\n_An Old Man in the Kitchen:_\n\nI had a son that it was mostly given in to in Aran to be the best\nsinger to give out a couple of verses, so that he'd hardly go out of\nthe house but some one would want to be bringing him into theirs. And\nhe took sick of a sudden, with a pain in the shoulder. I went to the\ndoctor and he says, \"Does your wife take tea?\" \"She does when she can\nget it;\" says I, and he told me then to put the spout of the kettle\nto where the pain was. And after that he went to Galway Hospital, but\nhe got no better there and a Sister of Mercy said to him at last,\n\"I'm thinking by the look of you, your family at home is poor.\"\n\"That's true enough,\" says he. Then says she: \"It's best for you to\nstop here, and they'll be free from the cost of burying you.\" But\nhe said he'd sooner go die at home, if he had but two days to live\nthere. So he came back and he didn't last long. It's always the like\nof him that's taken, that are good for singing or dancing or for any\ngood thing at all. And young women are often taken in that way, both\nin the middle island and in this.\n\n\n_Patrick Madden:_\n\nI'll tell you how I lost the first son I had. He was just three years\nold and as fine and as strong as any child you'd see. And one day my\nwife said she'd bring the child to her mother's house to stop the\nevening with her, for I was going out. And there was a neighbour of\nours, a man that lived near us, and no one was the better of being\nspoken to by him. And as they were passing his house he came out,\nand he said, \"That's the finest child that's in the island.\" And a\nwoman that was passing at the same time stopped and said, \"It was the\nsmallest that ever I saw the day it was born, God bless it.\" And the\nmother knew what she meant, and she wanted to say \"God bless him,\"\nbut it was like as if a hand took and held her throat, and choked\nher that she couldn't say the words. And when I came to the mother's\nhouse, and began to make fun with the child, I saw a round mark on\nthe side of his head, the size of a crown piece. And I said to the\nwife, \"Why would you beat the child in the head, why don't you get\na little rod to beat him if he wants it?\" And she said that she had\nnever touched him at all.\n\nAnd at that time I was very much given to playing cards, and that\nnight I went out to a friend's house to play. And the wife before\nshe went to bed broiled a bit of fish and put it on a plate with\npotatoes, and put it in a box in the room, for fear it might be\ntouched by a cat or a rat or such like. But I was late coming in and\ndidn't mind to eat it. And the next night I was out again. And when\nwe were playing cards we'd play first with tobacco and we'd go on to\ntea, and we'd end up with whiskey. And the next morning when the wife\nopened the box she laughed and she said \"You didn't drink your tea\nwhen you were out last night, for I see you have your dinner eaten.\"\nAnd I said, \"Why should you say that? I never touched it.\" And she\nheld up the plate and showed me that the potatoes were taken off it;\nbut the fish wasn't touched, for it was a bit of a herring and salty.\n\nWell, the child was getting sick all the day, and I didn't go out\nthat evening. And in the night we could hear the noise as if of\nscores of rats, going about the room. And every now and again I\nstruck a light, but so soon as the light was in it we'd hear nothing.\nBut the noise would begin again as soon as it was dark, and sometimes\nit would seem as if they came up on the bed, and I could feel the\nweight of them on my chest as if they would smother me.\n\nAnd in the morning I chanced to open the box where the dinner used to\nbe put, and it as big a box as any in Aran, and when I opened it I\nsaw it was all full of blood, up the sides and to the top, that you\ncouldn't put your hand in without it getting bloody. I said nothing\nbut shut the lid down again. But after, when I came into the house,\nI saw the wife rubbing at it with a thing they call flannel they got\nat Killinny, and I asked her what was she doing, and she said, \"I'm\ncleaning the box, where it's full of blood.\" And after that I gave up\nthe child and I had no more hope for its life. But if they had told\nme that about the neighbour speaking to him, I'd have gone over, and\nI'd have killed him with my stick, but I'd have made him come and\nspit on him. After that we didn't hear the noise the same again, but\nwe heard like the sound of a clock all through the night and every\nnight. And the child got a swelling under the feet, and he couldn't\nput a foot to the ground. But that made little difference to him, for\nhe didn't hold out a week.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI lost another son after--but he died natural, there was nothing of\nthat sort. And I have one son remaining now, and one day he went to\nsleep out in a field and that's a bad thing to do. And the sister\nfound him there, and when she woke him he couldn't get up hardly, or\nmove his hand, and she had to help him to the house.\n\n\n_Pat Doherty:_\n\nI know a gentleman too got the touch, one of the Butlers. It was on\na day he made a great leap he got it. And he went to the bed and for\nthree or four days he couldn't stir, and red marks came out over him\nshaped like a bow. And then I went for the priest and brought him to\nsee him, and when he heard of the marks, \"I'm as bad as that myself,\"\nhe said, making fun; \"for I'm after making a journey in a curragh.\"\nBut when the clothes were stripped back and he saw his skin, \"Oh,\nmurder!\" he said, and he put on his stole and got out a book. And he\nsaid, \"Did you hear what I did to the man at Iona? He went to the\nwell with a tin can for water, and when he got to the well, a few\nyards away from it, it was spilled. And he went back and filled it\nagain, and the second time at the well it was spilled, and he fell\nalong with it, and he got a little cut in the fall, and he began to\nbleed, and all the people said as much blood as would be in three men\ncame away from him. And they sent for me, and the minute I came the\nbleeding stopped, and he was all right again and the cut closed up.\"\n\nAnd then he put his head down and what he read I don't know, but he\nhardly got to the turn of the road outside the house, when the boy\nstood up from the bed and asked for something to eat.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnother time I was drawing turf that came in the boats from Connemara\nto Kilronan pier. And of a sudden there came a swelling in my arm,\nand it was next day the size of an egg, and it turned black. And I\ncouldn't lift the arm, and Healy the coast-guard said to me to go to\nDoctor Lydon. And I said I would, but in the way I met with Father\nJordan and I showed it to him. And he said; \"What do you want with\nyour Healy and your Lydons? Let me see it.\" And he pressed his hand\non it two or three times like that, and the swelling began to go, and\nwhen I got home they were clearing weed on the shore, and I was able\nto go down and to give them a hand with it.\n\n\n_A Piper:_\n\nThere was a cousin of my own used to feel some heavy thing coming on\nhim in the bed in the night time. And he went to the friars at Esker\nto take it off of him, and they took it off. But Father Williams\nsaid, \"If this is gone from you some other thing will be put on you.\"\nAnd sure enough it wasn't a twelvemonth after, he was carting planks\nand the horse fell, and the planks fell on his foot and broke it in\ntwo pieces. And after that again he got a fall, over some stones, and\nhe died with throwing off blood.\n\nI had a fall myself in Galway the other day that I couldn't move\nmy arm to play the pipes if you gave me Ireland. And a man said to\nme--and they are very smart people in Galway--that two or three got a\nfall and a hurt in that same place. \"There is places in the sea where\nthere is drowning,\" he said, \"and places on the land as well where\nthere do be accidents, and no man can save himself from them, for it\nis the Will of God.\"\n\n\n_Mrs. Scanlon:_\n\nSome people call Mrs. Tobin \"Biddy Early.\" She has done a good many\ncures. Her brother was _away_ for a while and it was from him she\ngot the knowledge. I believe that it's before sunrise that she\ngathers the herbs, anyway no one ever saw her gathering them. (_Note_\n38.) She has saved many a woman from being brought away when their\nchild was born, by whatever she does. She told me herself that one\nnight when she was going to the lodge gate to attend the woman there,\nthree magpies came before her and began roaring into her mouth, to\ntry to drive her back. Father Folan must know about her, but he is a\ndark man and says nothing, and anyway the priests know as much, and\nare as much in dread as any one else.\n\nI wish I had sent for her for my own little boy. It's often he asked\nme to bring him to the friars at Loughrea. But he never would tell\nhow or where he got the touch. It came like a lump in the back, and\nhe got weaker and smaller till you could put him into a tin can, and\nhe twenty years. Often I asked him about it, but he'd say nothing. I\nbelieve that they are afraid to tell or they would be worse treated.\nI asked him was it at the jumping, for they used to be jumping over a\npole, and he said it was not, and that he never took a jump that was\ntoo much for him.\n\nBut some that saw his back said he had been beat. And when the Doctor\ncame in to see him, he was lying on the bed, and he turned him over\nand looked at him and said, \"If he had all Lady Gregory's estate he\ncouldn't live a week.\" And sure enough within five days he died. And\nmany of the neighbours said they never heard such a storm of wind as\nrose about the house that night. I never saw him since, and I went\nlate and early, in the mill and down by the river. But it's maybe a\nhundred or two hundred miles he was brought away.\n\n\n_Tom Flatley:_\n\nThere is a priest now, a curate down in Cloughmore, is doing great\ncures. There is often silence between him and the parish priest, Father\nRock, for he wouldn't like him to be doing them. There was a little\nchap went to bed one night as well as yourself, and in the morning he\nrose up with one of his ears as deaf as that he wouldn't hear you if\nhe died. And the mother brought him to Father Dolan and he came out as\nwell as ever he was. It was but a fortnight ago that happened, and I\ndidn't hear did the misfortune fall on any of the stock.\n\nBut wherever there is a cure something will go, and what would a\nsheep or a heifer be beside a misfortune on a child?\n\nThere was a priest near Ennis, a woman I knew went to for a cure,\nand he wouldn't do it. \"_Tha me bocht_,\" he said, \"I am poor, but I\nwill not do it.\" \"I will pay you well,\" said the woman. \"I will not\ndo it,\" said he, \"for my heart was killed two years ago with one I\ndid. And it isn't money I'd ask of you if I did it,\" he said, \"but to\noffer you my blessing and the blessing of God.\"\n\n\n_Mrs. Casey:_\n\nThere was a woman down by the sea that had a very severe time when her\nbaby was born, and they did not think she or the baby would live after.\nSo the husband went and brought Father Rivers and he said, \"Which would\nyou sooner lose--the wife or the child--for one must go?\" And the\nhusband said, \"If the wife is taken I might as well close the door.\"\nAnd then Father Rivers said, \"She's going up and down like the swinging\nof a clock, but for all that I'll strive to keep her for you, but maybe\nyou must lose two or more.\" So he read some prayers over her, and the\nnext day the baby died, and a fine cow out in the field, but the woman\nrecovered and is living still. But Father Rivers died within two years.\nThey never live long when they do these cures, because that they say\nprayers that they ought not to say.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere's Father Heseltine of Killinan has lost his health and no\nperson knows where he is. They say he's gone abroad because he did a\ncure on one of his sisters.\n\n\n_Mrs. Cassilis:_\n\nA young mare I lost. It was on the 15th August, something came on it\nin the field, and it did no good, and the son was tending it. And on\nS. Colman's Day he was taken with a weakness in the chapel that they\nhad to bring him home, and he did not go fasting to the chapel. He\ngot well, but the mare died. I didn't mind that, I knew something\nmust go, and it was better the mare to go than the son.\n\nThere were many said, the mare not to have died there would be no\nchance for him. So I am well content, for whatever way we'll struggle\nwe might get another mare. But a person to go, there is no one for\nyou to get in his place.\n\n\n_A County Galway Magistrate:_\n\nThat time I was laid up at Luke Manning's they sent for Father\nHeseltine to \"read a gospel\" over me. He said when he came in, \"You'll\nlose something tonight.\" I heard him say this, but what he read over me\nI don't know, it seemed a sort of muttering. At all events I got well\nafter it, and the next morning, a sheep was found dead.\n\n\n_Pat Hayden:_\n\nMy father was gardener here at Coole in the time of Mr. Robert's\ngrandfather. He was sick one time, and he thought to go to the\nfriars at Esker for a cure, and he asked Mr. Gregory for the loan\nof a horse, and he bade him to take it. So he saddled and bridled\nthe horse, and he set out one morning and went to the friars, and\nwhatever they did they cured him, and he came back again. But in the\nmorning the horse was found dead in the stable. I suppose whatever\nthey took off him they put upon the horse. And when Mr. Gregory came\nout in the morning, \"How is Pat?\" he says to one of the men. \"Pat\nis well,\" says he, \"but the horse he brought with him is dead in the\nstable.\" \"So long as Pat is well,\" said Mr. Gregory, \"I wouldn't mind\nif five horses in the stable were dead.\"\n\n\n_Mrs. Manning:_\n\nThere was a friar in Esker could do cures. Many I've seen brought to\nhim tied in a cart, and able to walk home after. Father Callaghan he\nwas. There was one man brought to him, wrong in his head he was, and\nhe cured him and he gave him some sort of a Gospel rolled up, and bid\nhim to put it about his neck, and never to take it off. Well, he went\nto America after that and was as well as another and got work, and sent\nhome \u00a310 one time to Father Callaghan he was that grateful to him.\n\nBut one day in America he was shaving, and whether he cut the string\nor that he took it off I don't know, but he laid the charm down on a\ntable. And when he looked for it again, if he was to burn the house\ndown he couldn't find it. And it all came back on him again, and he\nwas as bad as he was before.\n\nSo the wife wrote home to Father Callaghan, and he sent out another\nthing of the same sort; and bid him wear it, and from the time he put\nit on, he got well again. A priest has the power to do cures, but if\nhe does he can keep nothing, one thing will die after another.\n\nBiddy Early could do the same thing, she had to cast the sickness on\nsome other thing--it might be a dog or a goat or a bird.\n\n * * * * *\n\nPriests can do cures if they will, but they are afraid to do them\nbecause their stock will die, and because they are afraid of loss\nin the other world as well as in this. There's a neighbour of your\nown lost his milch cow the other day for a small one he did,--Father\nMulhall that is.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was Father Rivers was called in to a woman that was bad,\nbetween Roxborough and Dunsandle. And he said to the father, \"Which\nwould you sooner keep, the wife or the child?\" And he said, \"Sure\nI'd sooner have the wife than all the children of the world.\" So\nFather Rivers went in and cured her so that she got well, but he put\nwhatever she had on the son, so that he grew up an idiot. Harmless he\nused to be, not doing much. Well, when he came to twenty years, the\nmother said, \"Come outside into the field, and cut the eyes of a few\nstone of potatoes for me.\" But he took up the graip that was at the\ndoor and made at her to kill her. And she ran in and shut the door,\nand then he made for the window and broke it. And at that time Mr.\nSingleton from Ceramina was passing by, and he stopped and called\nsome men and they took him and took the graip from him, and he was\nbrought away to Ballinasloe Asylum, but he didn't live more than six\nmonths after. Waiting all that time he was to do his revenge, but\nhadn't the power to do it till the twenty years were up.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is a man that is living strong and well in the village of Lochlan\nand that has sixteen or seventeen children, and one time something came\non him and he wore away till there was no more strength in him than\nin that thraneen. And there was an old woman used to be doing cures\nwith herbs, and he sent for her, and she went out into the field and\nshe picked two or three leaves of a plant she knew of. And as she was\ncarrying it through the fields to the house she fell dead.\n\nAnd his strength came back to him when the death fell on her and he\nwas as well and as strong as ever he was. I will bring you three of\nthose leaves if I have to walk two miles--three-cornered leaves they\nare (penny royal). No harm will come upon me, for I am nothing but an\nold hag. Before sunrise they must be picked, and the best day to do\nit is a Friday.\n\n\n_An Old Army Man:_\n\nI knew a man had charms for headache and for toothache and other\nthings, and he did a great many cures, but all his own children began\nto die. So then he put away the charms, and made a promise not to do\ncures for others again; and after that he lost no more children.\n\n * * * * *\n\nPriests can do cures as well as Biddy Early did, and there was a\nman of the neighbours digging potatoes in that field beyond, and\na woman passed by, and she never said anything. And presently the\ntop of his fingers got burned off, and he called out with the pain,\na blast he got from her as she passed. Often he'd come into this\nhouse, and crying out with the hurt of the pain. And at last he went\nto the priests at Esker, and they cured him, but they said, \"Your\nown priests could have done the same for you.\" And when he came back\nthere were two cows dead.\n\nAnd the same thing when Carey's wife--that is a tenant of your\nown--was sick, they called in Father Gardiner and he cured her, and\nhe told them to watch by her for two or three days. And then the\npriest went out to see the stabling, and Carey with him, for Carey\nhad always a pair of good horses. And when they went into the stable,\nthe horses were dead before them.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt was Flaherty gave his life for my sister that was his wife. When\nshe fell sick he brought her to Biddy Early in the mountains beyond.\nAnd she cured her the first time. But she said, \"If you bring her\nagain, you'll pay the penalty.\" But when she fell sick again he\nbrought her, but he stopped a mile from the house. But she knew it\nwell, and told the wife where he was, and that time the horse died.\nBut the third time she fell sick he went again, knowing full well\nhe'd pay the penalty; and so he did and died. But she was cured; and\nmarried one O'Dea afterwards.\n\nThe priests know well about these things, but they won't let on to\nhave seen them, and the people don't much like to be telling them\nabout them. But there was Father Gallagher that did cures by means of\nthem, and at last he got a touch himself, and was sent for a while to\nan asylum, and now he has promised to leave them alone. Fallen angels\nsome say they are. I know a man that saw them hurling up there in\nHanlon's field. Red caps they wore and looked very diminutive, but\nthey were hurling away like Old Boots.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe way the bad luck came on Tom Hurley was when a cow fell sick on\nhim and lay like dead. He had a right to leave it or to kill it; but\nthe father-in-law cut a bit off the leg of it and it rose again, and\nthey sold it for seven pounds at the fair of Tubber. But he had no\nluck since then, but lost four or five head of cattle, near all that\nhe owned.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man did a cure on his son that came from America sick.\nHe didn't like to see him ailing, and one night he did the cure. But\nbefore sunrise the sight of one of his eyes was gone.\n\n\n_A Mountainy Man:_\n\nThere's some people living about three miles from here on Slieve-Mor,\nand they came from the North at the time of the famine, and they can\ndo cures, but they don't like to say much about it--for the people of\nthe North all have it. Their names are natural, McManus, and Irwin\nand Taylor. There's one of them gave a cure for a man that was sick,\nand he grew better, but a calf died. And the son was going to him\nagain, but the mother said: \"Let him alone, let him die, or we'll\nlose all the stock\"; for she'd sooner have the husband die than any\nother beast. So the son was out and he met the man, and he said, \"It\nis to me you're coming?\" And the son said it was, for he didn't like\nto tell about what his mother said or about the death of the calf.\nSo the man got him a bottle, and said he'd come home with him, but\nwhen they were on the road they met some one that spoke of the death\nof the calf. So when the man heard that, he was angry and he said,\n\"If I knew that I wouldn't have helped you,\" and he broke the bottle\nagainst the wall. So the father died, and the wife kept the stock--a\nvery unkind woman she was.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a woman of my village never put a shoe on her feet from the\ntime of her birth till the time of her death. Doing a penance she\nsaid she was. And she never married and would never eat meat.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAs to cures, there's none can do them like the priests can, if they\nwill. There was a woman I knew, and her little boy was sick and\ncouldn't move. And she got the priest to come and do a cure on him,\nbut no one knew what he did. And often he said to the woman: \"You\nhave a horse and a pony, and which do you value the most?\" And she\nsaid she valued the pony the most. And next day the horse had died,\nbut the little boy got well.\n\n\n_A Man of the Islands:_\n\nThere's an old woman here now--there she is passing the road--that\ndoes cures with herbs. But last year she got a sore hand and she had\nto go to the hospital, and before she came back they took two fingers\noff her. And there's no luck about bone-setters either. There's one\nhere on the island and a good many go to him. But he had but one son\nand he never did any good, and now he's gone away from him.\n\n\n_John Curtis:_\n\nWhen Father Callan was a curate he did a cure for me one time for my\ncattle, and I gave him half a sovereign in his hand for it, in this\nroad. It was the time I had so much trouble, and my brothers trying\nto rob me, and but for our landlord I wouldn't have kept the farm.\nAnd all my stock began to die. There was hardly a day I'd come out\nbut I'd see maybe two or three sheep lying there in the field with\nfroth at their mouths, and they turning black. The same thing was\nhappening Tommy Hare's stock, and he went to Father Callan and he\ncame to the house and read some sort of a Mass and took the sickness\noff them. So then I went to him myself, and he said he'd read a Mass\nin the chapel for me, and so he did. And the stock were all right\nfrom that time, and the day he came to see them and that I gave him\nthe money, there ran a dog out of Roche's house and came behind the\npriest and gave him a bite in the leg, that he had to go to Dublin to\ncut it out. Why did the dog do it? He did it because he was mad when\nhe saw the stock getting well. And weren't the Roches queer people\nthat they wouldn't kill the dog when the priest wanted it, the way\nhe'd be in no danger if the dog would go mad after?\n\n\n\n\n IV\n\n AWAY\n\n\n\n\n IV\n\n AWAY\n\n\n_Pwyll, Prince of Dyved ... let loose the dogs in the wood and\nsounded the horn and began the chase. And as he followed the dogs he\nlost his companions; and while he listened to the hounds he heard the\ncry of other hounds, a cry different from his own, and coming in the\nopposite direction.... And he saw a horseman coming towards him on a\nlarge light-grey steed with a hunting horn round his neck, and clad\nin garments of grey woollen in the fashion of a hunting garb, and\nthe horseman drew near and spoke to him thus:... \"A crowned King I\nam in the land whence I come.... There is a man whose dominions are\nopposite to mine, who is ever warring against me, and by ridding me\nof this oppression which thou can'st easily do, shalt thou gain my\nfriendship.\" \"Gladly will I do this,\" said he. \"Show me how I may.\"\n\"I will show thee. Behold, thus it is thou mayest. I will send thee\nto Annwyvn in my stead, and I will give thee the fairest lady thou\ndidst ever behold to be thy companion, and I will put my form and\nsemblance upon thee, so that not a page of the chamber nor an officer\nnor any other man that has always followed me shall know that it is\nnot I. And this shall be for the space of a year from tomorrow and\nthen we will meet in this place.\" ... \"Verily,\" said Pwyll, \"what\nshall I do concerning my kingdom?\" Said Arawn: \"I will cause that no\none in all thy dominions, neither man nor woman, shall know that I am\nnot thou, and I will go there in thy stead.\"_--\"The Mabinogion.\"\n\n\n_I was told by a Man of Slieve Echtge:_\n\nThat girl of the Cohens that was away seven year, she was bid tell\nnothing of what she saw, but she told her mother some things and told\nof some she met there. There was a woman--a cousin of my own--asked\nwas her son over there, and she had to press her a long time, but at\nlast she said he was. And he was taken too with little provocation,\nfifty years ago. We were working together, myself and him and a lot\nof others, making that trench you see beyond, to drain the wood. And\nit was contract work, and he was doing the work of two men and was\nnear ready to take another piece. And some of them began to say to\nhim, \"It's a shame for you to be working like that, and taking the\nbread out of the hands of another,\" and I standing there. And he\nsaid he didn't care, and he took the spade and sent the scraws out\nflying, to the right and to the left. And he never put a spade into\nthe ground again, for that night he was taken ill, and died shortly\nafter. Watched he was, and taken by _them_.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAs to the woman brought back again, it was told me by a boy going to\nschool there at the time, so I know there's no lie in it. It was\none of the Taylors, a rich family in Scariff. His wife was sick and\npining away for seven years, and at the end of that time one day he\ncame in he had a drop of drink taken, and he began to be a bit rough\nwith her. And she said, \"Don't be rough with me now, after bearing\nso well with me all these seven years. But because you were so good\nand so kind to me all that time,\" says she, \"I'll go away from you\nnow and I'll let your own wife come back to you.\" And so she did, for\nit was some old hag she was, and the wife came back again and reared\na family. And before she went away, she had a son that was reared a\npriest, and after she came back, she had another son that was reared\na priest, so that shows a blessing came on them. (_Note_ 39.)\n\n\n_A Man on the Beach:_\n\nI remember when a great many young girls were taken, it is likely by\n_them_. And two year ago two fine young women were brought away from\nAranmor one in a month and one in a week after the birth. And lately I\nheard that her own little girl and another little girl that was with\nher saw one of them appear in a cabin outside when she came to have a\nlook at the child she left, but she didn't want to appear herself.\n\n\n_John Flatley:_\n\nThere was a man I knew, Andy White, had a little chap, a little\n_summach_ of four years. And one day Andy was away to sell a pig in\nthe market at Mount Bellew, and the mother was away someplace with\nthe dinner for the men in the field, and the little chap was in the\nhouse with the grandmother, and he sitting by the fire. And he said\nto the grandmother: \"Put down a skillet of potatoes for me, and an\negg.\" And she said: \"I will not; what do you want with them, sure\nyou're not long after eating.\" And he said, \"Take care but I'll throw\nyou over the roof of the house.\" And then he said, \"Andy\"--that was\nhis father--\"is after selling the pig to a jobber, and the jobber\nhas it given back to him again, and he'll be at no loss by that, for\nhe'll get a half-a-crown more at the end.\" So when the grandmother\nheard that she wouldn't stop in the house with him but ran out, and\nhe only four years old.\n\nWhen the mother came back and was told about it she went out and she\ngot some of the leaves of the Lus-Mor, and she brought them in and\nput them on him; and he went, and her own child came back again. They\ndidn't see him going or the other coming, but they knew it by him.\nBut if her child had died among them, and they can die there as well\nas in this world, then he wouldn't come back, but that shape in his\nplace would take the appearance of death.\n\n\n_Mrs. Cooke:_\n\nThere's a man in Kildare that lost his wife. And every night at\ntwelve o'clock she came back, to look at her child. And it was told\nthe husband that if he had twelve men with him with forks when she\ncame in, they would be able to stop her from going out again.\n\nSo the next night he was there, and with him his twelve friends with\nforks. And when she came in they shut the door, and when she could\nnot get out she sat down and was quiet.\n\nAnd one night she was sitting by the hearth with them all, she said\nto her husband, \"It's a strange thing that Lenchar would be sitting\nthere so quiet, with the bottom after being knocked out of his churn.\"\n\nSo the husband went to Lenchar's house, and he found it was true\nwhat she had said, and the bottom was after being knocked out of\nhis churn. But after that he left her, and lived in the village and\nwouldn't go near her any more.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMyself, I saw when I was but a child a woman come to the door that\nhad been seven years with the good people, but do you think that\ncould be true? And she had two strong girls with her. My brother was\nill at the time, where he had his hip hurt with the shaft of a cart\nhe was backing into the shed, and my father asked her could she cure\nhim. And she said, \"I will, if you will give me the reward I ask\nfor.\" \"What is that?\" said he. And she stooped down and pointed at a\nlittle kettle that stood below the dresser, and it was the last thing\nmy mother had bought in this world before she died. So he was vexed\nbecause she cast her eye on that, and he bid her go out of the house\nfor she wouldn't get it, and so she went away.\n\nBut I remember well her being there and telling us that while the\nseven years were going by, she was often glad to come outside the\nhouses in the night-time, and pick a bit of what was in the pigs'\ntroughs. And she bid us always to leave a bit somewhere about the\nhouse for them that couldn't come in and ask for it. And though my\nfather was a cross man and didn't believe in such things, to the day\nof his death he never dared to go up to bed without leaving a bit of\nfood outside the door. (_Note_ 40.)\n\n\n_A Herd:_\n\nThe McGarritys in the house beyond, they have plenty of money. It was\nmoney they got _out_, buried money, and _they_ are after them.\n\nThere is one of them--Ned--is rather silly; I meet him often on the\nfarm stretched by the side of the wall. He met with something one\nnight and he is not the same since then.\n\nThere is another of them was walking one evening by the brink of the\nbushes and he met with two fillies--he thought them to be fillies--and\none of them called out, \"How are you, John?\" and he legged it home as\nfast as he could. It is likely it was the father or the uncle.\n\nSure leaving town one time he was brought away to the railway\nstation, and some of the people brought him hither again and set him\ntowards home and he was brought back to the very same place. They\nhad a right to have got the priest to say a few Masses in that house\nbefore they went to live in it at all.\n\nIt was the time their uncle was dying there was a whistle heard\noutside and the man in the bed answered it, and it was that very\nnight he died. To keep money you would get _out_ like, that is not\nright unless you might give the first of it in a few Masses. It was\nthe man the money was took from gave that whistle.\n\n\n_Mrs. Donnely:_\n\nMy mother told me that when she was a young girl, and before the\ntime of side-cars, a man that was living in Duras married a girl\nfrom Ardrahan side. And it was the custom in those days for a newly\nmarried girl to ride home on a horse, behind her next-of-kin.\n\nAnd she was sitting behind her uncle on the horse, and when they were\npassing by Ardrahan churchyard he felt her to shiver and nearly to\nslip off the horse, and he put his hand behind for to support her,\nand all he could feel in his hand was for all the world like a piece\nof tow. So he asked her what ailed her, and she said that she thought\nof her mother when she was passing by the churchyard. A year after\nthat when her baby was born, then she died. But everyone said the\nnight she was taken was on her wedding-night.\n\nAnd sure a sister-in-law of my own was taken the same way that poor\nMrs. Hehir was. It was a couple of days after her baby was born, and\nI went to see her, and she Fardy's daughter and niece to Johnson that\nhas the demesne land. And she was sitting up on the bed and so well\nand so strong that her mother says to me, \"Catherine, try could you\nget a chicken any place; I think she'll be able to eat it tomorrow.\"\n\"Chicken's is scarce, ma'am,\" says I, \"but anyway I'll do my best and\nsomeway or other I'll find one.\"\n\nWell, after that we left, and her husband being tired with the nights\nhe'd been sitting up came with us to sleep at the house of his uncle,\nJohnson. And hardly had he got to the house when bad news followed\nhim. And when he got home his wife was dead before him. Hardly were\nwe out of the house when she said to her mother \"Take off my boots.\"\n\"Sure, you have no boots on,\" said the mother. \"Well,\" says she, \"lay\nme at the foot of the bed.\" And presently she says, \"Send in to the\nMcInerneys and ask them if the coffin they have is a better one than\nmine.\" And the mother saw she was going, and sent for the husband,\nbut she was gone before he could come. And she so well and sitting up\nin the bed. But Hehir's wife was out of bed altogether, and brought\nher husband his tea in the hayfield before she was took.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnd now I'll tell your ladyship a story that's all truth and no lie.\nThere was an uncle of my own living near Kinvara, and one night his\nwife was coming home from Kinvara town, and she passed three men that\nwere lying by the roadside. And the first of them said to her in\nIrish, \"Go home, my poor woman.\" And the second said, \"Go home if you\ncan.\" And when she got home and told the story, she said the voice of\nthe second was like the voice of her brother that was dead.\n\nAnd from that day she began to waste away, and was wasting for\nseven year, until she died. And at the last some person said to her\nhusband, \"It's time for you to ask her what way she's been spending\nthese seven years.\"\n\nSo he went into the room where she was on the bed, and said, \"I\nbelieve it's time to ask you now what way have you been spending\nthese seven years.\" And she said, \"I'll tell you presently when you\ncome in again, but leave me now for a while.\" And he went back into\nthe kitchen and took his pipe for to have a smoke before he'd go back\nand ask her again. And the servant girl that was in the house was the\nfirst to go into the room, and found her cold and dead before her.\n\nThey had her took away before she had the time to tell what she had\nbeen doing all those seven years.\n\n\n_J. Kenny:_\n\nI was in a house one night with a man used to go away with the\nfaeries. He got up in the night and opened the house door and went\nout. About four hours he was away, and when he came back he seemed\nto be very angry. I saw him putting off his clothes.\n\n\n_Nora Whelan:_\n\nIndeed Moneen has a great name for things that do be going on there\nbeside that big forth. Sure there's many can hear them galloping,\ngalloping all the night. You know Stephen's house at the meadow?\nWell, his daughter got a touch from them one night when she heard\nthem going past with horses and with carriages, and she the only one\nin the house that felt them. She got silly like for a bit, but she's\ngetting better now.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAn old woman from Loughrea told me that a woman, I believe it was from\nShragwalla close to the town, was taken away one time for fourteen\nyears when she went out into the field at night with nothing on but her\nshift. And she was swept there and then, and an old hag put into the\nbed in her place, and she suckling her young son at the time.\n\nIt was a great many years after that, there was a pedlar used to be\ngoing about, and in his travels he went to England. And up in the\nnorth of England he saw a rich house and went into the kitchen of it,\nand there he saw that same woman, in a corner working. And he went up\nto her and said, \"I know where you come from.\" \"Where's that?\" says\nshe, and he gave her the name of her own village. Well, she laughed\nand she went out of the kitchen, and I don't know did she buy\nanything from him. But anyhow not long after that she come back and\nwalked into her own house.\n\nThe husband never knew her, but the boy that was then fourteen year\ncome up and touched her, and the father cried out, \"Leave off putting\nyour hand to that fine dress,\" for she had very rich clothes on. But\nshe stood up and said, \"I'm no other than your wife come back again,\nand the first thing you have to do is to bring in all you can carry\nof turf, and to make a big fire here in the middle of the floor.\"\n\nWell, the old hag was in the room within, in the bed where she'd been\nlying a long time, and they thinking she was dying. And when the\nsmoke of the fire went in at the door she jumps up and away with her\nout of the house, and tale or tidings of her they never had again.\n\nMy mother often told me about her sister's child--my cousin--that\nused to spend the nights in the big forth at Moneen. Every night she\nwent there, and she got thin and tired like. She used to say that she\nsaw grand things there, and the horses galloping and the riding. But\nthen she'd say, \"I must tell no more than that, or I'll get a great\nbeating.\" She wasted away, but one night they were so sure that she\nwas dead they had the pot boiling full of water to wash her. But she\nrecovered again and lived five years after that.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSure there was a faery in the house out beyond fourteen years. Katie\nMorgan she was called. She never kept the bed, but she'd sit in the\ncorner of the kitchen on a mat, and from a good stout lump of a girl\nthat she was she wasted to nothing, and her teeth grew as long as\nyour fingers and then they dropped out. And she'd eat nothing at all\nonly crabs and sour things. And she'd never leave the house in the\nday-time, but in the night she'd go out and pick things out of the\nfields she could eat. And the hurt she got or whatever it was touched\nher, it was one day that she was swinging on the corner gate just\nthere by the forth. She died as quiet as another. But you wouldn't\nlike to be looking at her after the teeth fell out.\n\n\n_Martin Rabitt:_\n\nThere's some people it's lucky to meet and others it's unlucky, and\nif you set off to go to America or around the world, and one of the\nunlucky ones comes and speaks to you on the boat, you might as well\nturn back and come home again.\n\nMy own sister was taken away, she and her husband within twenty-four\nhours, and not a thing upon them, and she with a baby a week old.\nWell, the care of that child fell on me, and sick or sorry it never\nwas but thriving always.\n\nAnd a friend of mine told me the same thing. His wife was taken away in\nchild-birth--and the five children she left that did be always ailing\nand sickly--from that day there never was a hap'orth ailed them.\n\nDid the mother come back to care them? Sure and certain she did, and\nI'm the one can tell that. For I slept in the room with my sister's\nchild after she dying; and as sure as I stand here talking to you,\nshe was back in the room that night.\n\nWalking towards nightfall myself, I've seen the shadows dancing\nbefore me, but I wasn't afeared, no more than I am of you. And I've\nfelt them other times crying and groaning about the house.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAs to the faeries, up beyond Ballymore there's a woman that was said\nto be with them for seven years. But she came back after that and had\nan impediment in her speech ever since.\n\n\n_Martin King:_\n\nThere's a little forth on this side of Clough behind Glyn's house, and\nthere was a boy in Clough was said to have passed a night and a day\nin it. I often saw him, and he was dull looking, but for cleverness\nthere was no one could touch him. I saw a picture of a train he drew\none time, with not a bolt nor a ha'porth left out; and whatever he put\nhis hand to he could do it, and he with no more teaching than any other\npoor boy in the town. I believe that he went to America afterwards.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnd I remember a boy was about my own age over at Annagh at the other\nside of the water, and it's said that he was away for two years.\nAnyway for all that time he was sick in bed, and no one ever saw bit\nor sup cross his lips in all that time, though the food that was\nleft in the room would disappear, whatever happened it. He recovered\nafter and went to America.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a girl near taken, in the Prestons' house. I saw her myself\nin the bed, near gone. But of a sudden she sat up and looked on the\nfloor and began to curse, and then they left her for they can't bear\ncurses. They have the hope of Heaven or they wouldn't leave one on\nthe face of the earth, and they are afraid of God. They'll not do you\nmuch harm if you leave them alone; it's best not to speak to them at\nall if you should meet them. If they bring any one away they'll leave\nsome old good-for-nothing thing in its place, and the same way with a\ncow or a calf or such things. But a sheep or a lamb it's beyond their\npower to touch, because of our Lord.\n\n\n_An Old Butcher:_\n\nI was born myself by daylight, and my mother often told me that I'd\nnever see anything worse than myself. There's some can see those\nthings and some that can't.\n\nBut one time I went up by the parish of Killisheen to look for\nhalf-beef, I having at the time a contract for the workhouse. And I\nwent astray on the mountains, and near Killifin I came to a weaver's\nhouse and went in. And there was sitting in the corner such a\ncreature as I never saw before, with nothing on him but a shirt, and\neyes that would go through you. And I wouldn't stop in the house but\nwent out again. And the weaver followed me and says he, \"Is it afraid\nof him you are?\" \"It is,\" says I. \"I thought you would be,\" says he,\n\"and would you believe that he's my own son, and as fine a young chap\nas ever you seen until seven year ago when I sent him to Clough on\na message, and he fell going over a wall, and it's then he got the\ntouch, and it's like this he's been ever since.\" \"Does he ask to eat\nmuch?\" says I. \"He'd eat the whole world,\" says he. \"Then it's not\nyour son that's in it, you may be sure of that,\" says I, and I turned\nand went away and never went back there again.\n\nAnd it's not many year ago that such a lot of fine women were taken\nfrom Clough, very sudden, after childbirth--fine women--I knew them\nall myself. And I'll tell you a thing I heard of in the country.\nThere was a woman died, and left her child. And every night at twelve\no'clock she'd come back, and brought it out of the bed to the fire,\nand she'd comb it and wash it. And at last six men came and watched\nand stopped her at the door, and she went very near to tear them all\nasunder. But they got the priest, and he took it off her. Well, the\nhusband had got another wife, and the priest came and asked him would\nhe put her away, and take the first again. And so he did, and he\nbrought her to the chapel to be married to her again, and the whole\ncongregation saw her there. That was rather hard on the second wife?\nWell, but wasn't it a great thing for the first poor creature to be\nbrought back? Sure there's many of those poor souls wandering about.\n\nSure enough, some are brought away and kept for years, but sometimes\nthey come back again. There was a woman beyond at Cahirmacun was away\nfor a year, and came back and reared a family after. They know well\nwhat happened them, but they don't speak of it. There was a young\nfellow got a touch there near Ballytown, and a little chap met him\nwandering in the field. And he bid him put out food for him every\nnight, for he had none of their food ate yet, and so they hadn't got\nfull power over him. So food was left for him, and after a time he\ncame back as well as another.\n\n\n_A Connemara man:_\n\nThere are many that die and don't go out of the world at all. The\npriests know that. There was a boy dying in a house up the road, and\nthe priest came to him and he was lying as if dead, that he could\nnot speak nor hear, and the priest said, \"_The boys_ have a hand in\nthis.\" He meant by that, the faeries. I was outside the house myself\nat the time, for the boy was a friend of mine, and I didn't like him\nto die. And you never saw such a storm as arose when the priest was\ncoming to the house, a storm of wind, and a cloud over the moon. But\nafter a while the boy died, and the storm went down and the moon\nshone out as bright as before.\n\nThere was a man was said to go away of nights with _them_. When he\ngot the call, away he must go if he liked it or not.\n\nAnd one day he was out in the bay with some others, and all of a sudden\nhe said, \"Let me go home, my horse is like to die.\" And they wouldn't\nmind him for a time, but at last they turned and rowed home, and they\nfound his horse that was well when he went out, stretched on the field.\n\nAnother time he was with a man that had a grand three-year-old filly\nand was showing it to him. And he said, \"You won't have her long\";\nand it wasn't long after that she died.\n\n\n_Mrs. Feeney:_\n\nThere was a man died and his wife died, and an uncle took charge of\nthe children. The man had a shop but the uncle lived a little way\nfrom the shop, and he would leave the children alone through the\nnight. There were two men making a journey, and a storm rose up, and\nthey asked could they have a part of the night in the house where the\nshop was, and the uncle said they could, and he went to his own house.\n\nThe men were sitting up by the fire and the children were sleeping at\nthe other side of the room. And one of the men said to the other \"God\nrest the soul of the man that died here. He was a good man.\" And the\nother said, \"The wife wasn't so good.\" And just then they heard a noise\nbelow, and they saw the wife that had died coming into the room and she\nwent across and lay down on the bed where the baby was. And the baby\nthat was crying before got quiet then and made no sound at all.\n\nBut as to the two men, bad as the storm was outside, they thought\nbetter to be out in it than to stop in the room where the woman was,\nso they went away. It was to quiet the baby she used to come back.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was an old woman I remember, Mrs. Sheridan, and she had to\ngo with them for two or three hours every night for a while, and\nshe'd make great complaints of the hardship she'd meet with, and how\nshe'd have to spend the night going through little boreens or in the\nchurchyard at Kinvara, or they'd bring her down to the seashore. They\noften meet with hardships like that, those they bring with them, so\nit's no wonder they're glad to get back. This world's the best.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a woman living over there near Aughsulis, and a few years\nago she lost a fine young milch cow, with its first calf. And she\nand the three boys in the house salted it down and they ate the half\nof it and they couldn't eat the other half, it was too hard or too\ntough, and they put it under the dung that was in the yard, the way\nit would melt into it. And when the springtime came, they turned up\nthe dung, and in the place it was buried they found nothing but three\nplanks of the wood that's cut in Connemara--deal they call it. So\nthe cow never died, but was brought away with _themselves_. For many\na young boy and young woman goes like that, and there's no doubt at\nall that Mary Hynes was taken. There's some living yet can remember\nher coming to the pattern was there beyond, and she was said to be\nthe handsomest girl in Ireland. (_Note_ 41.)\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere's a man now living between this place and Kinvara, Fannen his\nname is, and he goes away with them, and he's got delicate and silly\nlike. One night he was in that bad place that's near the chapel of\nKinvara, and he found a great crowd of them about him and a man on a\nwhite horse was with them, and tried to keep him, and he cried and\nstruggled and they let him go at last. But now the neighbours all\nsay he does be going with them, and he told me himself he does. I\nwouldn't be afraid of him when I'd meet him on the road, but many of\nthe neighbours would be afraid.\n\nAnd two of his sons have got silly. They found a bar of gold one time\nout playing in the field, and the money they got for it they put\nit in the bank. But I believe it's getting less now, and what good\ndid it do them when they went like that? One of the boys was to be\na priest, but they had to give that up when he got silly. It was no\nright money. And they'd best not have touched it.\n\n\n_Mrs. Finnegan:_\n\nDreams, we should not pay too much attention to, and we should judge\nthem well, that is, if a dream is bad or good, we should say \"It's a\ngood dream\"; and we should never tell a dream to anyone fasting; and\nit's said if you tell your dream to a tree fasting, it will wither\nup. And it's better to dream of a person's downfall than of him being\nup. When the good people take a cow or the like, you'll know if they\ndid it by there being no fat on what's left in its place and no eyes\nin it. When my own springer died so sudden this year, I was afraid\nto use it. But Pat Hevenor said, \"It's a fool you are, and it might\nsave you the price of a bag of meal to feed the bonifs with a bit of\nit.\" And he brought the cart and brought it home to me. So I put down\na bit to boil for the bonifs to try it, for I heard that if it was\n_their_ work, it would go to water. But there was fat rising to the\ntop, that I have enough in the shed to grease the cart wheels for a\nyear. So then I salted a bit of it down.\n\nIf they take any one with them, yourself or myself it might be,\nthey'll put some old spent man in his place, that they had with them\na long time, and the father and the mother and the children will\nthink it is the child or the father or the mother that is in it. And\nso it may be he'd get absolution. But as for the old faeries that\nwere there from the beginning, I don't know about them. (_Note_ 42.)\n\nIt's said that if we know how to be neighbourly with them, they'd be\nneighbourly and friendly with us. It's said it was they brought away\nthe potatoes in the bad time, when all the potatoes turned black. But\nit wasn't for spite, it was because they wanted them themselves.\n\n\n_Mrs. Casey:_\n\nThere was a woman in Ballinamore died after the baby being born.\nAnd the husband took another wife and she very young, that everyone\nwondered she'd like to go into the house. And every night the first\nwife came to the loft, and looked down at her baby, and they couldn't\nsee her; but they'd know she was there by the child looking up and\nsmiling at her.\n\nSo at last some one said that if they'd go up in the loft after the\ncock crowing three times they'd see her. And so they did, and there\nshe was, with her own dress on, a plaid shawl she had brought from\nAmerica, and a cotton skirt with some edging at the bottom.\n\nSo they went to the priest, and he said Mass in the house, and they\ndidn't see so much of her after that. But after a year, the new wife\nhad a baby. And one day she bid the first child to rock the cradle.\nBut when she sat down to it, a sort of a sickness came over her, and\nshe could do nothing, and the same thing always happened, for her\nmother didn't like to see her caring the second wife's baby.\n\nAnd one day the wife herself fell in the fire and got a great many\nburns, and they said that it was _she_ did it.\n\nSo they went to the blessed well Tubbermacduagh near Kinvara, and\nthey were told to go there every Friday for twelve weeks, and they\nsaid seven prayers and gathered seven stones every time. And since\nthen she doesn't come to the house, but the little girl goes out\nand meets her mother at a faery bush. And sometimes she speaks to\nher there, and sometimes in her dreams. But no one else but her own\nlittle girl has seen her of late.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was one time a tailor, and he was a wild card, always going to\nsprees. And one night he was passing by a house, and he heard a voice\nsaying, \"Who'll take the child?\" And he saw a little baby held out,\nand the hands that were holding it, but he could see no more than\nthat. So he took it, and he brought it to the next house, and asked\nthe woman there to take it in for the night.\n\nWell, in the morning the woman in the first house found a dead child\nin the bed beside her. And she was crying and wailing and called all\nthe people. And when the woman from the neighbouring house came,\nthere in her arms was the child she thought was dead. But if it\nwasn't for the tailor that chanced to be passing by and to take it,\nwe know very well what would have happened it.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThat's a thing happens to many, to have faery children put upon them.\n\n\n_A Man at Corcomroe:_\n\nThere was one Delvin, that lies under a slab yonder, and for seven\nyears he was brought away every night, and into this abbey. And he\nwas beat and pinched, and when he'd come home he'd faint; but he used\nto say that the place that he went to was grander than any city. One\nnight he was with a lot of others at a wake, and they knew the time\nwas coming for him to go, and they all took hold of him. But he was\ndrawn out of the door, and the arms of those that were holding him\nwere near pulled out of their sockets.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMischievous they are, but they don't do much harm. Some say they are\nfallen angels, and hope yet to be saved.\n\n\n_A Slieve Echtge Woman:_\n\nI knew another was away for seven years--and it was in the next\ntownland to this she lived. Bridget Clonkelly her name was. There\nwas a large family of them, and she was the youngest, and a very\nfine-looking fair-haired girl she was. I knew her well, she was the\none age with myself.\n\nIt was in the night she used to go to them, and if the door was shut,\nshe'd come in by the key-hole. The first time they came for her, she\nwas in bed between her two sisters, and she didn't want to go, And\nthey beat her and pinched her, till her brother called out to know\nwhat was the matter.\n\nShe often told me about them, and how she was badly treated because\nshe wouldn't eat their food. She got no more than about three cold\npotatoes she could eat all the time she was with them.\n\nAll the old people about here put out food every night, the first of\nthe food before they have any of it tasted themselves. And she said\nthere was a red-haired girl among them, that would throw her into the\nriver she got so mad with her. But if she'd had their food ate, she'd\nnever have got away from them at all.\n\nShe married a serving-man after, and they went to Sydney, and if\nnothing happened in the last two years they're doing well there now.\n\n\n_Mrs. Casey:_\n\nNear my own house by the sea there was a girl went out one day to get\nnuts near the wood, and she heard music inside the wood. And when\nshe went home she told her mother. But the next day she went again,\nand the next, and she stopped so long that the mother sent the other\nlittle girl to look for her, but she could see no one. But she came\nin after a time, and she went inside into the room, and while she was\nthere the mother heard music from the room; but when the girl came\nout she said she heard nothing. But the next day after that she died.\n\nThe neighbours all came in to the wake, and there was tobacco and\nsnuff there, but not much, for it's the custom not to have so much\nwhen a young person dies. But when they looked at the bed, it was no\nyoung person they saw in it, but an old woman with long teeth that\nyou'd be frightened, and the face wrinkled, and the hands. So they\ndidn't stop but went away, and she was buried the next day. And in\nthe night the mother would hear music all about the house, and lights\nof all colours flashing about the windows.\n\nShe was never seen again except by a boy that was working about the\nplace. He met her one evening at the end of the house, dressed in her\nown clothes. But he could not question her where she was, for it's\nonly when you meet them by a bush you can question them there.\n\n\n_A Man of Slieve Echtge:_\n\nThere was a man, and he a cousin of my own, lost his wife. And one\nnight he heard her come into the room, where he was in bed with the\nchild beside him, and he let on to be asleep, and she took the child\nand brought her out to the kitchen fire and sat down beside it and\nsuckled it.\n\nAnd then she put it back into the bed again, and he lay still and\nsaid nothing. The second night she came again, and he had more\ncourage and he said, \"Why have you got no boots on?\" For he saw that\nher feet were bare. And she said, \"Because there's iron nails in\nthem.\" So he said, \"Give them to me,\" and he got up and drew all the\nnails out of them, and she brought them away.\n\nThe third night she came again, and when she was suckling the child\nhe saw that she was still barefoot, and he asked why didn't she wear\nthe boots. \"Because,\" says she, \"you left one sprig in them, between\nthe upper and the lower sole, But if you have courage,\" says she,\n\"you can do more than that for me. Come tomorrow night to the gap up\nthere beyond the hill, and you'll see the riders going through, and\nthe one you'll see on the last horse will be me. And bring with you\nsome fowl droppings and urine, and throw them at me as I pass, and\nyou'll get me again.\" Well he got so far as to go to the gap, and to\nbring what she told him, and when they came riding through the gap,\nhe saw her on the last horse, but his courage failed him, and he let\nit drop, and he never got the chance to see her again.\n\nWhy she wanted the nails out of her boots? Because it's well known\n_they_ will have nothing to do with iron. And I remember when every\nchild would have an old horse nail hung round its neck with a bit of\nstraw, but I don't see it done now.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was another man though, one of the family of the Coneys beyond\nthere, and his wife was away from him four years. And after that\nhe put out the old hag was in her place, and got his wife back and\nreared children after that, and one of them was trained a priest.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a drunken man in Scariff, and one night he had drink taken\nhe couldn't get home, and fell asleep by the roadside near the\nbridge. And in the night he awoke and heard _them_ at work with cars\nand horses. And one said to another, \"This work is too heavy, we'll\ntake the white horse belonging to so and so\"--giving the name of a\nrich man in the town. So as soon as it was light he went to this man,\nand told him what he had heard them say. But he would only laugh at\nhim and say, \"I'll pay no attention to what a drunkard dreams.\" But\nwhen he went out after to the stable, his white horse was gone.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThat's easy understood. They are shadows, and how could a shadow move\nanything? But they have power over mankind that they can bring them\naway to do their work.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a woman used to go out among them at night, and she said to\nher sister, \"I'll be out on a white horse and I'll stop and knock at\nyour door,\" and so she would do sometimes.\n\nAnd one day there was a man asked her for a debt she owed, and she\nsaid, \"I have no money now.\" But then she put her hand behind her\nand brought it back filled with gold. And then she rubbed it in her\nhand, and when she opened the hand there was nothing in it but dried\ncow-dung. And she said, \"I could give you that but it would be no use\nto you.\"\n\n\n_An Old Woman Talking of Cruachmaa:_\n\nI remember my father being there, and telling me of a girl that was\naway for seven years, and all thought she was dead. And at the end\nof the seven years she walked back one day into her father's house,\nand she all black-looking. And she said she was married there and\nhad two children, but they died and then she was driven away. And\nshe stopped on at her father's house, but the neighbours used to say\nthere was never a day but she'd go up the hill and be there crying\nfor one or two hours.\n\n\n_An Old Woman who only Speaks Irish:_\n\nI remember a young man coming to the island fourteen years ago that had\nnever been in it before and that knew everything that was in it, and\ncould tell you as much as to the stones of the chimney in every house.\nAnd after a few days he was gone and never came again, for they brought\nhim about to every part. But I saw him and spoke to him myself.\n\n\n_Mr. Sullivan:_\n\nThere was a man had buried his wife, and she left three children. And\nthen he took a second wife, and she did away with the children, hurried\nthem off to America, and the like. But the first wife used to be seen\nup in the loft, and she making a plan of revenge against the other wife.\n\nThe second one had one son and three daughters; and one day the son\nwas out digging the field, and presently he went into what is called\na faery hole. And there was a woman came before him, and, says she,\n\"what are you doing here trespassing on my ground?\" And with that she\ntook a stone and hit him in the head, and he died with the blow of\nthe stone she gave him. And all the people said it was by the faeries\nhe was taken.\n\n\n_Peter Henderson:_\n\nThere was a first cousin of mine used sometimes to go out the house,\nthat none would see him going, And one night his brother followed\nhim, and he went down a path to the sea, and then he went into a hole\nin the rocks, that the smallest dog wouldn't go into. And the brother\ntook hold of his feet and drew him out again. He went to America\nafter that, and is living there now; and sometimes in his room\nthey'll see him kicking and laughing as if _some_ were with him.\n\nOne night when some of the neighbours from these islands were with him,\nhe told them he'd been back to Inishmaan, and told all that was going\non. And some would not believe him. And he said, \"You'll believe me\nnext time.\" So the next night he told them again he had been there, and\nhe brought out of his pocket a couple of boiled potatoes and a bit of\nfish and showed them, so then they all believed it.\n\n\n_An Old Man from the State of Maine says, hearing this:_\n\nI knew him in America, and he used often to visit this island, and\nwould know about all of them were living, and would bring us word of\nthem, and all he'd tell us would turn out right. He's living yet in\nAmerica.\n\n\n_An Aran Woman:_\n\nThere was a woman in Killinny was dying, and it was she used to be\nminding the Lodge over there, and when she was near death her own\nlittle girl went out, and she saw her standing, and a black-haired\nwoman with her. And she came back and said to her father \"Don't be\nfretting, my mother's not there in the bed, I saw her up by the Lodge\nand a black woman with her, that took her in with her.\" And there was a\nman from Arklow there, and he said, \"That's not your wife at all that's\nin the bed--that's not Maggie Mulkair. That is a black woman and Maggie\nMulkair is red-haired.\" And the husband looked in the bed, and so it\nwasn't Maggie Mulkair that was in it, but at that minute she died. It's\nwell known they bring back the old to put in the place of the young.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a girl in the County Clare, and she went to get married,\nand she and the husband were riding back on the one horse and it\nslipped and fell. And when she got to the house, she sat quiet and\nnot a word out of her. And everybody said she used to be a pleasant,\njolly girl, but this was like an old woman.\n\nAnd she sat there by the hob for three days and she didn't turn her\nface to the people. But the husband said, \"Let her alone, maybe\nshe's shy yet.\" But his mother got angry at last and she said, \"I'd\nsooner be rubbing stones on the clothes than watching an idle woman.\"\nAnd she went out to the flax and she said to the girl, \"You'd best\nget the dinner ready before the men come in.\" But when she came in\nthere was nothing done; and she gave her a blow with some pieces of\nthe flax that were in her hand, and said, \"Get out of this for a\ngood-for-nothing woman!\" And with that she went up the chimney and\nwas gone. And the mother got the dinner ready, and then she went out,\nnot knowing in the world how to tell the husband what she had done.\nBut when she got to the field where they were working, there was the\ngirl walking down the hill, and she took the two hands of the mother\nand said, \"It's well for me you hadn't patience to last two days more\nor I'd never have got back, but I never touched any of the food while\nI was with them.\"\n\n\n_Mrs. Casey:_\n\nThere was a girl one time, and a boy wanted to marry her, but the\nfather and mother wouldn't let her have him, for he had no money. And\nhe died, and they made a match for her with another. And one day she\nwas out going to her cousins' house, and he came before her and put\nout his hand and said, \"You promised yourself to me, and come with\nme now.\" And she ran, and when she got to the house she fell on the\nfloor. And the cousins thought she had taken a drop of drink, and\nthey began to scold her.\n\nAnother day after that she was walking with her husband and her\nbrother, and a little white dog with them, and they came to a little\nlake. And he appeared to her again, and the husband and the brother\ndidn't see him, but the dog flew at him, and began barking at him and\nhe was hitting at the dog with a stick, and all the time trying to\nget hold of the girl's hand. And the husband and the brother wondered\nwhat the dog was barking at and why it drew down to the lake in the\nend, and out into the water. For it was into it that he was wanting\nto draw the girl.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt's a strange thing that you'll see a man in his coffin and buried;\nand maybe a fortnight after, the neighbours will tell you they saw\nhim walking about. There was one Flaherty lived up at Johnny Reed's\nand he died. And a few days later Johnny Reed's sister and another\nwoman went out with baskets of turnips to the field where the sheep\nwere, to throw them out for them. And when they got to the field they\ncould see Flaherty walking, just in the same clothes he had before he\ndied, long skirts and a jacket, and frieze trousers. So they left the\nturnips and came away.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man up there near Loughrea, one of the Mahers, was away\nfor seven years. In the night he'd be taken, and sometimes in the\ndaytime when he was in the bed sick, that's the time he'd be along\nwith them; riding out and going out across the bay, going as fast as\nthe wind in the sky. Did he like to be with them? Not at all, he'd\nsooner be at home; and it is bad for the health too to be going out\nthese rough nights. There were three men near him that had horses,\nDaniel O'Dea and Farragher and Flynn, and he told them they should\nsell their horses. And Daniel O'Dea and Farragher sold theirs, but\nthe other man wouldn't mind him. And after a few days his horse died.\nOf course they had been with him at night riding their own horses,\nand that's how he knew what would happen and gave the warning.\n\n\n_The Spinning Woman:_\n\nThere was a man got married, and he began to pine away, and after a\nfew weeks the mother asked him what ailed him. And he opened his coat\nand showed her his breast inside, that it was all torn and bloody. And\nhe said: \"That's the way I am; and that's what she does to me in the\nnights.\" So the mother brought her out and bid her to pick the green\nflax, and she was against touching it, but the mother made her. And no\nsooner had she touched three blades of it but she said, \"I'm gone now,\"\nand away with her. And when they went back to the room they found the\ndaughter lying in a deep sleep, where she had just been put back.\n\n\n_An Old Woman at Kinvara:_\n\nThere was a woman put in her coffin for dead, but a man that was\npassing by knew that she wasn't dead, and he brought her away and\nmarried her and lived with her for seven years, and had seven children\nby her. And one day he brought her to a fair near the place she came\nfrom, and the people that saw her said: \"If that woman that died ever\nhad a sister, that would be her sister.\" So he let it out to them then\nabout her. But his mother always minded her, that she wouldn't wet her\nhands. But one day the mother was hurried, and the woman made a cake.\nAnd after making it she washed her hands, and with that they had her\nagain and she went from the husband and from her children.\n\n\n_A Herd:_\n\nOne time I was tending this farm for Flaherty, and I came in late one\nevening after being out with cattle, and I sent my wife for an ounce\nof tobacco, and I stopped in the house with the child. And after a\ntime I heard the rattle of the door, and the wife came in half out of\nher mind. She said she was walking the road and she met four men, and\nshe knew that they were not of this world, and she fell on the road\nwith the fright she got, but she thought one of them was her brother,\nand he put his hand under her head when she fell, so that she got no\nhurt. And for a long time after she wasn't in her right mind, and\nshe'd bring the child out in the field, to see her brother. And at\nlast I brought her to the priest, and when we were on the way there\nshe called out that those fields of stones were full of them, and\nthey all dressed in tall hats and black coats. But the priest read\nsomething over her and she's been free from them since then.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere were three women died within a year, one here, John Harragher's\nwife, and two at Inishmaan. And the year after they were all seen\ntogether, riding on white horses at the other side of the island.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere were two young women lived over in that village you see there,\nand they were not good friends, for they were in two public houses.\nAnd one of them died in January, after her baby being born. Some said\nit was because of her mother or the nurse giving her strong tea, but\nit wasn't that, it was because her time had come. And when the other\nwoman heard it she said to her husband, \"Give me the concertina, and\nI'll play till you dance for joy that Mrs. Considine is gone.\" But in\nApril her own child was born, and though the doctor tried to save her\nhe couldn't and she died.\n\nAnd since then they're often seen to appear walking together. People\nwonder to see them together, and they not friends while they lived.\nBut it's bad to give way to temper, and who is nearer to us than a\nneighbour?\n\n\n_A Young Woman:_\n\nI know a girl that lost her mother soon after she was born. And surely\nthe mother came back to her every night and suckled her, for she'd lie\nas quiet as could be, without a bottle or a hap'orth and they'd hear\nher sucking. And one night the grandmother felt her daughter that was\ngone lying in the clothes, and made a grab at her, but she was gone.\nMaybe she'd have kept her if she'd taken her time, for there's charms\nto bring such back. But the little girl grew, that she was never the\nsame in the morning that she was the night before, and there's no finer\ngirl in the island now. I call to my own mother sometimes when things\ngo wrong with me, and I think I'm always the better of it. And I often\nsay those that are gone are troubled with those they leave behind. But\nGod have mercy on all the mothers of the world!\n\n\n_Mrs. Maher:_\n\nThere was a woman with her husband passing by Esserkelly, and she had\nleft her child at home. And a man came and called her in, and promised\nto leave her on the road where she was before. So she went, and there\nwas a baby in the place she was brought to, and they asked her to\nsuckle it. And when she had come out again she said, \"One question I'll\nask. What were those two old women sitting by the fire?\" And the man\nsaid, \"We took the child today, and we'll have the mother tonight and\none of them will be put in her place, and the other in the place of\nsome other person.\" And then he left her where she was before.\n\nBut there's no harm in them, no harm at all.\n\n\n_Tom Hislop:_\n\nScully told me he was by the hedge up there by Ballinamantane one\nevening and a blast came, and as it passed he heard something crying,\ncrying, and he knew by the sound that it was a child that they were\ncarrying away.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnd a woman brought in at Esserkelly heard a baby crying and a woman\nsinging to it not to fret, for such a woman would die that night or\nthe next and would come to mind her. And the very next night the\nwoman she heard the name of died in childbirth.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAt Aughanish there were two couples came to the shore to be married,\nand one of the new-married women was in the boat with the priest, and\nthey going back to the island. And a sudden blast of wind came, and\nthe priest said some blessed Aves that were able to save himself, but\nthe girl was swept.\n\n\n_Peter Hanrahan:_\n\nNo, I never went to Biddy Early. What would they want with the like\nof me? It's the good and the pious they come for.\n\nI remember fourteen years ago how eleven women were taken in\nchildbirth from this parish. But as to the old, what business would\nthey have with them? They'd be nothing but a bother to them. There\nwas a woman living by the road that goes to Scahanagh, and one day a\ncarriage stopped at her door, and a grand lady came out of it, and\nasked would she come and give the breast to her child, and she said\nshe couldn't leave her own children. But the lady said no harm would\nhappen her, and brought her away to a big house, but when she got\nthere she wouldn't stop, but went home again. And in the morning the\nwoman's cow was dead. And the husband that had a card for carding\nflax looked through it; and in the place of the cow, there was\nnothing but an old man.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnd there was a man and a girl that gave one another a hard promise\nhe never to marry any other woman, and she never to marry any other\nman. But he broke his promise and married another. And the girl died,\nand one night he saw a sort of a shadow coming across the grass, and\nshe spoke to him, and it was the girl he had promised to marry, and\nshe kept him in talk till midnight. And she came every night after\nthat, and would stop till midnight, and he began to waste away and\nto get thin, and his wife asked him what was on him, and she picked\nout of him what it was. And after that the girl asked him to come and\nsave her, and she would be on the second first horse going through\na gap. And he went, and when he got there his courage failed, and he\ndid nothing to save her, but after that he never saw her again.\n\n\n_Mrs. Roche:_\n\nThere was a woman used to go away with them, and they'd leave her at\nthe doorstep in the morning, and she wouldn't be the better for a\nlong time of all she'd gone through. She got out of it after, and was\na fine woman when I knew her.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMy mother told me of a woman that used to go with them, and one night\nthey were passing by a house, and there was no clean water in it,\nand it was readied up. And they said, \"We'll have the blood of the\nman of the house.\" And there was a big pot of broth on the fire for\nthe morning, for the poor people had no tea in those days; and the\nwoman said, \"Won't broth do you?\" And they took the broth. And in the\nmorning early, the woman after she was left back went to the house,\nand there was the woman of the house getting ready the broth, for it\nlooked just like it did before. And she said, \"Throw it out before\nyou lose your husband.\" For she knew that the first that would taste\nit would die, and that it's to the man of the house that the first\nshare is always given.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMy mother was always wanting to call one of her children Pat, the\nname of her own father, but my father always made her give them some\ndifferent name. But when one of the youngest was born he said, \"Give\nhim what name you like.\" So they gave him the name of her father;\nand he was like the apple of her eye, she was so fond of him. But a\nsickness came on him and he wasted away, and she went to a strange\nforge and brought forge water away, for she wouldn't take it from our\nown forge, and gave him a drink of it. And I saw her and I said to\nher, \"I'll tell my father you're giving forge water to Paddy.\" And\nshe said, \"If you do I'll kill you,\" so I said nothing. And she gave\nhim a second drink of it and not a third, for he was gone before he\ncould get it. If it had been her own child, it would have saved him,\nbut she told me after she knew it was another, his kneecaps were so\nbig and other parts of his body.\n\nThere was another little one she lost. She was sitting one time\nnursing it outside the door, and a lady and a gentleman came up the\nroad, and the lady said, \"Who are you nursing the child for?\" And\nshe said, \"For no one in the world but God and myself.\" And then the\nlady and the gentleman were gone and no sign of them, though it was a\nstraight road, you know that long straight road in Galway that goes by\nProspect, and it wasn't many days after that when the child got ill,\nand in a few days it was dead. And when it was lying there stretched\nout on two chairs, the lady came in again and looked at it and said,\n\"What a pity!\" And then she said, \"It's gone to a better place.\" \"I\nhope it may be so,\" said my mother, stiff like that; and she went away.\n\nI was delicate one time myself, and I lost my walk, and one of the\nneighbours told my mother it wasn't myself that was there. But my\nmother said she'd soon find that out, for she'd tell me that she was\ngoing to get a herb that would cure me, and if it was myself I'd want\nit, but if I was another I'd be against it. So she came in and she\nsaid to me, \"I'm going to Dangan to look for the _lus-mor_, that will\nsoon cure you.\" And from that day I gave her no peace till she'd go\nto Dangan and get it; so she knew that I was all right. She told me\nall this afterwards.\n\n\n_M. Cushin:_\n\nIt is about the forths they are, not about the churchyards. The\nAmad\u00e1n is the worst of them all.\n\nThey say people are brought away by them. I knew a girl one time near\nBallyvaughan was said to be with them for nine months. She never eat\nanything all that time, but the food used to go all the same.\n\nThere was a man called Hession died at that time and after the\nfuneral she began to laugh, and they asked her what was she laughing\nat, and she said, \"You would all be laughing yourselves if you could\nopen the coffin and see what it is you were carrying in it.\" The\npriest heard of her saying that and he was vexed.\n\nDid they open the coffin? They did not, where would be the use, for\nwhatever was in it would be in the shape of some person, young or\nold. They would see nothing by looking at that.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a woman near Feakle, Mrs. Colman, brought away for seven\nyears; she was the priest's sister. But she came back to her husband\nafter, and she cured till the day of her death came every kind of\nsores, just putting her hand on them and saying, \"In the Name of the\nFather, of the Son, and the Holy Ghost.\"\n\nThere was a man in Gort was brought for a time to Tir-ran-og, that is\na part of heaven.\n\n\n_A North Galway Woman:_\n\nThere was a woman died near this after her baby being born, and there\nwas only the father to mind it. And a girl of the neighbours that\ncame in to watch it one night said that surely she saw the mother\ncome back to it, and stoop down to the cradle and give it the breast.\nAnd anyway she grew and throve better than any other child around.\nAnd there was a woman died near Monivea, and sometimes in the daytime\nthey'd see her in the garden combing the children's hair.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a Connemara man digging potatoes in that field beyond, and\nhe told us that back in Connemara there was a woman died, and a few\nnights after she came back and the husband saw her. And she said,\n\"Let you not put a hand on me _yourself_, but I'll come back tomorrow\nnight and others with me, and let me not cross the threshold when we\nare going out, but let your brother be there that has the strength of\nsix men in him, and let him hold me.\" And so they did, and she reared\nfour children after.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a woman died two houses from this, and it wasn't many days\nafter she being buried the woman in the next house, Sibby her name\nis, came in here in the morning, and she told me she saw her coming\nin here the night before. And the sweat was on Sibby's face and she\nsaid, \"God knows I am speaking the truth. Why would I put a lie on\nthat poor woman?\" And why would she indeed?\n\nAnd she said that in the night when she was in her bed, and two or\nthree children along with her, the woman that had died came beside\nthe bed and called her, and then she went out and said, \"I'll come\nagain and I'll bring my company with me.\"\n\nAnd so she did, for she came back and her company with her, and they\nwith umbrellas and hats in their hands, dressed grand, just now like\nthe servants at Newtown. And she stooped over the bed again, and she\nsaid, \"It was through Thomas I was lost.\" For there was one of her\nsons was called Thomas, and coming home one day he got a little turn\nof his foot, that the mother was doing what she could for with herbs\nand the like for a long time, so that he got well all but a little\nlimp. So that's why she said that it was through Thomas she was lost.\nAnd she said, \"There'll be a station at Athenry on such a day, and\nsend three of the children\"--and she named the three--\"to do it for\nme.\" And so they did, and she was seen no more. And I'm sure it was\nno lie Sibby was telling. And she told the priest about what she saw\nand all he said was, \"Well, if you saw that you're happy.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a woman died, and every night she'd come back and bring the\nbaby to the fire, and dress it and suckle it. And the brother got to\nspeak with her one night, and she said, \"Oh why wasn't I put in the\ncoffin with my own dress on that I was wearing? It's ashamed I was to\ngo into such a crowd and such a congregation with nothing about me but\na white sheet. And if it wasn't that I saw a boy of the neighbours\namong them that I knew before, I would have been very lonely.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere were two boys that were comrades, and if you'd see Dermot\nyou'd say, \"Where is Pat?\" And if you'd see Pat you'd say, \"Where is\nDermot?\" And one of them died, and everybody wondered at the comrade\nnot being all the day to the corpse-house. And when he came in the\nevening he took a pinch of snuff, and he held it to the nose of the\nboy that was laid out on the table and he saw it sniff a little. So\nhe made up the fire and he called another boy, and they laid the body\ndown behind the fire; and if they did away with it, the boy himself\ncame walking in at the door.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a girl I heard of brought away among _them_--and there was\nthe finest of eating to be had. But there's always a friend in such\nplaces, and she got warning not to eat a bit of the food without\nshe'd get salt with it. So when they put her down to eat, she asked\na grain of salt, but not a grain was to be had. So she would eat\nnothing. But I believe they did away with her after.\n\n\n_John Phelan:_\n\nMike Folan was here the other day telling us newses, and he told the\nstrangest thing ever I heard--that happened to his own first cousin.\nShe died and was buried, and a year after, her husband was sitting\nby the fire, and she came back and walked in. He gave a start, but\nshe said, \"Have no fear of me, I was never in the coffin and never\nburied, but I was kept away for the year.\" So he took her again and\nthey reared four children after that. She was Mike Folan's own first\ncousin and he saw the four children himself.\n\n\n_An Old Army Man:_\n\nMy family were of the Glynns of Athenry. I had an aunt that married a\nman of the name of Roche, and their child was taken. So they brought\nit to the Lady Well near Athenry, where there's patterns every\nfifteenth of August, to duck it. And such a ducking they gave it that\nit walked away on crutches, and it swearing. And their own child they\ngot back again, but he didn't live long after that.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man I know, that was my comrade often, used to be taken\naway for nights, and he'd speak of the journeys he had with them. And\nhe got severe treatment and didn't want to go, but they'd bring him\nby force. He recovered after, and joined the army, and I was never so\nsurprised as I was the day he walked in when I was in India.\n\n\n_Mrs. Brown:_\n\nThere was a woman in Tuam, Mrs. Shannon knew her well, was said to\nbe away for seven years. And she was always sitting in the corner\nby the fire, not speaking, but a kind of a sound like moaning she'd\nmake to herself; and they'd always bring her her dinner over in the\ncorner, and if any one came in to see her--and many came hearing she\nwas away--she'd draw the shawl over her face. And at the end of the\nseventh year she began to get a little life and strength coming in\nto her, and within a week she was strong and well, and lived a good\nmany years after. And it's not long since some one that had a falling\nout with her daughters said to them, \"It's well known your mother\nwas away in Cruachmaa.\" And the poor girls when they heard that said\ncried a great deal.\n\n\n_Mrs. Casey:_\n\nSome people from Lismara I was talking to told me there was a girl\nthe mother thought to be away, and she'd go out in the evening. And\nthe mother followed her one time, and after she went a bit into the\nfields she saw her with an old woman very strangely dressed, with a\nwhite cap with an edging, and a green shawl and a black apron and a\nred petticoat. And the woman was smoking, and she gave the girl a\nsmoke of the pipe. And the mother went home, and by and by the girl\ncame in, and she smelling of tobacco. And the mother asked where was\nshe? And she said, in some neighbour's house; and the mother knew she\nwasn't there, but that she was going with the faeries. And two or\nthree days after that, they had her taken altogether; and the clergy\nthat attended her said it was some old hag that was put in her place.\n\n\n_Mrs. Oliver:_\n\nThere was Farly Folan's wife going, going, and all the night they\nthought that she was at the last puff. But the minute the cock crew,\nshe sat up straight and strong. \"I had a hard fight for it,\" she\nsaid, \"but care me well now ye have me back again.\" And she lived a\nbit, but not long, after that.\n\nThat child of the Latteys that is silly, she was walking about today\nshaking hands with everyone that would come into the house. And the\nreason she's like that is, when she was born the breath had left her\nand the mother began to cry and to scream and to roar, and then the\nbreath came back. She had a right to have let her go and not to have\nbrought her back.\n\nThere's a girl of Fardy Folan's is said to be away. Anyway she's a\nfool, and a blow from her would kill you, it is always like that with\na fool. And it was her mother I told you of that was as they thought\ngone, and that sat up again and said, \"Take care of me now, I had a\nhard fight for it.\" But indeed she didn't live long after that.\n\n\n_Mrs. Feeney:_\n\nWhen one is taken, the body is taken as well as the spirit, and some\ngood-for-nothing thing left in its place. What they take them for\nis to work for them, and to do things they can't do themselves. You\nmight notice it's always the good they take. That's why when we see a\nchild good for nothing we say, \"Ah, you little faery.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man lost his wife and a hag was put in her place, and\nshe came back and told him to come out at night where she'd be riding\nwith the rest, and to throw something belonging to her after her--he'd\nknow her by her being on a white horse. And so he did and got her back\nagain. And when they were going home he said, \"I'll have the life of\nthat old hag that was put in your place.\" But when they got to the\nhouse, she was out of it before him, and was never heard of again.\n\nThere was a man telling me it was in a house where the woman was\nafter a youngster, and she died, that is, we'll call it died, but she\nwas _taken_, that the husband saw her coming back to give the breast\nto the child and to wash it. And the second night he got hold of her\nand held her until morning, and when the cock crowed she sat down\nagain and stayed; they had no more power over her.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSurely some go among them for seven years. There was Kitty Hayes\nlived at Kilcloud, for seven years she had everything she could want,\nand music and dancing could be heard around her house every night,\nand all she did prospered; but she ate no food all that time, only\nshe took a drink of the milk after the butter being churned. But at\nthe end of the seven years all left her, and she was glad at the last\nto get Indian meal.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man driving cattle from Craughwell to Athenry for a fair.\nAnd it was before sunrise and dark, and presently he saw a light by\nthe side of the road, and he was glad of it, for he had no matches\nand he wanted to light his pipe to smoke it. So he turned aside,\nand there were some people sitting there, and they brought him in,\nthrough a sort of a door and asked him to sit down. And so he did,\nand he saw that they were all strangers, not one he knew among them.\nAnd there was a fire and they put food and drink on the table, and\nasked him what would he have. And there opposite him he saw his own\ncows that were brought in too, and he knew that he was in a faery\nplace. But in all these places there's always one well-wisher, so\nwhile he was sitting there, an old woman came to him and whispered in\nhis ear, \"Don't for your life eat a bit or drink a drop of what they\ngive you, or you'll never go away again.\" So he would take nothing.\nIf it hadn't been for the old woman, he might have taken something,\njust not to vex them. And at sunrise they let him out, and he was on\nthe road again and his cattle before him.\n\nWell, when he was coming back from the fair, there were two men with\nhim, and he pointed them out the place where all this happened, for\nwhen three persons are together, there's no fear of anything and they\ncan say what they like. And the others told him it was a faery place\nand many strange things had happened there. And they told him how\nthere was a woman had a baby lived close by there, and before it was\na week old her husband had to leave her because of his brother having\ndied. And no sooner was she left alone than she was _taken_, and they\nsent for the priest to say Mass in the house, but she was calling out\nevery sort of thing they couldn't understand, and within a few days\nshe was dead.\n\nAnd after death the corpse began to change, and first it looked like\nan old woman, and then like an old man, and they had to bury it the\nnext day. And before a week was over she began to appear. They always\nappear when they leave a child like that. And surely she was taken\nto nurse the faery children, just like poor Mrs. Raynor was last year.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere's a well near Kinvara, Tubbermacduagh it's called, and it's all\nhung with rags, and piles of seven stones about it, for it's a great\nplace to bring children to, to get them back when they've been changed\nby the faeries. Nine days they should be going to it, and saying\nprayers each day. And you'll see the child that's coming back will be\nlike itself one day and like an old person another day and sometimes\nit will feel a picking, picking at it and it in its mother's arms.\nMcCullagh's daughter that was _taken_ is often to be seen there.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen any one is taken something is put in their place--even when a\ncow or the like goes. There was one of the Simons used to be going\nabout the country skinning cattle and killing them, even for the\ncountry people if they were sick. One day he was skinning a cow that\nwas after dying by the roadside, and another man with him. And Simon\nsaid, \"It's a pity he can't sell this meat to some butcher, he might\nget something for it.\" But the other man made a ring of his fingers\nlike this, and looked through it and then bade Simon to look, and\nwhat he saw was an old piper; and when he thought he was skinning the\ncow, what he was doing was cutting off his leather breeches. So it's\nvery dangerous to eat beef you buy from any of those sort of common\nbutchers. You don't know what might have been put in its place.\n\n\n_A Man at Corcomroe:_\n\nThere was Shane Rua that was away every night for seven years. He told\nhis brother-in-law that told me that in that hill behind the abbey\nthere is the most splendid town that was ever seen. Often he was in it,\nand ought not to have been talking about it, but he said he wouldn't\ngive them the satisfaction of it, he didn't care what they did to him.\nBut he fainted that night they took him from the wake, and you know\nwhat a strong man Peter Nestor was, and _he_ couldn't hold him.\n\nBuried he is now beside that wall.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCloran the plumber's mother was taken away, it's always said. The way\nit's known is, it was not long after her baby was born but she was\ndoing well. And one morning very early a man and his wife were going\nin a cart to Loughrea one Thursday for the market, and they met some\nof _those people_ and they asked the woman that had her own child\nwith her, would she give a drink to their child that was with them,\nand while she was doing it they said, \"We won't be in want of a nurse\ntonight, we'll have Mrs. Cloran of Cloon.\" And when they got back in\nthe evening, Mrs. Cloran was dead before them.\n\nThey said it of Glynn's wife last year. And anyway, her mother was\ntaken in the same way before her.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a boy I know lived between our house and Clough, and his\nhand was lame all his life from a burn he got when he was a child.\nAnd one evening in winter he walked out of the house and was never\nheard of or seen again, or any account of him. And it was not the\ntime of year to go look for work, and anyway, he could never make a\nliving with his lame hand.\n\n\n_Mrs. Casey:_\n\nMy sister told me that near Tyrone or Cloughballymore there was a man\nwalking home one night late, and he had to pass by a smith's forge\nwhere one Kinealy used to work. And when he came near, he heard the\nnoise of the anvil, and he wondered Kinealy would be working so late in\nthe night. But when he went in he saw that they were strange men that\nwere in it. So he asked them the time, and they told him, and he said,\n\"I won't be home this long time yet.\" And one of the men said, \"You'll\nbe home sooner than what you think.\" And another said, \"There's a man\non a grey horse gone the road, you'll get a lift from him.\" And he\nwondered that they'd know the road he was going to his home. But sure\nenough as he was walking he came up with a man on a grey horse, and\nhe gave him a lift. But when he got home his wife saw that he looked\nstrange-like, and she asked what ailed him, and he told her all that\nhappened. And when she looked at him she saw that he was taken. So he\nwent into the bed, and the next evening he was dead. And all the people\nthat came in knew by the appearance of the corpse that it was an old\nman had been put in his place, and that he was taken when he got on the\ngrey horse. For there's something not right about a grey horse or a\nwhite horse, or about a red-haired woman.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a girl buried in Kilisheen, one of the Shaws, and when she\nwas laid out on the bed a woman that went in to look at her saw that\nshe opened her eyes, and made a sort of a face at her. But she said\nnothing, but sat down by the hearth. But another woman came in after\nthat and the same thing happened, and she told the mother, and she\nbegan to cry and to roar that they'd say such a thing of her poor\nlittle girl. But it wasn't the little girl that was in it at all but\nsome old person. And the man that nailed down the coffin left the nails\nloose, and when they came to Kilisheen churchyard he looked in, and not\none thing was inside it but the sheet and a bundle of shavings.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man lived beyond on the Kinvara road, and his child died\nand he buried it. But he was passing the place after, and he asked\na light for his pipe in some house, and after lighting it he threw\nthe sod, and it glowing, just where he buried the child, and what do\nyou think but it came back to him again, and he brought it to its\nmother. For they can't bear fire.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a tailor working in a house one time, and the woman of\nthe house was near wore out with a baby that was always petting and\ncrying for the breast-milk and never quiet, and he as thin as the\ntongs. Well, one day she made a big fire, and went out for a can of\nwater to put in the pot. And the tailor had taken notice of the child\nand knew he was a _lad_. So no sooner was the woman gone than he took\nhold of him and said, \"I know well what you are, and I'll put you at\nthe back of the fire unless you'll give me a tune.\" So when he felt\nthe fire he said he would; and where did he bring his bagpipes from\nbut down from the rafters, and played them till the woman came back\nagain. So when she had the fire well settled up round the pot, he\ntold her what the child was that had her wore out screeching for the\nbreast. And he made as though to put him on the fire. And with that\nit made one leap and was out of the door, and brought the bagpipes\nwith it and was never seen again. Aren't they the schemers now to do\nsuch things as that?\n\n\n_Honor Whelan:_\n\nThere is a boy now of the Egans, but I wouldn't for the world let\nthem think I spoke of him, but it's two years since he came from\nAmerica. And since that time he never went to Mass or to church or\nto market or to stand on the cross-roads or to the hurling or to\nnothing. And if any one comes into the house, it's into the room\nhe'll slip not to see them. And as to work, he has the garden dug to\nbits, and the whole place smeared with cow-dung, and such a crop as\nwas never seen, and the alders all plaited that they look grand.\n\nOne day he went as far as Castle Daly church, but as soon as he got\nto the door he turned straight round again as if he hadn't power to\npass it. I wonder he wouldn't get the priest to read a Mass for him\nor some such thing. But the crop he has is grand, and you may know\nwell that he has _some_ that help him.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a boy in the bed for seven years, and when the seven years\nwere at an end there was a tailor working in the house, and he kept his\neye on him, and sat working where he could see into the room. And so\nall of a sudden he got up, and walked out into the kitchen and called\nto his mother for his breeches. For it was himself come back again.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man used to disappear every night, and no one knew where\nhe went. But one morning a boy that was up saw him on the side of the\nmountain beyond, putting on his boots. So then it was known he had\nbeen at these hurlings.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a sister of my own went away among them in a trance. She\nwent to America after, but didn't live long.\n\n\n_Mrs. Hayden of Slieve Echtge:_\n\nThere was a woman one time travelling here with my sister from\nLoughrea, and she had her child in the cart with her. And as they went\nalong the road, a man came out of a sort of a hollow with bushes beside\nthe road, and he asked the woman to come along with him for a minute.\nAnd she reddened, but my sister bid her go, and so she went. And the\nman brought her into a house, and there lying on a bed was a baby, and\nshe understood she was to give suck to it and so she did, and came\naway; and when she was away out, she saw that the man that brought her\nwas her brother that was dead, and that is the reason she was chosen.\n\nThere was another woman, my husband knew her, was taken and an old\nhag put in her place, that keeps to her bed all the time. And when\nthe seven years were at an end, she got restless like, for they must\nchange every seven years.\n\nSo she told the husband the way he should redeem his wife, and where\nhe'd see her with the riders if he'd go out to some place at night.\nAnd so he did, and threw what he had at her and she sitting on a\nhorse behind a young man. And when they came home, the old hag was\ngone. She said the young man was very kind to her and had never done\nanything to offend her. And she had two or three children and left\nthem behind. But for all that she was glad to come back to her own\nhouse. When children are left like that, the mother being brought\nback again, it's then they want a nurse for them, to give them milk\nand to attend them.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI know a man was away among them. Every night he would be taken and\nhis wife got used to it after some time; at first she didn't like him\nto be taken out of the bed beside her. And in harvest, to see that\nman reap--he'd reap three times as much as any other help he had--of\ncourse that's well known.\n\n\n_One Dempsey:_\n\nThere was a girl at Inniskill in the east of the country, of the same\nname as my own, was lying on a mat for eight years. When she first\ngot the touch the mother was sick, and there was no room in the bed,\nso they laid a mat on the floor for her, and she never left it for\nthe eight years; but the mother died soon after.\n\nShe never got off the mat for any one to see. But one night there was\na working-man came to the house, and they gave him lodging for the\nnight, and he watched from the other room, and in the night he saw\nthe outer door open, and three or four boys come in, and a piper with\nthem or a fiddler--I'm not sure which--and he played to them and they\ndanced, and the girl got up off the mat and joined them. And in the\nmorning when he was sitting at breakfast he looked over to her where\nshe was lying and said, \"You were the best dancer among them last\nnight.\"\n\nThere was a priest came when she had been about two years lying there\nand said something should be done for her, and he came to the house\nand read Masses, and then he took her by the hand and bid her stand\nup. But she snatched the hand away and said, \"Get away you devil.\"\nAt last Father Lahiff came to Inniskill, and he came and whatever he\ndid, he drove away what was there, and brought the girl back again,\nand since then she walks and does the work of the house as well as\nanother. And Father Lahiff said in the Chapel it was a shame for no\npriest to have done that for her before.\n\n\n(_Later._)\n\nSibby Dempsey of my own name that lives in the next house to me is\naway still. Every time I go back she can tell me if anything happened\nme, and where I was or what I did. And more than that, she can tell the\nfuture and what will happen you. But there's not many like to go to\nher, for the priest is against her, and if he'd hear you went to her\nhouse he'd be speaking against you at the altar on Sundays. But she\nhas a good many cured. Some she cured that were going to be brought to\nthe asylum in Ballinasloe. By charms she does it, wherever she gathers\nherbs, she that never left the bed these ten years. Twenty years she\nwas when she got the touch, and it's on her ten years now.\n\nThere was a woman had a little girl, and her side got paralysed that\nshe couldn't stir, and she went to the priest, Father Dwyer--he's\ndead since. For the priests can do all cures, but they wouldn't like\nto be doing them, to bring themselves into danger. And she asked him\nto do a cure on the little girl, but what he said was, \"Do you ask me\nto take God's own mercy from Himself?\" So when she heard that, she\nwent away, and she went to Sibby Dempsey. And she is the best writer\nthat ever you saw, and she got a pen and wrote some words on a bit\nof paper, and gave them to the old woman to put on the little girl's\narm, and so she did, and on the moment she was cured.\n\nWe don't talk much to her now, we don't care to meddle much with\nthose that have been brought back, so we keep out of her way. She'll\nmost likely go to America.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo bring any one back from being in the faeries you should get the\nleaves of the _lus-mor_ and give them to him to drink. And if he only\ngot a little touch from them and had some complaint in him at the\nsame time, that makes him sick-like, that will bring him back. But if\nhe is altogether in the faeries, then it won't bring him back, for\nhe'll know what it is and he'll refuse to drink it.\n\nIn a trance the soul goes from the body, but to be among the Sheogue\nthe body is taken and something left in its place.\n\n\n(_Later._)\n\nThat girl I was telling you about in my own village, Sibby Dempsey,\nI had a letter about her the other day when I was in Cashel, and she\nthat had been in her bed seventeen years is walking out and going\nto Mass, a nice respectable woman. They told me no more than that\nin the letter, but Tom Carden the policeman that had been there for\nhis holiday told that there had come a wandering woman--one of her\nown sort, it's likely--to the house one night, and asked a lodging\nin the name of God. Sibby called out, and asked Maggie, the girl,\nwho was that? And the woman stopped the night, and whatever they did\nwas between themselves, and in the morning the wandering woman went\naway, and Sibby got up out of the bed, that she never had left for\nseventeen years. Now she never was there all that time in my belief,\nfor if it was an oak stick was lying there through all those years\nwouldn't it be rotten? It is in the faeries she was, and it not\nherself used to be in it in the night-time. (_Note_ 43.)\n\n\n(_Later._) Sibby Dempsey is getting ready now for her wedding. She is\nall right now; she has gone through her years.\n\nBut what do you say to what happened her father shortly after she\nbeing brought back? His horse fell with him coming home one evening\nand both his legs were broke, and the horse was killed. That is the\nrevenge they took for the girl being taken away from them.\n\n\n_One Lanigan:_\n\nMy own mother was away for twenty-one years, and at the end of every\nseven years she thought it would be off her, but she never could\nleave the bed. She could not sit up and make a little shirt or such a\nthing for us. It was of the fever she died at last.\n\nThe way she got the touch was one day after we left the place we used\nto be in. And we got our choice place in the estate, and my father\nchose Cahirbohil, but a great number of the neighbours went to Moneen.\nAnd one day a woman that had been our neighbour came over from Moneen,\nand my mother showed her everything and told her of her way of living.\nAnd she walked a bit of the way with her, and when they were parting\nthe woman said, \"You'll soon be the same as such a one,\" and as she\nturned away she felt a pain in her hand. And from that day she lost her\nhealth. My father went to Biddy Early, but she said it was too late,\nshe could do nothing, but she would take nothing from him.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a man out at Roxborough, Colevin was his name, was known to\nbe away with them. And one day there were a lot of the people footing\nturf, and a blast of wind came and passed by. And after it passed a\njoking fellow that was among them called out, \"Is Colevin with you?\"\nAnd the blast turned and knocked an eye out of him, that he never had\nthe sight of it again.\n\n\n_J. Joyce:_\n\nThere was a little chap I used to go to school with was away. He was in\nbed for three or four years, and then he could only walk on two sticks,\ntill one day his father was going into Clough and he wanted to go, and\nthe father said, \"They'll be laughing at you going on your two sticks.\"\nSo then he said, \"Well, I'll go on one,\" and threw one away and after\nthat he got rid of the other as well--and got all right. He never would\ntell anything about where he was, but if any one asked him he'd begin\nto cry. He was very smart at his books, and very handy, so that when he\ngot well he got a good offer of work and went to America.\n\n\n_An Islander:_\n\nThere was a girl on the middle island used to be away every night,\nand they never missed her, for there was something left in her place,\nbut she got thin in the face and wasted away. She told the priest at\nlast, and he bid her go and live in some other place, and she went to\nAmerica, and there she is still. And she told them after, it was a\ncomrade she had among them used to call her and to bring her about to\nevery place, and that if she took a bit of potato off the skib in the\nhouse, it might be on Black Head she'd be eating it. And to parties the\nother girl would bring her, and she'd be sitting on her lap at them.\n\nBut those that are brought away would be glad to be back. It's a poor\nthing to go there after this life. Heaven is the best place, Heaven\nand this world we're in now.\n\n\n_A Man whose Son is Said to be Away:_\n\nI don't know what's wrong with my son unless that he's a real\nregular Pagan. He lies in the bed the most of the day and he won't\ngo out till evening and he won't go to Mass. And he has a memory for\neverything he ever heard or read. I never knew the like. Most people\nforget what they read in a book within one year after.\n\n\n_A Travelling Man:_\n\nA man I met in America told me that one time before they left this\ncountry they were working in a field. And in the next field but one\nthey saw a little funeral, a very little one, and it passed into a\nforth. And there was a child sick in the house near by; and that\nevening she died. But they had her taken away in the daytime.\n\n\n_Mr. Feeney:_\n\nIt's a saying that the Sheogue take away the blackberries in the month\nof November; anyway we know that when the potatoes are taken it's by\nthe _gentry_, and surely this year they have put their fancy on them.\n\nI know the brothers of a man that was away for seven years, and he\nwas none the better for it and had no riches after. It was in that\nplace beyond--where you'd see nothing but hills and hollows--but when\nhe was brought in, he saw what was like a gentleman's avenue, and it\nleading to a grand house. He didn't mind being among them, when once\nhe got used to it and was one of the force. Of course they wouldn't\nlike you to touch a bush that would belong to them. They might want\nit for shelter; or it might only be because it belongs to them that\nthey wouldn't like it touched.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was one of the Readys, John, was away for seven years lying in\nthe bed, but brought away at nights. And he knew everything. And one\nKearney up in the mountains, a cousin of his own, lost two hoggets and\ncame and told him. And he saw the very spot where they were and bid him\nto bring them back again. But they were vexed at that and took away the\npower, so that he never knew anything again, no more than another.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSurely I believe that any woman taken in childbirth is taken among\nthem. For I knew of a woman that died some years ago and left her\nyoung child. And the woman that was put to look after it neglected\nit. And one night the two doors were blown open, and a blast of wind\ncame in and struck her, and she never was the better of it after.\n\n\n_A Herd:_\n\nThere was a house I stopped in one night near Tallaght where I was\ngoing for a fair, and there was a sick girl in the house, and she\nlying in a corner near the fire.\n\nAnd some time after, I was told that no one could do anything for\nher, but that one evening a labouring man that was passing came in\nand asked a night's lodging. And he was sitting by the fire on a\nstool and the girl behind him.\n\nAnd every now and again when no one was looking he'd take a coal of\nfire and throw it under the stool on to where she was lying till he\nhad her tormented. And in the morning there was the girl lying, and\nher face all torn and scarred. And he said, \"It's not you that was in\nit these last few months.\" And she said, \"No, but I wouldn't be in it\nnow but for you. And see how the old hag that was in it treated me,\nshe was so mad with the treatment that you gave her last night.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was one Cronan on the road to Galway, I knew him well, was away\nwith them seven years. It was at night he used to be brought away,\nand when they called him, go he should. They'd leave some sort of a\nlikeness of him in his place. He had a wart on his back, and his wife\nwould rub her hand down to feel was the wart there, before she'd\nknow was it himself was in it or not. He told some of the way he used\nto be brought riding about at night, and that he was often in that\ncastle below at Ballinamantane. And he saw then a great many of his\nfriends that were dead.\n\nAnd Mrs. Kelly asked him did ever he see her son Jimmy that died\namongst them. And he told her he did, and that mostly all the people\nthat he knew, that had died out of the village, were amongst them now.\n\nHimself and his pony would go up to the sky.\n\nAnd if his wife had a clutch of geese, they'd be ten times better than\nany other ones, and the wheat and the stock and all they had was better\nand more plentiful than what any one else had. Help he got from them of\ncourse. And at last the wife got the priest in to read a Mass and to\ntake it off him. But after that all that they had went to flitters.\n\n\n_A Hillside Woman:_\n\nSurely there are many taken; my own sister that lived in the house\nbeyond, and her husband and her three children, all in one year.\nStrong they were and handsome and good--the best--and that's the sort\nthat are taken. They got in the priest when first it came on the\nhusband, and soon after a fine cow died and a calf. But he didn't\nbegrudge that if he'd get his health, but it didn't save him after.\nSure Father Andrews in Kilbrennan said not long ago in the chapel\nthat no one had gone to _heaven_ for the last ten years.\n\nBut whatever life God has granted them, when it's at an end go they\nmust, whether they're among them or not. And they'd sooner be among\nthem than to go to Purgatory.\n\nThere was a little one of my own taken. Till he was a year old he was\nthe stoutest and the best and the finest of all my children, and then\nhe began to pine till he wasn't thicker than that straw; but he lived\nfor about four years.\n\nHow did it come on him? I know that well. He was the grandest ever you\nsaw, and I proud of him, and I brought him to a ball in this house\nand he was able to drink punch. And I was stopped one day at a house\nbeyond, and a neighbouring woman came in with her child and she says,\n\"If he's not the stoutest he's the longest,\" and she took off her apron\nand the string to measure them both. I had no right to let her do that\nbut I thought no harm at the time. But it was from that night he began\nto screech and from that time he did no good. He'd get stronger through\nthe winter, and about the Pentecost, in the month of May, he'd always\nfall back again, for that's the time they're at the worst.\n\nI didn't have the priest in. It does them no good, but harm, to have\na priest take notice of them when they're like that.\n\nIt was in the month of May at the Pentecost he went at last. He was\nalways pining, but I didn't think he'd go so soon. At the end of the\nbed he was lying with the others, and he called to me and put up his\narms. But I didn't want to take too much notice of him or to have\nhim always after me, so I only put down my foot to where he was. And\nhe began to pick straws out of the bed and to throw them over the\nlittle sister beside him, till he had thrown as much as would thatch\na goose. And when I got up, there he was dead, and the little sister\nasleep beside him all covered with straws.\n\n\n_Mrs. Madden:_\n\nThere were three women living at Ballinakill--Mary Grady, the mother,\nand Mary Flanagan the daughter, and Ellen Lydon that was a by-child\nof hers; and they had a little dog called Floss that was like a\nchild to them. And the grandmother went first and then the little\ndog, and then Mary Flanagan within a half year. And there was a boy\nwanted to marry Ellen Lydon that was left alone. But his father and\nmother wouldn't have her, because of her being a by-child. And the\npriest wouldn't marry them not to give offence. So it wasn't long\nbefore she was taken too, and those that saw her after death knew\nthat it was the mother that was there in place of her. And when the\npriest was called the day before she died he said, \"She's gone since\ntwelve o'clock this morning, and she'll die between the two Masses\ntomorrow,\" for it was Father Hubert, that had understanding of these\nthings. And so she did.\n\nThere was a man had a son, and he was lying in the bed a long time.\nAnd one day, the day of the races, he asked the father and mother\nwere they going to them, and they said they were not. \"Well,\" says\nhe, \"I'll show you as good sport as if you went.\"\n\nAnd he had a dog, and he called to it and said something to it,\nand it began to make a run and to gallop and to jump backwards and\nforwards over the half-door, for there was a very high half-door to\nthe house. \"So now,\" says he, \"didn't you see as good sport as if you\nwere in the Newtown race-course?\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was my own uncle that lived where the shoemaker's shop is now,\nand two of his children were brought away from him. And the third he\nwas determined he'd keep, and he put it to sleep between the wife and\nhimself in the bed. And one night a hand came at the window and tried\nto take the child, and he knew who the hand belonged to, and he saw\nit was a woman of the village that was dead. So he drove her away and\nheld the child, and he was never troubled again after that.\n\n\n_H. Henty:_\n\nThere was an old man on the road one night near Burren and he heard\na cry in the air over his head, the cry of a child that was being\ncarried away. And he called out some words and the child was let\ndown into his arms and he brought it home. And when he got there\nhe was told that it was dead. So he brought in the live child, and\nyou may be sure that it was some sort of a thing that was good for\nnothing that was put in its place.\n\nIt's the good and the handsome they take, and those that are of use,\nor whose name is up for some good action. Idlers they don't like, but\nwho would like idlers?\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is a forth away in County Clare, and they say it's so long\nthat it has no end. And there was a pensioner, one Gavornan, came\nback from the army, and a soldier has more courage than another, and\nhe said he'd go try what was in it, and he got two other men to go\nwith him, and they went a long, long way, and saw nothing. And then\nthey came to where there was the sound of a woman beetling. And then\nthey began to meet people they knew before, that had died out of the\nvillage, and they all told them to go back, but still they went on.\n\nAnd then they met the parish priest of Ballyvaughan, Father Cregan\nthat was dead. And he told them to go back and so they turned and\nwent. They were just beginning to come to the grandeur when they were\nturned away. Those that are brought away among them never come back,\nor if they do they're not the same as they were before.\n\n\n_Honor Whelan:_\n\nThere was a woman beyond at Ardrahan died, and she came back one night\nand her husband saw her at the dresser, looking for something to eat.\nAnd she slipped away from him that time, but the next time she came\nhe got hold of her, and she bid him come for her to the fair at some\nplace, and watch for her at the Customs' gap and she'd be on the last\nhorse that would pass through. And then she said, \"It's best for you\nnot come yourself but send your brother.\" So the brother came and she\ndropped down to him and he brought her to his house. But in a week\nafter he was dead and buried. And she lived a long time, and never\nwould speak three words to any one that would come into the house, but\nworking, working all the day. I wouldn't have liked to live in the\nhouse with her after her being away like that. I don't think the old go\namong them when they die, but believe me, it's not many of the young\nthey spare, but bring them away till such time as God sends for them.\nIt's about fourteen years since so many young women were brought away\nafter their child being born--Peter Roche's wife, and James Shannan's\nwife, and Clancy's wife of Lisdaragh--hundreds were carried off in that\nyear--they didn't bring so many since then. I suppose they brought\nenough then to last them a good time.\n\nAll go among them when they die except the old people. And it's\nbetter to be there than in the pains of Purgatory. As to Purgatory, I\ndon't think it is after being with _them_ we have to go there. But\nI know we're told to give some clothing to the poor, and it will be\nthrown down afterwards to quench the flames for us.\n\n\n_A Policeman's Wife:_\n\nThere was a girl in County Clare was away, and the mother used to\nhear horses coming about the door every night. And one day the mother\nwas picking flax in the house, and of a sudden there came in her hand\nan herb with the best smell and the sweetest that ever was smelt\n(_Note_ 44). And she closed it with her hand, and called to the son\nthat was making up a stack of hay outside \"Come in, Denis, for I\nhave the best smelling herb that ever you saw.\" And when he came in\nshe opened her hand, and the herb was gone clear and clean. She got\nannoyed at last with the horses coming about the door, and some told\nher to gather all the fire into the middle of the floor and to lay\nthe little girl upon it, and to see could she come back again. So\nshe did as she was told, and brought the little girl out of the bed\nand laid her on the coals. And she began to scream and to call out,\nand the neighbours came running in, and the police heard of it, and\nthey came and arrested the mother and brought her to the Court-house\nbefore the magistrate, Mr. MacWalter, and my own husband was one of\nthe police that arrested her. And when the magistrate heard all, he\nsaid she was an ignorant woman, and that she did what she thought\nright, and he would give her no punishment. And the girl got well\nand was married. It was after she was married I knew her.\n\n\n_An Old Woman at Chiswick:_\n\nThere was a woman went to live in a house where the faeries were\nknown to be very much about. And the first day she was there one of\nthem came in and asked her for the loan of a pot, and she gave it.\nAnd the next day she came in again and asked for the loan of some\nmeal, and when she got it the woman said, \"I hope you'll find it\nto be fine enough.\" \"It is,\" she said, \"and to show you I think it\nfine and good, I'll mix it here and boil the stirabout and we'll eat\nit together.\" And so they did. And she said \"We'll always be your\nfriends; and what you may miss in the morning, never grudge it, for\nyou'll have more than what you lost before night.\" And her tribe was\ngoing away, and when she was going out the door, she made a hole with\nher heel in the stone, and she filled it up with mud and earth, and\nshe said \"If we die or if anything happens to us, blood will come in\nthis hole and fill it.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere was a girl used to be away with them, you'd never know when it\nwas she herself that was in it or not till she'd come back, and then\nshe'd tell she had been away. She didn't like to go, but she had to\ngo when they called to her. And she told her mother always to treat\nkindly whoever was put in her place, sometimes one would be put,\nand sometimes another, for she'd say \"If you are unkind to whoever's\nthere, they'll be unkind to me.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThree of my uncles were taken by them, young men; some sort of a\nlittle cold they got between them, and there wasn't more than two\nmonths before the first of them going and the last. They were seen\nafter by a man that lived in the house between there and the school,\nand that used often to see them, and to bring them in to dinner with\nhim.\n\n\n\n\n WITCHES AND WIZARDS AND IRISH\n FOLK-LORE\n\n\n\n\n WITCHES AND WIZARDS AND IRISH\n FOLK-LORE\n\n\n I\n\nIreland was not separated from general European speculation when much\nof that was concerned with the supernatural. Dr. Adam Clarke tells\nin his unfinished autobiography how, when he was at school in Antrim\ntowards the end of the eighteenth century, a schoolfellow told him\nof Cornelius Agrippa's book on Magic and that it had to be chained\nor it would fly away of itself. Presently he heard of a farmer who\nhad a copy and after that made friends with a wandering tinker who\nhad another. Lady Gregory and I spoke of a friend's visions to an old\ncountryman. He said \"he must belong to a society\"; and the people\noften attribute magical powers to Orangemen and to Freemasons, and\nI have heard a shepherd at Doneraile speak of a magic wand with\nTetragramaton Agla written upon it. The visions and speculations\nof Ireland differ much from those of England and France, for in\nIreland, as in Highland Scotland, we are never far from the old\nCeltic mythology; but there is more likeness than difference. Lady\nGregory's story of the witch who in semblance of a hare, leads the\nhounds such a dance, is the best remembered of all witch stories. It\nis told, I should imagine, in every countryside where there is even a\nfading memory of witchcraft. One finds it in a sworn testimony given\nat the trial of Julian Cox, an old woman indicted for witchcraft\nat Taunton in Somersetshire in 1663 and quoted by Joseph Glanvill.\n\"The first witness was a huntsman, who swore that he went out with a\npack of hounds to hunt a hare, and not far from Julian Cox her house\nhe at last started a hare: the dogs hunted her very close, and the\nthird ring hunted her in view, till at last the huntsman perceiving\nthe hare almost spent and making towards a great bush, he ran on\nthe other side of the bush to take her up and preserve her from the\ndogs; but as soon as he laid hands on her, it proved to be Julian\nCox, who had her head grovelling on the ground, and her globes (as he\nexpressed it) upward. He knowing her, was so affrighted that his hair\non his head stood an end; and yet spake to her, and ask'd her what\nbrought her there; but she was so far out of breath that she could\nnot make him any answer; his dogs also came up full cry to recover\nthe game, and smelled at her and so left off hunting any further. And\nthe huntsman with his dogs went home presently sadly affrighted.\" Dr.\nHenry More, the Platonist, who considers the story in a letter to\nGlanvill, explains that Julian Cox was not turned into a hare, but\nthat \"Ludicrous D\u00e6mons exhibited to the sight of this huntsman and\nhis dogs, the shape of a hare, one of them turning himself into such\na form, another hurrying on the body of Julian near the same place,\"\nmaking her invisible till the right moment had come. \"As I have heard\nof some painters that have drawn the sky in a huge landscape, so\nlively, that the birds have flown against it, thinking it free air,\nand so have fallen down. And if painters and jugglers, by the tricks\nof legerdemain can do such strange feats to the deceiving of the\nsight, it is no wonder that these aerie invisible spirits have far\nsurpassed them in all such prestigious doings, as the air surpasses\nthe earth for subtlety.\" Glanvill has given his own explanation of\nsuch cases elsewhere. He thinks that the sidereal or airy body is\nthe foundation of the marvel, and Albert de Rochas has found a like\nfoundation for the marvels of spiritism. \"The transformation of\nwitches,\" writes Glanvill, \"into the shapes of other animals ... is\nvery conceivable; since then, 'tis easy enough to imagine, that the\npower of imagination may form those passive and pliable vehicles into\nthose shapes,\" and then goes on to account for the stories where an\ninjury, say to the witch hare, is found afterwards upon the witch's\nbody precisely as a French hypnotist would account for the stigmata\nof a saint. \"When they feel the hurts in their gross bodies, that\nthey receive in their airy vehicles, they must be supposed to have\nbeen really present, at least in these latter; and 'tis no more\ndifficult to apprehend, how the hurts of those should be translated\nupon their other bodies, than how diseases should be inflicted by the\nimagination, or how the fancy of the mother should wound the f\u0153tus,\nas several credible relations do attest.\"\n\nAll magical or Platonic writers of the times speak much of the\ntransformation or projection of the sidereal body of witch or wizard.\nOnce the soul escapes from the natural body, though but for a moment,\nit passes into the body of air and can transform itself as it please\nor even dream itself into some shape it has not willed.\n\n \"Chameleon-like thus they their colour change,\n And size contract and then dilate again.\"\n\nOne of their favourite stories is of some famous man, John Haydon\nsays Socrates, falling asleep among his friends, who presently see a\nmouse running from his mouth and towards a little stream. Somebody\nlays a sword across the stream that it may pass, and after a little\nwhile it returns across the sword and to the sleeper's mouth again.\nWhen he awakes he tells them that he has dreamed of himself crossing\na wide river by a great iron bridge.\n\nBut the witch's wandering and disguised double was not the worst\nshape one might meet in the fields or roads about a witch's house.\nShe was not a true witch unless there was a compact (or so it seems)\nbetween her and an evil spirit who called himself the devil, though\nBodin believes that he was often, and Glanvill always, \"some human soul\nforsaken of God,\" for \"the devil is a body politic.\" The ghost or devil\npromised revenge on her enemies and that she would never want, and she\nupon her side let the devil suck her blood nightly or at need.\n\nWhen Elizabeth Style made a confession of witchcraft before the\nJustice of Somerset in 1664, the Justice appointed three men, William\nThick and William Read and Nicholas Lambert, to watch her, and\nGlanvill publishes an affidavit of the evidence of Nicholas Lambert.\n\"About three of the clock in the morning there came from her head\na glistering bright fly, about an inch in length which pitched at\nfirst in the chimney and then vanished.\" Then two smaller flies came\nand vanished. \"He, looking steadfastly then on Style, perceived\nher countenance to change, and to become very black and ghastly\nand the fire also at the same time changing its colour; whereupon\nthe Examinant, Thick and Read, conceiving that her familiar was\nthen about her, looked to her poll, and seeing her hair shake very\nstrangely, took it up and then a fly like a great miller flew out\nfrom the place and pitched on the table board and then vanished away.\nUpon this the Examinant and the other two persons, looking again in\nStyle's poll, found it very red and like raw beef. The Examinant\nask'd her what it was that went out of her poll, she said it was a\nbutterfly, and asked them why they had not caught it. Lambert said,\nthey could not. I think so too, answered she. A little while after,\nthe informant and the others, looking again into her poll, found the\nplace to be of its former colour. The Examinant asked again what\nthe fly was, she confessed it was her familiar and that she felt it\ntickle in her poll, and that was the usual time for her familiar to\ncome to her.\" These sucking devils alike when at their meal, or when\nthey went here and there to do her will or about their own business,\nhad the shapes of pole-cat or cat or greyhound or of some moth or\nbird. At the trials of certain witches in Essex in 1645 reported\nin the English state trials a principal witness was one \"Matthew\nHopkins, gent.\" Bishop Hutchinson, writing in 1730, describes him as\nhe appeared to those who laughed at witchcraft and had brought the\nwitch trials to an end. \"Hopkins went on searching and swimming poor\ncreatures, till some gentlemen, out of indignation of the barbarity,\ntook him, and tied his own thumbs and toes as he used to tie others,\nand when he was put into the water he himself swam as they did. That\ncleared the country of him and it was a great pity that they did not\nthink of the experiment sooner.\" Floating when thrown into the water\nwas taken for a sign of witchcraft. Matthew Hopkins's testimony,\nhowever, is uncommonly like that of the countryman who told Lady\nGregory that he had seen his dog and some shadow fighting. A certain\nMrs. Edwards of Manintree in Essex had her hogs killed by witchcraft,\nand \"going from the house of the said Mrs. Edwards to his own house,\nabout nine or ten of the clock that night, with his greyhound with\nhim, he saw the greyhound suddenly give a jump, and run as she had\nbeen in full course after a hare; and that when this informant made\nhaste to see what his greyhound so eagerly pursued, he espied a white\nthing, about the bigness of a kitlyn, and the greyhound standing\naloof from it; and that by and by the said white imp or kitlyn danced\nabout the greyhound, and by all likelihood bit off a piece of the\nflesh of the shoulder of the said greyhound; for the greyhound came\nshrieking and crying to the informant, with a piece of flesh torn\nfrom her shoulder. And the informant further saith, that coming into\nhis own yard that night, he espied a black thing proportioned like\na cat, only it was thrice as big, sitting on a strawberry bed, and\nfixing the eyes on this informant, and when he went towards it, it\nleaped over the pale towards this informant, as he thought, but ran\nthrough the yard, with his greyhound after it, to a great gate, which\nwas underset with a pair of tumble strings, and did throw the said\ngate wide open, and then vanished; and the said greyhound returned\nagain to this informant, shaking and trembling exceedingly.\" At the\nsame trial Sir Thomas Bowes, Knight, affirmed \"that a very honest\nman of Manintree, whom he knew would not speak an untruth, affirmed\nunto him, that very early one morning, as he passed by the said Anne\nWest's door\" (this is the witch on trial) \"about four o'clock, it\nbeing a moonlight night, and perceiving her door to be open so early\nin the morning, looked into the house and presently there came three\nor four little things, in the shape of black rabbits, leaping and\nskipping about him, who, having a good stick in his hand, struck at\nthem, thinking to kill them, but could not; but at last caught one\nof them in his hand, and holding it by the body of it, he beat the\nhead of it against his stick, intending to beat out the brains of\nit; but when he could not kill it that way, he took the body of it\nin one hand and the head of it in another, and endeavoured to wring\noff the head; and as he wrung and stretched the neck of it, it came\nout between his hands like a lock of wool; yet he would not give over\nhis intended purpose, but knowing of a spring not far off, he went\nto drown it; but still as he went he fell down and could not go, but\ndown he fell again, so that he at last crept upon his hands and knees\ntill he came at the water, and holding it fast in his hand, he put\nhis hand down into the water up to the elbow, and held it under water\na good space till he conceived it was drowned, and then letting go\nhis hand, it sprung out of the water up into the air, and so vanished\naway.\" However, the sucking imps were not always invulnerable for\nGlanvill tells how one John Monpesson, whose house was haunted by\nsuch a familiar, \"seeing some wood move that was in the chimney of\na room, where he was, as if of itself, discharged a pistol into it\nafter which they found several drops of blood on the hearth and in\ndivers places of the stairs.\" I remember the old Aran man who heard\nfighting in the air and found blood in a fish-box and scattered\nthrough the room, and I remember the measure of blood Odysseus poured\nout for the shades.\n\nThe English witch trials are like the popular poetry of England,\nmatter-of-fact and unimaginative. The witch desires to kill some\none and when she takes the devil for her husband he as likely as\nnot will seem dull and domestic. Rebecca West told Matthew Hopkins\nthat the devil appeared to her as she was going to bed and told her\nhe would marry her. He kissed her but was as cold as clay, and he\npromised to be \"her loving husband till death,\" although she had,\nas it seems, but one leg. But the Scotch trials are as wild and\npassionate as is the Scottish poetry, and we find ourselves in the\npresence of a mythology that differs little, if at all, from that\nof Ireland. There are orgies of lust and of hatred and there is a\nwild shamelessness that would be fine material for poets and romance\nwriters if the world should come once more to half-believe the tale.\nThey are divided into troops of thirteen, with the youngest witch for\nleader in every troop, and though they complain that the embraces of\nthe devil are as cold as ice, the young witches prefer him to their\nhusbands. He gives them money, but they must spend it quickly, for it\nwill be but dry cow dung in two circles of the clock. They go often\nto Elfhame or Faeryland and the mountains open before them and as\nthey go out and in they are terrified by the \"rowtling and skoylling\"\nof the great \"elf bulls.\" They sometimes confess to trooping in the\nshape of cats and to finding upon their terrestrial bodies when they\nawake in the morning the scratches they had made upon one another in\nthe night's wandering, or should they have wandered in the images\nof hares the bites of dogs. Isobell Godie who was tried at Lochlay\nin 1662 confessed that \"We put besoms in our beds with our husbands\ntill we return again to them ... and then we would fly away where we\nwould be, even as straws would fly upon a highway. We will fly like\nstraws when we please; wild straws and corn straws will be horses to\nus, and we put them betwixt our feet and say horse and hillock in the\ndevil's name. And when any see these straws in a whirlwind and do\nnot sanctify themselves, we may shoot them dead at our pleasure.\"[1]\nWhen they kill people, she goes on to say, the souls escape them\n\"but their bodies remain with us and will fly as horses to us all\nas small as straws.\" It is plain that it is the \"airy body\" they\ntake possession of; those \"animal spirits\" perhaps which Henry More\nthought to be the link between soul and body and the seat of all\nvital function. The trials were more unjust than those of England,\nwhere there was a continual criticism from sceptics; torture was used\nagain and again to distort confessions, and innocent people certainly\nsuffered; some who had but believed too much in their own dreams\nand some who had but cured the sick at some vision's prompting.\nAlison Pearson who was burnt in 1588 might have been Biddy Early or\nany other knowledgeable woman in Ireland today. She was convicted\n\"for haunting and repairing with the Good Neighbours and queen of\nElfhame, these divers years and bypast, as she had confessed in her\ndepositions, declaring that she could not say readily how long she\nwas with them; and that she had friends in that court who were of her\nown blood and who had great acquaintance of the queen of Elfhame.\nThat when she went to bed she never knew where she would be carried\nbefore dawn.\" When they worked cures they had the same doctrine\nof the penalty that one finds in Lady Gregory's stories. One who\nmade her confession before James I. was convicted for \"taking the\nsick party's pains and sicknesses upon herself for a time and then\ntranslating them to a third person.\"\n\n\n II\n\nThere are more women than men mediums today; and there have been or\nseem to have been more witches than wizards. The wizards of the\nsixteenth and seventeenth centuries relied more upon their conjuring\nbook than the witches whose visions and experiences seem but half\nvoluntary, and when voluntary called up by some childish rhyme:\n\n Hare, hare, God send thee care;\n I am in a hare's likeness now,\n But I shall be a woman even now;\n Hare, hare, God send thee care.\n\nMore often than not the wizards were learned men, alchemists or\nmystics, and if they dealt with the devil at times, or some spirit\nthey called by that name, they had amongst them ascetics and\nheretical saints. Our chemistry, our metallurgy, and our medicine are\noften but accidents that befell in their pursuit of the philosopher's\nstone, the elixir of life. They were bound together in secret\nsocieties and had, it may be, some forgotten practice for liberating\nthe soul from the body and sending it to fetch and carry them divine\nknowledge. Cornelius Agrippa in a letter quoted by Beaumont has hints\nof such a practice. Yet, like the witches, they worked many wonders\nby the power of the imagination, perhaps one should say by their\npower of calling up vivid pictures in the mind's eye. The Arabian\nphilosophers have taught, writes Beaumont, \"that the soul by the\npower of the imagination can perform what it pleases; as penetrate\nthe heavens, force the elements, demolish mountains, raise valleys\nto mountains, and do with all material forms as it pleases.\"\n\n He shewed hym, er he wente to sopeer,\n Forestes, parkes ful of wilde deer;\n Ther saugh he hertes with hir hornes hye,\n The gretteste that evere were seyn with y\u00eb.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Tho saugh he knyghtes justing in a playn;\n And after this, he dide hym swich plaisaunce,\n That he hym shewed his lady on a daunce\n On which hymself he daunced, as hym thoughte.\n And whan this maister, that this magyk wroughte,\n Saugh it was tyme, he clapte his handes two,\n And, farewel! al our revel was ago.\n\nOne has not as careful a record as one has of the works of witches,\nfor but few English wizards came before the court, the only society\nfor psychical research in those days. The translation, however, of\nCornelius Agrippa's _De Occulta Philosophia_ in the seventeenth\ncentury, with the addition of a spurious fourth book full of\nconjurations, seems to have filled England and Ireland with whole\nor half wizards. In 1703, the Reverend Arthur Bedford of Bristol\nwho is quoted by Sibley in his big book on astrology wrote to the\nBishop of Gloucester telling how a certain Thomas Perks had been to\nconsult him. Thomas Perks lived with his father, a gunsmith, and\ndevoted his leisure to mathematics, astronomy, and the discovery of\nperpetual motion. One day he asked the clergyman if it was wrong to\ncommune with spirits, and said that he himself held that \"there was\nan innocent society with them which a man might use, if he made no\ncompacts with them, did no harm by their means, and were not curious\nin prying into hidden things, and he himself had discoursed with\nthem and heard them sing to his great satisfaction.\" He then told\nhow it was his custom to go to a crossway with lantern and candle\nconsecrated for the purpose, according to the directions in a book\nhe had, and having also consecrated chalk for making a circle. The\nspirits appeared to him \"in the likeness of little maidens about a\nfoot and a half high ... they spoke with a very shrill voice like an\nancient woman\" and when he begged them to sing, \"they went to some\ndistance behind a bush from whence he could hear a perfect concert\nof such exquisite music as he never before heard; and in the upper\npart he heard something very harsh and shrill like a reed but as it\nwas managed did give a particular grace to the rest.\" The Reverend\nArthur Bedford refused an introduction to the spirits for himself\nand a friend and warned him very solemnly. Having some doubt of his\nsanity, he set him a difficult mathematical problem, but finding that\nhe worked it easily, concluded him sane. A quarter of a year later,\nthe young man came again, but showed by his face and his eyes that he\nwas very ill and lamented that he had not followed the clergyman's\nadvice for his conjurations would bring him to his death. He had\ndecided to get a familiar and had read in his magical book what he\nshould do. He was to make a book of virgin parchment, consecrate it,\nand bring it to the cross-road, and having called up his spirits,\nask the first of them for its name and write that name on the first\npage of the book and then question another and write that name on\nthe second page and so on till he had enough familiars. He had got\nthe first name easily enough and it was in Hebrew, but after that\nthey came in fearful shapes, lions and bears and the like, or hurled\nat him balls of fire. He had to stay there among those terrifying\nvisions till the dawn broke and would not be the better of it till\nhe died. I have read in some eighteenth-century book whose name I\ncannot recall of two men who made a magic circle and who invoked the\nspirits of the moon and saw them trampling about the circle as great\nbulls, or rolling about it as flocks of wool. One of Lady Gregory's\nstory-tellers considered a flock of wool one of the worst shapes that\na spirit could take.\n\nThere must have been many like experimenters in Ireland. An Irish\nalchemist called Butler was supposed to have made successful\ntransmutations in London early in the eighteenth century, and in the\n_Life of Dr. Adam Clarke_, published in 1833, are several letters\nfrom a Dublin maker of stained glass describing a transmutation and a\nconjuration into a tumbler of water of large lizards. The alchemist\nwas an unknown man who had called to see him and claimed to do all by\nthe help of the devil \"who was the friend of all ingenious gentlemen.\"\n\n W. B. Y.\n\n 1914.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[1] I have modernized the old lowland Scotch in these quotations from\n_Pitcairn's Criminal Trials_.\n\n\n\n\n NOTES\n\n\n\n\n NOTES\n\n\nNOTE 1. THE FAERY PEOPLE. The first detailed account of the Faery\nPeople of the Gaelic race was made by the Reverend Robert Kirk in\n1691. His book which remained in manuscript till it was discovered\nby Sir Walter Scott in 1815 was called _The Secret Commonwealth_,\nan essay \"of the nature of the subterranean (and for the most part\ninvisible people) heretofore going under the names of elves, fays,\nand faeries.\" Kirk was a Gaelic scholar, a translator into Gaelic of\nthe Psalms. He is described upon his tomb as _Lign\u00e6 hibern\u00e6 lumen_,\nfor in his day little distinction was made between the Irish and the\nScottish-Irish among whom he lived and whose words he has recorded.\nHe died a year after he had finished his manuscript or, as the people\nof his parish say, was taken by the faeries. The Reverend William\nTaylor, the present incumbent of Abberfoyle, Kirk's old living,\ntold Mr. Wentz that it was generally believed at the time of Kirk's\ndeath, that the faeries had carried him off because he had looked too\ndeeply into their secrets. He seems to have fainted while walking\nupon a faery knoll, a little way from his own door, and to have died\nimmediately. Mr. Wentz found one old Gaelic speaker who believed that\nhis spirit had been taken, but others who said there was nothing in\nthe grave but a coffin full of stones, for body and soul had been\ntaken. Mr. Lang prints a tradition that Kirk appeared to his cousin\nGraham of Ducray and could have been saved if the cousin had dared to\nthrow a knife over the apparition's head.\n\nKirk describes \"the subterranean people\" or \"the abstruse people,\"\nas he sometimes calls them, much as they are described today in\nGalway or in Mayo. He is clear that they are not demons and like\nFather Sinistrari, a Catholic theologian of Padua, quotes the\nScriptures in support of this opinion. The \"abstruse people\" are\nnot indeed, without sin though midway between men and angels, but\nbeing in no way \"drenched into so gross and dredgy bodies as we, are\nespecially given to the more spiritual and haughty sins.\" \"Whatever\ntheir own laws, be sure according to ours and equity natural civil\nand revealed\" they do wrong by \"their stealing of nurses to their\nchildren and that other sort of Plaginism in catching our children\naway (may seem to heir some estate in those invisible dominions)\nwhich never return. For the inconvenience of their succubi who tryst\nwith men it is abominable, but for swearing and intemperance they\nare not observed so subject to this irregularity as to envy, spite,\nhypocrisy, lying, and simulation.\" Some have thought the spirit\ncontrols of our best mediums no better. \"They are not subject to\nsore sickness, but dwindle and decay at a certain period all about\nane age\" and \"they pass after a long healthy life into one orb and\nreceptacle fitted to their degree till they come under the general\ncognism at the last day.\" They are the \"Sleagh Math or the good\npeople\" being called so by the \"Irish\" ... \"to prevent the dint of\ntheir ill-attempts\" and being \"of a middle nature betwixt man and\nangel\" have \"intelligent, studious spirits, and light changeable\nbodies (like those called astral) somewhat of the nature of a\ncondensed cloud and best seen in twilight. Their bodies are so\npliable through the subtlety of the spirits that agitate them that\nthey can make them appear or disappear at pleasure. Some have bodies\nor vehicles so spongeous, thin, and desiccate, that they are fed\nby only sucking into some fine spirituous liquors that pierce like\npure air and oil; others feed more gross on the foisone or substance\nof corns and liquors or corn itself that grows upon the surface of\nthe earth which these faeries steal away, partly invisible, partly\npreying on the grain as do crows and mice.\" Lady Gregory has a story\nof the crying of new dropped lambs of faery in November and some\nevidence that there is a reversal of the seasons, our winter being\ntheir summer, and some such belief was known to Kirk for \"when we\nhave plenty they have scarcity at their homes; and on the contrary\n(for they are empowered to catch as much prey everywhere as they\nplease).\" \"Their bodies of congealed air are sometimes carried aloft,\nother whiles grovel in different shapes and enter into any cranny or\ncleft of the earth where air enters to their ordinary dwellings, the\nearth being full of cavities and cells and there being no place nor\ncreature but is supposed to have other animals greater or lesser,\nliving in or upon it as inhabitants, and no such thing as a pure\nwilderness in the whole universe\" and we must always \"labour for that\nabstruse people as well as for ourselves.\" Unless Kirk is in error,\nas seems probable, they are unlike the Irish faeries who shift but\ntwice a year in May and in November, when the ancient Irish perhaps\nshifted from their winter houses to summer pastures or home again,\nfor they have formed the custom to \"remove to other lodgings at the\nbeginning of each quarter of the year, so traversing till doomsday\nsome being impudent [impotent?] of staying in one place and finding\nsome ease by so purning [turning] and changing habitations,\" and at\nthese times they are much seen when \"their chameleon-like bodies swim\nin the air near the earth with bag and baggage.\" He is evidently\npuzzled how to place them among the orders and admits that it is\nuncertain \"what at the last revolution will become of them when they\nare locked up into ane unchangeable condition.\" He even believes that\nthey are so beset with anxiety upon this subject that have they \"any\nfrolic fits of mirth 'tis as the confirmed grinning of a mort head.\"\n\nMany of the second-sighted men about him would have nothing of this\ndoctrine and still believed, it seems, the old Celtic theory of the\nrebirth of the soul, a Manich\u00e6an and gnostic doctrine, for being\n\"unwary in their observations\" they believed what the \"abstruse\npeople\" themselves declared \"one averring those subterranean people\nto be departed souls attending awhile in this inferior state and\nclothed with bodies procured through their alms deeds in this life;\nfluid, active ethereal vehicles to hold them that they may not\nscatter or wander or be lost in the totum or the first nothing; but\nif any were so impious as to have given no alms they say when the\nsouls of such do depart, they sleep in an uncertain state till they\nresume the terrestrial body.\" These bodies, come at by the giving of\nalms, suggest to one that body of Christ which, as Boehme taught,\nalone enables the shade to escape from _turba magna_ the great wrath\nand dream-like transformation into the shape of beasts. One remembers\nalso the celestial body of the seventeenth century Platonists.\nThe power attributed to almsgiving calls to mind those tales of\nclothes given to the poor in some ghost's name thereby enabling the\nghost to be decked out in their double. Lady Gregory has found the\nidea of rebirth in Aran, but in what seems the Cabalistic form not\nthe Celtic; and it occurs again and again in the Gaelic romances.\nCuchulain was the rebirth of Lug; and Mongan who was killed by\nArthur of Britain was the rebirth of Finn Mac Cool. Here and there\nthrough the seventeenth century Platonists, Kirk's contemporaries,\none finds some story that might have been in Lady Gregory's book.\nGlanvill in the second part of his _Sadducismus Triumphatus_\npublished in 1674 has an Irish tale where the dead and the faeries\nare associated as in Galway today. \"A gentleman in Ireland near to\nthe Earl of Orrery's seat sending his butler one afternoon to buy\ncards; as he passed a field, he, to his wonder, espied a company\nof people sitting round a table, with a deal of good cheer before\nthem in the midst of a field. And he going up towards them, they all\narose and saluted him, and desired him to sit down with them.\" But\none of them said these words in his ear: \"Do nothing this company\ninvites you to.\" \"He therefore refused to sit down at the table, and\nimmediately the table and all that belonged to it were gone; and the\ncompany are now dancing and playing upon musical instruments, and the\nbutler being desired to join himself to them; but he refusing this\nalso, they fall all to work, and he not being to be prevailed with\nto accompany them in working, any more than in feasting and dancing,\nthey all disappeared, and the butler is now alone.\" For some days\nattempts are made to carry away the butler. During one of these he is\nlevitated in the presence of the Earl of Orrery and certain of his\nguests. Then the man who warned him to do nothing he was bid, came to\nhis bedside. \"'I have been dead,' said the spectre or ghost, 'seven\nyears and you know that I lived a loose life. And ever since have\nbeen hurried up and down in a restless condition with the company you\nsaw and shall be till the Day of Judgment.'\"\n\nThroughout the Middle Ages, there must have been many discussions\nupon those questions that divided Kirk's Highlanders. Were these\nbeings but the shades of men? Were they a separate race? Were they\nspirits of evil? Above all, perhaps, were they capable of salvation?\nFather Sinistrari in _De D\u00e6monialitate et Incubis, et Succubis_,\nreprinted in Paris with an English translation in 1879, tells a\nstory which must have been familiar through the Irish Middle Ages,\nand the seed of many discussions. The Abbot Anthony went once upon\na journey to visit St. Paul, the first hermit. After travelling for\nsome days into the desert, he met a centaur of whom he asked his\nroad and the centaur, muttering barbarous and unintelligible words,\npointed to the road with his outstretched hand and galloped away\nand hid himself in a wood. St. Anthony went some way further and\npresently went into a valley and met there a little man with goat's\nfeet and horns upon his forehead. St. Anthony stood still and made\nthe sign of the cross being afraid of some devil's trick. But the\nsign of the cross did not alarm the little man who went nearer and\noffered some dates very respectfully as it seemed to make peace. When\nthe old Saint asked him who he was, he said: \"I am a mortal, one of\nthose inhabitants of the desert called fauns, satyrs, and incubi,\nby the Gentiles. I have come as an ambassador from my people. I ask\nyou to pray for us to our common God who came as we know for the\nsalvation of the world and who is praised throughout the world.\" We\nare not told whether St. Anthony prayed but merely that he thought of\nthe glory of Christ and thereafter of Christ's enemies and turning\ntowards Alexandria said: \"Woe upon you harlots worshipping animals as\nGod.\" This tale so artfully arranged as it seems to set the pious by\nthe ears may have been the original of a tale one hears in Ireland\ntoday. I heard or read that tale somewhere before I was twenty,\nfor it is the subject of one of my first poems. But the priest in\nthe Irish tale, as I remember it, tells the little man that there\nis no salvation for such as he and it ends with the wailing of the\nfaery host. Sometimes too, one reads in Irish stories of hoof-footed\ncreatures, and it may well be that the Irish theologians who read\nof St. Anthony in Sinistrari's authority, St. Hieronymus, thought\ncentaur and homunculus were of like sort with the shades haunting\ntheir own raths and barrows. Father Sinistrari draws the moral\nthat those inhabitants of the desert called \"fauns and satyrs and\nincubi by the Gentiles\" had souls that could be shrived, but Irish\ntheologians in a country full of poems very upsetting to youth about\nthe women of the Sidhe who could pass, it may be even monastic walls,\nmay have turned the doubtful tale the other way. Sometimes we are\ntold following the traditions of the eleventh-century poems that the\nSidhe are \"the ancient inhabitants of the country\" but more often\nstill they are fallen angels who, because they were too bad for\nheaven and not bad enough for hell, have been sent into the sea and\ninto the waste places. More probably still the question was never\nsettled, sometimes Christ was represented as throwing them into hell\ntill someone said he would empty the whole paradise, and thereupon\nhis hand slackened and some fell in this place and some in that\nother, as though providence itself were undecided. Father Sinistrari\nis conscious of weighty opponents but believes that Scripture is\nupon his side. He quotes St. John, Chapter x., verse 16: \"And other\nsheep I have which are not of this fold; them also I must bring\nand they shall hear my voice and there shall be one fold and one\nshepherd.\" He argues that the commentators are wrong who say that\nthe fold is the synagogue and the other sheep the Gentiles, because\nthe true church has been from the beginning of the world, and has\nhad nothing to do with Jewish observances, for its revelations were\nmade to the first man and Jews and Gentiles have belonged to it.\nIf the Gentiles were not also of Christ's fold, he would not have\nsent them prodigies to announce his birth, the star of the Magi, the\nsilencing of their oracle, a miraculous spring of oil at Rome, the\nfalling down of the images of Egyptian gods and so on. The other fold\nshould therefore, he thinks, refer to those \"rational animals\" who\nsent their ambassador to St. Anthony and who were to hear Christ's\nvoice \"either directly through Himself or through His apostles.\"\nHe argues that they are a race superior to the human and must not\nbe confused with angels and devils who are pure spirits being in a\nfinal state of salvation or of judgment. He has written his book as a\nguide to confessors who have frequently, it seems, to protect men and\nwomen, often nuns or monks, who are plagued by spirits or tempted by\nspirit lovers, and to apportion penalties to those who have fallen.\nIt is a great sin should they confuse their lovers with devils, for\nthen they \"sin through intention,\" but otherwise it is a venal sin,\nand seeing that incubi and succubi by reason of their \"rational and\nimmortal\" spirits are the equal of man and by reason of their bodies\nbeing \"more noble because more subtle,\" \"more dignified than man,\"\na commerce that does not \"degrade but rather dignify our nature\"\n(_et hoc homo jungens se incubo non vilificat, immo dignificat suam\nnaturam_). The incubus, (or succuba) however, does, he holds, commit\na very great sin considering that we belong to an inferior species.\nIt is difficult to drive them away, for unlike devils they are no\nmore subject to exorcism than we are ourselves, but just as we cannot\nbreathe in the higher peaks of the Alps because of the thinness of\nthe air, so they cannot come near to us if we make certain conditions\nof the air. They are of different kinds but always one or other of\nthe four elements predominates, and those who are predominantly\nfiery cannot come if we make the air damp, and those that are watery\ncannot come if we use hot fumigations and so on. You can generally\njudge the kind by remembering that a man attracts spirits according\nto his own temperament, the sanguine, the spirits of fire, and the\nlymphatic, those of watery nature, and those of a mixed nature, mixed\nspirits; but it is easy to make mistakes. He tells of the case that\ncame into his own experience. He was asked to drive a spirit away\nthat was troubling a young monk and advised hot fumigations because\nit was by their means \"a very erudite theologian\" drove away a spirit\nwho made passionate love in the form of \"a very handsome young man\nto a certain young nun\" after holy candles burning all night and\n\"a crowd of relics and many exorcisms\" had proved of but as little\nvalue as her own vows and fasts. A vessel made of \"glass-like earth\"\ncontaining \"cubeb seed, roots of both aristolochies, great and small\ncardamon, ginger, long pepper, caryophylias, cinnamon, cloves, mace,\nnutmeg, calamite, storax, benzoin, aloes wood root, one ounce of\ntriasandates and three pounds of half brandy and water,\" was set upon\nhot ashes to make it fume, and the door and window of the cell were\nclosed. The young friar, a deacon of the great Carthusian priory of\nPadua, was further advised to carry about with him perfumes of musk,\namber, chive, peruvian bark, and the like, and to smoke tobacco and\ndrink brandy perfumed with musk. All was to no purpose for the spirit\nappeared to him in many forms such as \"a skeleton, a pig, an ass,\nan angel, a bird\" or \"in the figure of one or other of the friars.\"\nThese appearances seem to have had no object except that like the\nIrish faeries the spirit was pleased to make game of somebody.\nPresently it came in the likeness of the abbot and heard the young\ndeacon's confession and recited with him the psalms _Exsurgat Deus_\nand _Qui habitat_ and the Gospel according to St. John, and bent its\nknee at the words _Verbum caro factum est_, and then after sprinkling\nwith holy water and blessing bed and cell and commanding the spirit\nto come there no more, it vanished. Presently in the likeness of the\nyoung friar, it called at the vicar's room and asked for some tobacco\nand brandy perfumed with musk of which it was, it said, extremely\nfond, and having received them \"disappeared in the twinkling of an\neye.\" Sinistrari, however, having decided that the demon must be\nigneous or \"at the very least a\u00ebrial, since he delighted in hot\nsubstances\" and since the monk's temperament seemed \"choleric and\nsanguine,\" advised the vicar to direct his penitent to strew about\nthe cell and hang by the window and door bundles of \"water-lily,\nliverwort, spurge, mandrake, house-leek, plantain,\" and henbane and\nother herbs of a damp nature which drove the spirit away though it\ncame once to the cell door to speak of Sinistrari all the evil it\ncould. He has other like stories; one to show the uselessness of mere\nsacred places and objects, describes a woman followed to the steps of\nthe Cathedral altar and there stripped by invisible hands.\n\nOne remembers a passage in PLUTARCH: \"But to believe the gods have\ncarnal knowledge, and do delight in the outward beauty of creatures,\nthat seemeth to carry a very hard belief. Yet the wise Egyptians\nthink it probable enough and likely, that the spirit of the gods hath\ngiven original of generation to women, and does beget fruits of their\nbodies; howbeit they hold that a man can have no corporal company\nwith any divine nature.\"\n\nOne hears today in Galway, stories of love adventures between\ncountrywomen or countrymen and the People of Faery--there are several\nin this book and these adventures have been always a principal theme\nto Gaelic poets. A goddess came to Cuchulain upon the battlefield, but\nsometimes it is the mortal who must go to them. \"Oh beautiful woman,\nwill you come with me to the wonderful country that is mine? It is\npleasant to be looking at the people there: beautiful people without\nany blemish; their hair is of the colour of the flag flower, their\nfair body is as white as snow, the colour of the foxglove is on every\ncheek. The young never grow old there, the fields and the flowers are\nas pleasant to be looking at as the blackbird's eggs; warm and sweet\nstreams of mead and wine flow through that country; there is no care\nand no sorrow upon any person; we see others, but we ourselves are not\nseen.\" Did Dame Kettler, a great lady of Kilkenny who was accused of\nwitchcraft early in the fifteenth century, find such a lover when she\noffered up the combs of cocks and the bronzed tail feathers of nine\npeacocks; or had she indeed, as her enemies affirmed at the trial, been\nenamoured with \"one of the meaner sort of hell\"?\n\nNOTE 2. This light occurs again and again in modern spiritism as\nin old legends. It shows in some form in almost every dark s\u00e9ance.\nGrettir the Strong saw it over buried treasure. It surrounded the\nhead of Hereward the Wake in childhood, and in the middle of the\nnineteenth century, Baron Reichenbach called it \"odic light\" and\npublished much evidence taken down from his \"sensitives\" who saw\nit about crystals, magnets, and one another, and over new-made\ngraves. Holman Hunt represents in his _Flight into Egypt_ the souls\nof the Innocents encircled by creeping and clinging fire. When this\nfire encircles a good spirit it is generally described as white and\nbrilliant, but about the evil as lurid and smoky.\n\nNOTE 3. When I was a boy, there was a countryman in a Sligo madhouse\nwho was sane in all ways except that he saw, in pools and rivers,\nbeings who called and beckoned. I have myself known a landscape\npainter who after painting a certain stagnant pool was nightly\nafflicted by a dream of strange shapes, bidding him to drown himself\nthere. The obsession was so strong that he could not throw it off\nduring his waking hours, and for some days struggled with the\ntemptation. I was with him at the time and had noticed his growing\ngloom and had questioned him about it.\n\nNOTE 4. Bran, in the _Voyage of Bran_ when sailing, meets Manannan the\nsea-god. \"And Manannan spoke to him in a song, and it is what he said:\n\n\"It is what Bran thinks, he is going in his curragh over the\nwonderful, beautiful, clear sea; but to me, from far off in my\nchariot, it is a flowery plain he is riding on.\n\n\"What is a clear sea to the good boat Bran is in, is a happy plain\nwith many flowers to me in my two-wheeled chariot.\n\n\"It is what Bran sees, many waves beating across the clear sea; it is\nwhat I myself see, red flowers without any fault.\n\n\"The sea-horses are bright in summer-time, as far as Bran's eyes can\nreach; there is a wood of beautiful acorns under the head of your\nlittle boat.\n\n\"A wood with blossom and with fruit, that has the smell of wine; a\nwood without fault, without withering, with leaves of the colour of\ngold.\" (_Gods and Fighting Men_, by Lady Gregory.)\n\nNOTE 5. Swedenborg describes these colours and I have a note of\nsimilar visions as seen by a fellow-student of mine at the Dublin Art\nSchool. Mrs. Besant in her _Ancient Wisdom_ and other writers of the\nModern Theosophical School describe them and moralize about them.\n\nNOTE 6. There are constant stories in the history of modern spiritism\nof people carried through the air often for considerable distances.\nIt is not my business to weigh the evidence at this moment, for I am\nconcerned only with similarity of belief. The medium, Mrs. Guppy,\nsomewhere in the \"sixties\" was believed to have been carried from\nHampstead, a pen in one hand and an account book in the other, and\ndropped on to the middle of a table in South Conduit Street. Lord\nDunraven was one of a number of witnesses who testified to having\nseen the medium Hume float out of one window of the upper room, where\nthey were sitting, and in at another window. I read the other day in\na spiritistic paper, of two boys carried through the air in Italy and\ndropped in front of a bishop who immediately handed them over to the\npolice. And of course the folk-lore of all countries and the legends\nof the saints are full of such tales.\n\nNOTE 7. The offering to the Sidhe is generally made at Hallowe'en,\nthe old beginning of winter, and upon that night I was told when a\nboy the offering was still made in the slums of Dublin.\n\nNOTE 8. Father Sinistrari speaks of a like commerce between beasts\nand spirits. \"Et non solum hoc evenit cum mulieribus, sed etiam cum\nequabus, cum quibus commicetur; qu\u00e6 si libenter coitum admittunt, ab eo\ncurantur optime, ac ipsarum jub\u00e6 varie artificiosis et inextricabilibus\nnodis texuntur; si autem illum adversentur, eas male tractat, percutit,\nmacras reddit, et tandem necat, ut quotidiana constat experienta.\"\n\nNOTE 9. Houses built upon faery paths are thought to be unlucky.\nOften the thatch will be blown away, or their inhabitants die or\nsuffer misfortune.\n\nNOTE 10. The number of quotations I can find to prove the\nuniversality of the thought that the dead and other spirits change\ntheir shape as they please is but lessened by the fewness of the\nbooks that are near my hand in the country where I am writing. John\nHeydon, \"a servant of God and secretary of nature,\" writing in 1662\nin _The Rosie Cross Uncovered_ which is the last book of his _Holy\nGuide_ says that a man may become one of the heroes: \"A hero,\" he\nwrites, \"is a d\u00e6mon, or good genius, and a genius a partaker of\ndivine things and a companion of the holy company of unbodied souls\nand immortal angels who live according to their vehicles a versatile\nlife, turning themselves proteus-like into any shape.\"\n\nAnd Mrs. Besant, a typical writer of the modern Theosophical School,\ninsists upon these changes of form, especially among those spirits that\nare most free from the terrestrial body and explains it by saying that,\n\"astral matter takes form under every impulse of thought.\" Swedenborg\nI have already quoted in my long essay, but to prove that the\nshape-changer is a part of general literature--I have but Wordsworth\nand Milton under my hand. When the white doe of Rylstone shows itself\nat the church door according to its Sunday custom, one has one tale to\ntell, another another, but an Oxford student will have it that it is\nthe faery that loved a certain \"shepherd-lord.\"\n\n \"'Twas said that she all shapes could wear.\"\n\nAnd Milton writes like any Platonist of his time:\n\n \"For Spirits, when they please,\n Can either sex assume, or both; so soft\n And uncompounded is their essence pure,\n Not ty'd or manacled with joint or limb,\n Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones,\n Like cumbrous flesh; but, in what shape they choose,\n Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure,\n Can execute their aery purposes,\n And works of love or enmity fulfil.\"\n\nNOTE 11. The seers and healers in this section differ but little\nfrom clairvoyants and spirit mediums of the towns, and explain\ntheir powers in much the same way. Indeed one of Lady Gregory's\nstory-tellers will have it that America is more full than Ireland\nof faeries, and describes the mediums there to prove it. It is\noften through some virtue in these country seers and healers that\nthe faeries or spirits are able to affect men and women and natural\nobjects. Mrs. Sheridan says that a child could not have been taken\nif she had not been looking on, and one hears again and again that\neven when the faeries fight among themselves or play at hurley,\nthere must be a man upon either side. We are all in a sense mediums,\nif the village seer speaks truth, for through any unsanctified\nemotion, love, affection, admiration, the spirits may attain power\nover a child or horse or whatever is before our eyes, and perhaps,\nas the controls of mediums will sometimes say, they can only see\nthe world through our eyes. Albert de Rochas, borrowing a theory\nfrom the seventeenth century, has suggested with the general assent\nof spiritists that the fluidic or sidereal body of the medium, the\nmould upon which the physical body is, it may be, built up, is more\ndetachable than in persons who are not mediums, and that the spirits\nmake themselves visible by transforming it into their own shape or\ninto what shape they please and attain by its means a power over\nphysical objects. (See _L'Ext\u00e9riorisation de la Motricit\u00e9_.) Instead\nof the expensive crystal of the Bond Street clairvoyant, Biddy Early\ngazed into her bottle, but that is almost the whole difference. If\nthe dreams and visions of Connacht have more richness and beauty\nthan those of Camberwell, it is that Connacht, having no doubts as\nto our survival of death, is not always looking for but one sort of\nevidence, and so can let things happen as they will. The brother\nor sister or the like who comes to the knowledgeable man or woman\nafter death is but the \"guide\" that has been so common in England\nand America, since the Rochester rappings, and a country form of\nPlutarch's \"d\u00e6mon.\" At other moments, however, \"seer\" or \"healer\"\nresembles a witch or wizard rather than a modern medium.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn one thing, however, they always resemble the medium and not the\nwitch. They seem to have no dealings with the devil. The Irish Trials\nfor witchcraft of the English and continental type took place among\nthe English settlers. I have never come across a case of a \"compact\"\nnor has Lady Gregory, nor have I read of one.\n\nNOTE 12. It is almost unthinkable to Lady Gregory and myself, who\nknow Mrs. Sheridan, that she can ever have seen a drawbridge in\na picture or heard one spoken of. Nor does this instance stand\nalone. I have had in my own family what seemed the accurate calling\nup of an unknown past but failing a link of difficult evidence\nstill unfound, coincidence, though exceedingly unlikely, is still\na possible explanation. I have come upon a number of other cases\nwhich are, though no one case is decisive, a powerful argument taken\naltogether. In _The Adventure_ (MacMillan), an elaborate vision\nof this kind is recorded in detail and, accepting the record as\naccurate, the verification is complete. Two ladies found themselves\nin the garden of the Petit Trianon in the midst of what seemed to\nbe the court of Marie Antoinette, in just the same sudden way in\nwhich some countryman finds himself among ladies and gentlemen\ndressed in what seem the clothes of a long passed time. The record\npurports to have been made in November and December 1901, whereas the\nvision occurred in August. This lapse of time does not seem to me\nto destroy the value of the evidence, if the record was made before\nits corroboration by long and difficult research.[2] Accepting the\ngood faith of the narrators, both well-known women and of established\ncharacter, its evidence for some more obscure cause than unconscious\nmemory can only be weakened by the discovery in some book or magazine\naccessible to the visionaries before their visit to the Trianon,\nof historical information on such minute points as the dress Marie\nAntoinette wore in a particular month, and the position of ornamental\nbuildings and rock work not now in existence. There is a great mass\nof similar evidence in Denton's _Soul of Things_ though its value is\nweakened by his not sufficiently allowing for thought transference\nfrom his own mind to that of his sensitives.\n\nA \"theosophist\" or \"occultist\" of almost any modern school explains\nsuch visions by saying they are \"pictures in the astral light\" and that\nall objects and events leave their images in the astral light as upon\na photographic plate, and that we must distinguish between spirits and\nthese unintelligent pictures. I was once at Madame Blavatsky's when she\ntried to explain predestination, our freedom and God's full knowledge\nof the use that we should make of it. All things past and to come were\npresent to the mind of God and yet all things were free. She soon\nsaw that she had carried us out of our depth and said to one of her\nfollowers with a mischievous, mocking voice: \"You with your impudence\nand your spectacles will be sitting there in the Akasa to all eternity\"\nand then in a more meditative voice, \"No, not to all eternity for a\nday will come when even the Akasa will pass away and there will be\nnothing but God, chaos, that which every man is seeking in his heart.\"\nAkasa, she was accustomed to explain as some Indian word for the astral\nlight. Perhaps that theory of the astral pictures came always from the\ndespair of some visionary to find understanding for a more metaphysical\ntheory. It is, however, ancient. To Cornelius Agrippa it is the air\nthat reflects, but the air is something more than what the word means\nfor us. \"It is a vital spirit passing through all beings giving life\nand substance to all things ... it immediately receives into itself\nthe influences of all celestial bodies, and then communicates them\nto the other elements as also to all mixed bodies. Also it receives\ninto itself as if it were a divine looking-glass the species of all\nthings, as well natural as artificial,\" it enters into men and animals\n\"through their pores\" and \"makes an impression upon them as well when\nthey sleep as when they awake and affords matter to divers strange\ndreams and divinations.... Hence it is that a man passing by a place\nwhere a man was slain and the carcase newly laid is moved by fear and\ndread; because the air in that place being full of the dread species\nof man-slaughter does being breathed in, move and trouble the spirit\nof the man with a like species ... whence it is that many philosophers\nwere of the opinion that the air is the cause of dreams.\" Henry More\nis more precise and philosophical and believes that this air which he\ncalls _Spiritus Mundi_ contains all forms, so that the parents when a\nchild is begotten, or a witch when the double is projected as a hare,\nbut as it were, call upon the _Spiritus Mundi_ for the form they need.\nThe name \"Astral Light\" was given to this air or spirit by the Abb\u00e9\nConstant who wrote under the pseudonym of \u00c9lephas L\u00e9vi and like Madame\nBlavatsky, claimed to be the voice of an ancient magical society. In\nhis _Dogma et Rituel de la Haute Magie_ published in the fifties, he\ndescribed in vague, eloquent words, influenced perhaps by the recent\ndiscovery of the daguerreotype these pictures which we continually\nconfuse with the still animate shades. A more clear exposition of a\nperhaps always incomprehensible idea is that of Swedenborg who says\nthat when we die, we live over again the events that lie in all their\nminute detail in our memory, and this is the explanation of the authors\nof _The Adventure_ who believe, as it seems, that they were entangled\nin the memory of Marie Antoinette. I have met students who claimed to\nhave had knowledge of L\u00e9vi's sources and who believed that when at last\na spirit has been, as it were, pulled out of its coil, other spirits\nmay use its memory, not only of events but of words and of thoughts.\nDid Cornelius Agrippa identify soul with memory when, after quoting\nOvid to prove that the flesh cleaves to earth, the ghost hovers over\nthe grave, the soul sinks to Oxos, and the spirit rises to the stars,\nhe explains that if the soul has done well it rejoices with the almost\nfaultless spirit, but if it has done ill, the spirit judges it and\nleaves it for the devil's prey and \"the sad soul wanders about hell\nwithout a spirit and like an image?\" Remembering these writings and\nsayings, I find new meaning in that description of death taken down by\nLady Gregory in some cottage: \"The shadow goes wandering and the soul\nis tired and the body is taking a rest.\"\n\nI was once talking with Professor James of experiences like to those\nin _The Adventure_ and said that I found it easiest to understand\nthem by believing in a memory of nature distinguished from individual\nmemory, though including and enclosing it. He would, however, have\nnone of my explanation and preferred to think the past, present, and\nfuture were only modes of our perception and that all three were in\nthe divine mind, present at once. It was Madame Blavatsky's thought,\nand Shelley's in the _Sensitive Plant_:\n\n \"That garden sweet, that lady fair,\n And all sweet shapes and odours there,\n In truth have never passed away;\n 'Tis we, 'tis ours, are changed, not they.\n\n \"For love, and beauty, and delight,\n There is no death nor change; their light\n Exceeds our organs, which endure\n No light, being themselves obscure.\"\n\nNOTE 13. The ancient Irish had quadrilateral houses built of logs,\nand round houses of clay and wattles. O'Sullivan, in his introduction\nto O'Curry's _Manners and Customs_, writes: \"The houses built in\n_Duns_ and in _stone caiseal_, and those surrounded by mounds of\nearth, were, probably in all cases round houses.\" A _Bo Aires_,\nor farmer with ten cows was supposed to have a house at least\ntwenty-seven feet wide but the houses of better off men must have\nmade one room of considerable size, a whole household sleeping on\nbeds, sometimes with low partitions between, raying out from the\nwall like spokes of a wheel. Petrie thought the great quadrilateral\nbanqueting hall of Tara was once ninety feet wide.\n\nNOTE 14. In _The Roman Ritual_, there is an exorcism for evil spirits\nand a ceremony for the succour of the sick (_cura infirmorum_). And\nin the beginning of the chapter containing this ceremony (Caput\nIV., verse 12), it is stated that images of Christ, the Virgin, and\nof saints especially in veneration of the sick man, may cure him\nif brought into the room. In the ceremony of exorcism, the priest\nis directed to make numerous signs of the cross over the possessed\nperson (_sic. rubric: Tres cruces sequentes fiant in pectore\nd\u00e6moniaci_). The spirit is commanded to be gone in the name of the\nFather, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. The ceremony with psalms\ncovers twenty-six pages of my copy. The exorcism is described as\na driving out of the \"most unclean spirit\" of every phantasm and\nevery legion. It commands the \"most evil dragon, in the name of the\nimmaculate lamb who walked upon the asp and the basilisk and cast\ndown the lion and the dragon\" to \"go down out of this man.\"\n\nIn the ceremony for the sick, the priest places his hand on the head\nof the sick man and says:\n\n\"Let them place their hands on the sick and they shall be well\n[_Super \u00e6gros manus imponent, et bene habebunt_]. May Christ Son of\nMary, Saviour of the world and Lord, by the merits and intercession\nof his holy apostles Peter and Paul and of all the saints be clement\nand propitious to you.\"\n\nThe ceremony is ten pages and contains various psalms and selections\nfrom the Gospels.\n\nRound these two ceremonies have gathered in the minds of the country\npeople, at least, many traditional ideas. When any one is cured, there\nis a victim, some other human being or some animal will die. If one\nremembers that diseases were very commonly considered to be the work\nof demons, one sees how the story of the Gadarene swine would support\nthe tradition. I know not into what subtlety the dreaming mind may not\ncarry the thought, for some few months ago in France, an excommunicated\nmiracle-working priest said in my hearing: \"There is always a victim;\nso-and-so was the victim for France,\" naming a holy Italian nun who had\njust died. \"And so-and-so,\" naming a living holy woman, \"is the victim\nfor my own village.\" Various medieval saints, and even certain witches,\ncured sick persons by taking the disease upon themselves.\n\nChristian Scientists and Mental Healers are often afraid of\nthemselves acquiring the disease which they drive out of their\npatient; they sometimes speak of the effort that it costs them to\nshake it off. I was told a story the other day, which I have proved\nnot to be true, but which is evidence of the belief. A woman said to\nme some such words as these: \"My friend so-and-so, who is a Mental\nHealer, was staying in the country. She saw a woman there with a\nstrange look. She asked what was wrong, and found that this woman was\nexpecting a periodical fit of madness. She offered to undertake her\ncure, and brought her to her own house. The patient became violent,\nbut my friend was able by faith and prayer to soothe her till she\nfell asleep. My friend went downstairs exhausted, and lay upon the\nsofa. Presently she saw strange shadows coming into the room and\nknew they had come from the patient upstairs, and these shadows,\ntaking the form of swine, threw themselves upon her and only after a\nlong struggle could she throw them off.\" The swine and their attack\nwere all moonshine, but the healer, whom I found and questioned, did\nbelieve that she saw shadows leaving the patient.\n\nThe transference of disease was a generally recognized part\nof medieval and ancient medicine; and Albert de Rochas gives\nconsiderable space to it in his _L'Ext\u00e9riorisation de la\nSensibilit\u00e9_, Paris, 1909. He quotes from a seventeenth-century\nwriter, Abb\u00e9 de Vellemort, many examples from medical and scientific\nwriters of that time who believed themselves to have transferred\ndiseases from their patients to animals and to trees and to various\nsubstances, \"Mumia\" as they called them, which absorb _des esprits\nqui r\u00e9sident dans le sang_ and then describes various experiments\nmade in 1885 by Dr. Babinski \"Chef de Clinique de M. Charcot\" in\ntransferring now by magnets, now by suggestion various forms of\nnervous disease from one patient to another. Where these diseases\nwere produced in the first instance by suggestion, the patient\nfrom whom the disease was transferred, was freed from it, but\nwhere the disease was natural and the cause of the patient being\nat the hospital, there was no cure although in one case there was\nimprovement. Albert de Rochas then quotes as follows from a lecture\ngiven by Dr. Luys to La Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 de Biologie in 1894.\n\n\"M. D'Arsonval has, according to a communication from an English\nphysician, given an account at the last meeting of the Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 de\nBiologie, of the persistent action in a magnetized iron bar of the\nmagnetic fluid, which to a certain extent, kept a memory of its\nformer state.\n\n\"My researches of the same kind have given me proofs some time since\nof analogous phenomena with the help of magnetized crowns placed on\nthe head of a subject in an hypnotic state.\n\n\"In this case, it is a question not only of storing vibrations of\nmagnetic nature, but of really living nature, of real cerebral\nvibrations through the coating of the brain, stored in a magnetic\ncrown, in which they remain for a greater or less length of time.\n\n\"To arrive at this phenomenon, instead of using an unresponsive\nphysical instrument, I use a reacting living being--an hypnotized\nsubject, who has thus become sensitive to living magnetic vibrations. I\nam presenting to the Society the magnetized crown, like several other\nmodels which I have already shown. It is adapted to the head by means\nof a system of straps, encircles it and leaves the frontal region free.\n\n\"It also forms a bent magnet with a positive and a negative pole.\nThis crown was put, more than a year ago, on the head of a woman\nsuffering from melancholia with ideas of persecution, agitation, and\na tendency to suicide, etc. The application of the crown lead to the\npatient's getting slowly better after five or six s\u00e9ances; and at\nthe end of ten days I thought I could send her back to the hospital\nwithout any danger. At the end of a fortnight, the crown having been\nisolated, the idea came to me quite empirically of placing it on the\nhead of the 'subject' now before you.\n\n\"He is a male, hypnotizable, _hyst\u00e9rique_, given to frequent fits\nof lethargy. What was my surprise to see this subject, put into the\nsomnambulistic state, complaining in exactly the same terms as those\nthe cured patient had used a fortnight before.\n\n\"_He_ first of all took on the sex of the patient; _he_ spoke in the\nfeminine gender; _he_ complained of violent headache; _he_ said he was\ngoing mad, that his neighbours came into his room to do him harm. In a\nword, the hypnotic subject had, thanks to the magnetized crown, taken\non the cerebral state of the melancholic patient. The magnetized crown\nhad been powerful enough to draw off the morbid cerebral influx of the\npatient (who got well), which had persisted, like a memory, in the\nintimate (or innermost) texture of the magnetic strip of metal.\n\n\"This is a phenomenon we have produced many times, for several years;\nnot only with the subject now present, but with others.\n\n\"This communication is, amongst physiological phenomena, on a line\nwith M. D'Arsonval's on the persistence of certain anterior states\nin inorganic bodies; it will no doubt cause much astonishment and\nscepticism amongst those who are not accustomed to hypnologic research.\n\n\"Doubts will be cast on the sincerity of the subject, on his tendency\nto produce wonders, to being carried away, and also on what may\nperhaps seem too easy an acquiescence on the part of the operator.\n\n\"To all these objections I will only answer: that this phenomenon\nof the transmission of the psychical states of a subject by means\nof a magnetized crown which keeps given impressions is quite in the\norder of the phenomena formerly communicated by M. D'Arsonval. And,\nfurther, the first time I made this experiment, it was done without\nmy knowing, in an entirely empirical way. The impregnated crown was\nput on the head of the hypnotic subject about a fortnight after it\nhad been put on the patient's head. There has therefore necessarily\nbeen a first operation, of which I did not foreknow the results;\nfor we did not know any more than the hypnotized subject, what was\ngoing to happen, and the subject reacted, _motu proprio_, without any\nexcitant other than the magnetic crown.\n\n\"So one can assert, without trying to draw any other conclusions,\nthat certain vibratory states of the brain, and probably of the\nnervous system, are capable of storing themselves in a magnetized\nbent strip of metal, as the magnetic fluid is stored in the soft bar\nof iron, and of leaving persistent traces; still further, that one\ncan only destroy this persistent magnetic property by fire. The crown\nhas to be red-hot before it ceases to act, as M. D'Arsonval found to\nbe the case with the iron bar.\"\n\nAlbert de Rochas makes this notable comment:\n\n\"The same phenomenon would certainly have been produced had the\npatient been dead, and so one might by this means have a sort of\nevocation of a personality no longer of this world.\"\n\nNOTE 15. As late as the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Irish\nwere accustomed to leave their houses on the plains and valleys in\nspring and live with their cattle on the uplands, returning to the\nvalleys and plains in time to reap the harvest. Before tillage became\ngeneral they may not have returned till the chill of autumn. From\nthis perhaps came the faery flittings of May and November.\n\nNOTE 16. The pictures shown were drawings of spirits \"A. E.\" made\nfrom his own visions. The yellow thing upon the head was, I suppose,\nsome sort of crown. These countrywomen have seen so little gold that\nthey do not describe anything as \"of gold\" or \"like gold.\" They will\nsay of yellow hair that it is \"bright like silver.\"\n\nNOTE 17. The death-coach or more properly _coiste-bodhar_ or\n\"deaf-coach,\" so called from its rumbling sound. It is usually an\nomen of death.\n\nNOTE 18. The thing \"yellow and slippery, not hair but like marble\"\nis evidently a crown of gold. Are these spirits in dress of ancient\nauthority the shepherds of the more recent dead?\n\nNOTE 19. I have read somewhere, but cannot remember where, that\nragweed was once used to make some medicine for horses. This\nwould account for its association with them in the half-fantasy,\nhalf-vision of the country seers. In the same way, the mushroom ring\nof the faeries is, it seems, a memory of some intoxicating liquor\nmade of mushrooms, when intoxication was mysterious. The storyteller\nspeaks of \"those red flowers,\" showing how vague her sense of colour,\nor her knowledge of English, for ragweed is, of course, yellow.\n\nNOTE 20. \"Bracket\" is Irish for \"speckled\" and seems to me a\ndescription of the plaids and stripes of medieval Ireland.\n\nNOTE 21. Bodin in his _De Magorum D\u00e6monomania_ speaks of salt as a\nspell against spirits because a \"symbol of eternity.\"\n\nNOTE 22. Tir-na-n-og, the country of the young, the paradise of\nthe ancient Irish. It is sometimes described as under the earth,\nsometimes as all about us, and sometimes as an enchanted island. This\nisland paradise has given rise to many legends; sailors have bragged\nof meeting it. A Dutch pilot settled in Dublin in 1614, claimed\nto have seen it off the coast of Greenland in 61\u00b0 of latitude. It\nvanished as he came near, but sailing in an opposite direction he\ncame upon it once more, but Giraldus Cambrensis claimed that shortly\nbefore he came to Ireland such a phantom island was discovered off\nthe west coast of Ireland and made habitable. Some young men saw it\nfrom the shore; when they came near it, it sank into the water. The\nnext day it reappeared and again mocked the same youths with the\nlike delusion. At length, on their rowing towards it on the third\nday, they followed the advice of an older man, and let fly an arrow,\nbarbed with red-hot steel, against the island; and then landing,\nfound it stationary and habitable.\n\nNOTE 23. Supernatural strength is often spoken of by the people as\na sign of faery power. It is also enumerated in _The Roman Ritual_\namong the signs of possession. I have read somewhere that the priests\nof Apollo showed it in their religious transports.\n\nNOTE 24. \"Materializations\" are generally imperfect. The spirit makes\njust enough of mind and form for its purpose. Even when the form is\nonly visible to the clairvoyant there may still be materialization,\nthough not carried far enough to affect ordinary sight.\n\nNOTE 25. The picture was made by \"A. E.\" of one of the forms he sees\nin vision.\n\nNOTE 26. The barrel which contained a brew that made the spirits\ninvisible is probably the cauldron of the god Dagda, called \"The\nUndry\" \"because it was never empty.\" The Tuatha-de-Danaan, the old\nIrish divine race, brought with them to Ireland four talismans, the\nsword, the spear, the stone, and the cauldron. Rhys, in his _Celtic\nHeathendom_, compares it with the Irish well of wisdom, overhung by\nnine hazels, and the Welsh \"Cauldron of the Head of Hades,\" set over\na fire, blown into a flame by the breath of nine young girls. Girls\nand hazels were alike, he thinks, symbols of time because of the nine\ndays of the old Celtic week, and comparable with the nine Muses,\ndaughters of Memory. Nutt thought the Celtic cauldron the first form\nof the Holy Grail.\n\nNOTE 27. In my record of this conversation I find a sentence that has\ndropped out in Lady Gregory's. The old man used these words: \"And I\ntook down a fork from the rafters and asked her was it a broom and she\nsaid it was,\" and it was that answer that proved her in the power of\nthe faeries. She was \"suggestible\" and probably in a state of trance.\n\nNOTE 28. The Dundonians are, of course, the Tuatha-de-Danaan, and\nthose with the bag are the \"firbolg\" or \"bag-men,\" we have now, it\nmay be, a true explanation of a name Professor Rhys has interpreted\nwith intricate mythology. I wonder if these bags are related to the\nSporran of the Highlanders.\n\nNOTE 29. Here though maybe but in seeming, spiritism and folk-lore are\nat issue with one another. The spirit of the s\u00e9ance room is described\nas growing to maturity and remaining in that state. In Swedenborg it\nmoves toward \"the day-spring of its youth.\" Among the country people\ntoo, one sometimes hears of the dead growing to the likeness of thirty\nyears in heaven and remaining so. Thirty years, I suppose, because\nat that age Christ began his ministry. The idea that underlies Mrs.\nFagan's statement seems to be that we have a certain measure of life to\nlive out on earth or in some intermediate state. Are the inhabitants of\nthis \"intermediate state\" the \"earthbound\" of the spiritists?\n\nNOTE 30. Professor Lombroso quotes from Professor Faffofer the\nfollowing description of how he received news of the death\nof Carducci: \"On the 18th of February, in the evening, our\nspirit-friends did not at once give us notice of their presence at\nour sitting, and we waited for them about half an hour. 'Remigo,'\non being asked the reason why they had delayed, replied: 'We are in\na state of agitation and confusion here. We have just come from a\nfestival--of grief for you and joy for us. We have been present at\nthe death-bed of Carducci.\" He had died that day and in that very\nhour and the news had not yet arrived by the ordinary channels.\n\nNOTE 31. I was the patient; it seemed to be the only way of coming to\nintimate speech with the knowledgeable man.\n\nNOTE 32. The ghosts of \"spiritism\" are constantly changing place or\nstate. Sometimes for this reason they must say \"goodbye\" to a medium.\nThat they are passing to a \"higher state\" seems to be the usual phrase.\nSee for instance the account signed by A. I. Smart and a number of\nwitnesses, published in _The Medium and Daybreak_, of June 15, 1877.\n\nNOTE 33. I have been several times told that a great battle for the\npotatoes preceded the great famine. What decays with us seems to come\nout, as it were, on the other side of the picture and is spirits'\nproperty.\n\nNOTE 34. This is true but he might have guessed it from the\ndifference of my glasses; one is plain glass.\n\nNOTE 35. They are only small when \"upon certain errands,\" but when\nsmall, three feet or thereabouts seems to be the almost invariable\nheight. Mary Battle, my uncle George Pollexfen's second-sighted\nservant told me that \"it is something in our eyes makes them big or\nlittle.\" People in trance often see objects reduced. Mrs. Piper when\nhalf awakened will sometimes see the people about her very small.\n\nNOTE 36. The same story as that in one of the most beautiful of the\n\"Noh\" plays of Japan. I tell the Japanese story in my long terminal\nessay.\n\nNOTE 37. Mediums have often said that the spirits see this world\nthrough our eyes. John Heydon, upon the other hand, calls good\nspirits \"The eyes and ears of God.\"\n\nNOTE 38. The herbs were gathered before dawn, probably that the dew\nmight be upon them. Dew, a signature or symbol of the philosopher's\nstone, was held once to be a secretion from dawning light.\n\nNOTE 39. The most puzzling thing in Irish folk-lore is the number of\ncountrymen and countrywomen who are \"away.\" A man or woman or child\nwill suddenly take to the bed, and from that on, perhaps for a few\nweeks, perhaps for a lifetime, will be at times unconscious, in a state\nof dream, in trance, as we say. According to the peasant theory these\npersons are, during these times, with the faeries, riding through the\ncountry, eating or dancing, or suckling children. They may even, in\nthat other world, marry, bring forth, and beget, and may when cured of\ntheir trances mourn for the loss of their children in faery. This state\ngenerally commences by their being \"touched\" or \"struck\" by a spirit.\nThe country people do not say that the soul is away and the body in\nthe bed, as a spiritist would, but that body and soul have been taken\nand somebody or something put in their place so bewitched that we do\nnot know the difference. This thing may be some old person who was\ntaken years ago and having come near his allotted term is put back to\nget the rites of the church, or as a substitute for some more youthful\nand more helpful person. The old man may have grown too infirm even to\ndrive cattle. On the other hand, the thing may be a broomstick or a\nheap of shavings. I imagine that an explanatory myth arose at a very\nearly age when men had not learned to distinguish between the body and\nthe soul, and was perhaps once universal. The fact itself is certainly\n\"possession\" and \"trance\" precisely as we meet them in spiritism, and\nwas perhaps once an inseparable part of religion. Mrs. Piper surrenders\nher body to the control of her trance personality but her soul,\nseparated from the body has a life of its own, of which, however, she\nis little if at all conscious.\n\nThere are two books which describe with considerable detail a like\nexperience in China and Japan respectively: _Demon Possession and\nAllied Themes_, by the Rev. John L. Nevius, D.D. (Fleming H. Revell\n& Co., 1894); _Occult Japan_, by Percival Lowell (Houghton, Mifflin,\n1895). In both countries, however, the dualism of body and soul\nis recognized, and the theory is therefore identical with that of\nspiritism. Dr. Nevius is a missionary who gradually became convinced,\nafter much doubt and perplexity, of the reality of possession by what\nhe believes to be evil spirits precisely similar to that described in\nthe New Testament. These spirits take possession of some Chinese man\nor woman who falls suddenly into a trance, and announce through their\nmedium's mouth, that when they lived on earth they had such and such a\nname, sometimes if they think a false name will make them more pleasing\nthey will give a false name and history. They demand certain offerings\nand explain that they are seeking a home; and if the offerings are\nrefused, and the medium seeks to drive them from body and house they\nturn persecutors; the house may catch fire suddenly; but if they have\ntheir way, they are ready to be useful, especially to heal the sick.\nThe missionaries expel them in the name of Christ, but the Chinese\nexorcists adopt a method familiar to the west of Ireland--tortures or\nthreats of torture. They will light tapers which they stick upon the\nfingers. They wish to make the body uncomfortable for its tenant. As\nthey believe in the division of soul and body they are not likely to\ngo too far. A man actually did burn his wife to death, in Tipperary\na few years ago, and is no doubt still in prison for it. My uncle,\nGeorge Pollexfen, had an old servant Mary Battle, and when she spoke\nof the case to me, she described that man as very superstitious. I\nasked what she meant by that and she explained that everybody knew that\nyou must only threaten, for whatever injury you did to the changeling\nthe faeries would do to the living person they had carried away. In\nfact mankind and spiritkind have each their hostage. These explanatory\nmyths are not a speculative but a practical wisdom. And one can count\nperhaps, when they are rightly remembered, upon their preventing the\nmore gross practical errors. The Tipperary witch-burner only half knew\nhis own belief. \"I stand here in the door,\" said Mary Battle, \"and I\nhear them singing over there in the field, but I have never given in to\nthem yet.\" And by \"giving in\" I understood her to mean losing her head.\n\nThe form of possession described in Lowell's book is not involuntary\nlike that the missionary describes. And the possessing spirits are\nbelieved to be those of holy hermits or of the gods. He saw it for\nthe first time on a pilgrimage to the top of Mount Ontak\u00e9. Close on\nthe border of the snow he came to a rest house which was arranged to\nenclose the path, that all, it would seem, might stop and rest and\neat and give something to its keeper. Presently he saw three young\nmen dressed in white who passed on in spite of the entreaties of\nthe keeper. He followed and presently found them praying before a\nshrine cut in the side of a cliff. When the prayer was finished one\nof them took from his sleeve a stick that had hanging from it pieces\nof zigzag paper, and sat himself on a bench opposite the shrine. One\nof the others sat facing upon another bench, clasping his hands over\nhis breast and closing his eyes. Then the first young man began a\nlong evocation, chanting and twisting and untwisting his fingers\nall the time. Presently he put the wand with the zigzag paper into\nthe other's hands and the other's hands began to twitch, and that\ntwitching grew more and more. The man was possessed. A spirit spoke\nthrough his mouth and called itself the God, Hakkai.\n\nNow the evoker became very respectful and asked if the peak would be\nclear of clouds, and the pilgrimage a lucky one, and if the god would\ntake care of those left at home. The god answered that the peak would\nbe clear until the afternoon of the day following and all else go\nwell. The voice ceased and the evoker offered a prayer of adoration.\nThe entranced man was awakened by being touched on the breast and\nslapped upon the back and now another of the three took his place.\nAnd all was gone through afresh; and when that was over the third\nyoung man was entranced in his turn.\n\nMr. Lowell made considerable further investigation and records many\ncases, and was told that the god or spirit would sometimes speak in a\ntongue unknown to the possessed man, or gave useful medical advice.\nHe is one of the few Europeans who have witnessed what seems to be\nan important right of Shinto religion. Shintoism, or the Way of the\nGods, until its revival in the last half of the nineteenth century\nremained lost and forgotten in the roots of Japanese life. It had\nbeen superseded by Buddhism, if Mr. Lowell was correctly informed,\nas completely as this old faery faith of Ireland has been superseded\nby Christianity. Buddhism, however, having no Christian hostility to\nfriendly spirits, does not seem to have done anything to discourage\na revival which was one of the causes that brought Japan under the\nsingle rule of the Mikado. It had always indeed in certain of its\nsects practised ceremonies that had for their object the causing of\npossession.\n\nThere is a story in _The Book of the Dun Cow_ which certainly\ndescribes a like experience, though Prof. Rhys interprets it as a\nsolar myth. I will take the story from Lady Gregory's _Cuchulain of\nMuirthemne_. The people of Ulster were celebrating the festival of\nthe beginning of winter, held always at the beginning of November.\nThe first of November is still a very haunted day and night. A flock\nof wild birds lit upon the waters near to Cuchulain and certain fair\nwomen. \"In all Ireland there were not birds to be seen that were more\nbeautiful.\"\n\nOne woman said: \"'I must have a bird of these birds on each of my\ntwo shoulders.' 'We must all have the same,' said the other women.\n'If any one is to get them, it is I that must first get them,' said\nEithne Inguba, who loved Cuchulain. 'What shall we do?' said the\nwomen. 'It is I will tell you that,' said Levarcham, 'for I will go\nto Cuchulain from you to ask him to get them.'\"\n\nSo she went to Cuchulain and said: '\"The women of Ulster desire that\nyou will get these birds for them.' Cuchulain put his hand upon his\nsword as if to strike her, and he said: 'Have the idle women of\nUlster nothing better to do than to send me catching birds today?'\n'It is not for you,' said Levarcham, 'to be angry with them; for\nthere are many of them are half blind today with looking at you, from\nthe greatness of their love for you.'\"\n\nAfter this Cuchulain catches the birds and divides them amongst the\nwomen, and to every woman there are two birds, but when he comes to\nhis mistress, Eithne Inguba, he has no birds left. '\"It is vexed\nyou seem to be,' he said, 'because I have given the birds to the\nother women.' 'You have good reason for that,' she said, 'for there\nis not a woman of them but would share her love and her friendship\nwith you; while as for me no person shares my love but you alone.'\"\nCuchulain promises her whatever birds come, and presently there come\ntwo birds who are linked together with a chain of gold and \"singing\nsoft music that went near to put sleep on the whole gathering.\"\nCuchulain went in their pursuit, though Eithne and his charioteer\ntried to dissuade him, believing them enchanted. Twice he casts a\nstone from his sling and misses, and then he throws his spear but\nmerely pierces the wing of one bird. Thereupon the birds dive and he\ngoes away in great vexation, and he lies upon the ground and goes to\nsleep, and while he sleeps two women come to him and put him under\nenchantment. In the Connacht stories the enchantment begins with a\nstroke, or with a touch from some person of faery and it is so the\nwomen deal with Cuchulain. \"The woman with the green cloak went up\nto him and smiled at him and she gave him a stroke of a rod. The\nother went up to him then and smiled at him and gave him a stroke\nin the same way; and they went on doing this for a long time, each\nof them striking him in turn till he was more dead than alive. And\nthen they went away and left him there.\" The men of Ulster found him\nand they carried him to a house and to a bed and there he lay till\nthe next November came round. They were sitting about the bed when a\nstrange man came in and sat amongst them. It was the God, \u00c6ngus, and\nhe told how Cuchulain could be healed. A king of the other world,\nLabraid, wished for Cuchulain's help in a war, and if he would give\nit, he would have the love of Fand the wife of the sea god Manannan.\nThe women who gave him the strokes of the rods were Fand and her\nsister Liban, who was Labraid's wife. They had sought his help as the\nConnacht faeries will ask the help of some good hurler. Were they\ntoo like our faeries \"shadows\" until they found it? When the god was\ngone, Cuchulain awoke, and Conahar, the King of Ulster, who had been\nwatching by his bedside, told him that he must go again to the rock\nwhere the enchantment was laid upon him. He goes there and sees the\nwoman with the green cloak. She is Liban and pleads with him that\nhe may accept the love of Fand and give his help to Labraid. If he\nwill only promise, he will become strong again. Cuchulain will not go\nat once but sends his charioteer into the other world. When he has\nhis charioteer's good report, he consents, and wins the fight for\nLabraid and is the lover of Fand. In the Connacht stories a wife can\nsometimes get back her husband by throwing some spell-breaking object\nover the heads of the faery cavalcade that keeps him spellbound.\nEmir, in much the same way, recovers her husband Cuchulain, for she\nand her women go armed with knives to the yew tree upon Baile's\nstrand where he had appointed a meeting with Fand and outface Fand\nand drive her away.\n\nWe have here certainly a story of trance and of the soul leaving\nthe body, but probably after it has passed through the minds of\nstory-tellers who have forgotten its original meaning. There is\nno mention of any one taking Cuchulain's place, but Prof. Rhys in\nhis reconstruction of the original form of the story of \"Cuchulain\nand the Beetle of Forgetfulness,\" a visit also to the other world,\nmakes the prince who summoned him to the adventure take his place in\nthe court of Ulster. There are many stories belonging to different\ncountries, of people whose places are taken for a time by angels or\nspirits or gods, the best known being that of the nun and the Virgin\nMary, and all may have once been stories of changelings and entranced\npersons. Pwyll and Arawyn in the Mabinogion change places for a\nyear, Pwyll going to the court of the dead in the shape of Arawyn to\novercome his enemies, and Arawyn going to the court of Dyved. Pwyll\novercomes Arawyn's enemies with one blow and the changeling's rule\nat Dyved was marvellous for its wisdom. In all these stories strength\ncomes from men and wisdom from among gods who are but shadows. I have\nread somewhere of a Norse legend of a false Odin that took the true\nOdin's place, when the sun of summer became the wintry sun. When we\nsay a man has had a stroke of paralysis or that he is touched we\nrefer perhaps to a once universal faery belief.\n\nNOTE 40. I suppose this woman who was glad to \"pick a bit of what\nwas in the pigs' trough\" had passed along the roads in a state of\nsemi-trance, living between two worlds. Boehme had for seven days\nwhat he called a walking trance that began by his gazing at a gleam\nof light on a copper pot and in that trance truth fell upon him \"like\na bursting shower.\"\n\nNOTE 41. A village beauty of Bally Lee. Raftery praised her in lines\nquoted in my _Celtic Twilight_, and Lady Gregory speaks of her in her\nessay on Raftery in _Poets and Dreamers_.\n\nNOTE 42. An old, second-sighted servant to an uncle of mine used to\nsay that dreams were no longer true \"when the sap began to rise\" and\nwhen I asked her how she knew that, she said; \"What is the use of\nhaving an intellect unless you know a thing like that.\"\n\nNOTE 43. \"In the faeries\" is plainly a misspeaking of the old phrase\n\"in faery\" that is to say \"in glamour\" \"under enchantment.\" The word\n\"faery\" as used for an individual is a modern corruption. The right\nword is \"fay.\"\n\nNOTE 44. The sudden filling of the air by a sweet odour is a common\nevent of the S\u00e9ance room. It is mentioned several times in the\n\"Diary\" of Stanton Moses.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[2] Since writing the above the authors of _An Adventure_ have shown\nme a mass of letters proving that they spoke of the visions to\nvarious correspondents before the corroboration, and showing the long\nand careful research that the corroboration involved.\n\n W. B. Y.\n\n October, 1918.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\n\nObvious punctuation and spelling errors have been fixed throughout.\n\nInconsistent hyphenation is as in the original.","title":"Visions and Beliefs in the West of Ireland, First Series","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":79481}