one would pass there after nightfall. The Lord
Doneraile, who is believed by the peasantry to stand under Lord
Doneraile's Oak, it has been told me positively, was third Viscount.

"There is an old man called Reardon here now who saw a gentleman riding
a powerful black horse along Lord Doneraile's route in the middle of the
day, and his sister who was with him failed to see the horseman, though
her brother had to pull her out of his way.

"I went up to Saffron Hill last winter to see the ostrich-like ghost
which is there, and I heard a great sweep as of hounds and horses going
past me. Paddy Shea, late herd to Lord Doneraile, also would swear he
saw the phantom Lord Doneraile pursuing the chase often. I have heard
that James Mullaine also saw him in Wilkinson's Lawn, but have not any
further proof.

"It is very few people will admit having seen these things. George
Buckley, present keeper of the Doneraile Park, got a great fright one
night which might have been from the same cause."

In this case it seems more than likely the huntsman, horse and hounds
were all _bona fide_ phantasms of the dead.

_Wild Darrell_

Littlecote, as everyone knows, is haunted by the spirits of the
notorious "Wild Will Darrell" and the horse he invariably rode, and
which eventually broke his neck.

But there are many Wild Darrells; all Europe is overrun by them. They
nightly tear, on their phantom horses, over the German and Norwegian
forests and moor-lands that echo and re-echo with their hoarse shouts
and the mournful baying of their grisly hounds.

Many travellers in Russia and Germany journeying through the forests at
night have caught the sound of wails,--of moans that, starting from the
far distance, have gradually come nearer and nearer. Then they have
heard the winding of a horn, the shouting and cursing of the huntsman,
and in a biting cold wind have seen the whole cavalcade sweep by.

According to various authorities on the subject this spectral chase goes
by different names. In Thuringia and elsewhere, it is "Hakelnberg" or
"Hackelnbarend,"--the story being that Hakelnberg, a German knight, who
had devoted his whole life to the chase, on his death-bed had told the
officiating priest that he cared not a jot for heaven, but only for
hunting; the priest losing patience and exclaiming, "Then hunt till
Doomsday."

So, in all weathers, in snow and ice, Hakelnberg, his horse and hounds,
are seen careering after imaginary gam