iss
Wolfe, Skibbereen, Co. Cork; Mrs. E. Welsh, Nenagh; T.J. Westropp, Esq.,
M.A., M.R.I.A., Sandymount, Dublin; Mrs. M.A. Wilkins, Rathgar, Dublin;
John Ward, Esq., Ballymote; Mrs. Wrench, Ballybrack, Co. Dublin; Miss
K.E. Younge, Upper Oldtown, Rathdowney.

ST. JOHN D. SEYMOUR.

DONOHIL RECTORY,

CAPPAWHITE, TIPPERARY,
_February 2_, 1914.

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. HAUNTED HOUSES IN OR NEAR DUBLIN
II. HAUNTED HOUSES IN CONN'S HALF
III. HAUNTED HOUSES IN MOGH'S HALF
IV. POLTERGEISTS
V. HAUNTED PLACES
VI. APPARITIONS AT OR AFTER DEATH
VII. BANSHEES, AND OTHER DEATH-WARNINGS
VIII. MISCELLANEOUS SUPERNORMAL EXPERIENCES
IX. LEGENDARY AND ANCESTRAL GHOSTS
X. MISTAKEN IDENTITY--CONCLUSION

TRUE IRISH GHOST STORIES

CHAPTER I

HAUNTED HOUSES IN OR NEAR DUBLIN

Of all species of ghostly phenomena, that commonly known as "haunted
houses" appeals most to the ordinary person. There is something very
eerie in being shut up within the four walls of a house with a ghost. The
poor human being is placed at such a disadvantage. If we know that a
gateway, or road, or field has the reputation of being haunted, we can in
nearly every case make a detour, and so avoid the unpleasant locality.
But the presence of a ghost in a house creates a very different state of
affairs. It appears and disappears at its own sweet will, with a total
disregard for our feelings: it seems to be as much part and parcel of the
domicile as the staircase or the hall door, and, consequently, nothing
short of leaving the house or of pulling it down (both of these solutions
are not always practicable) will free us absolutely from the unwelcome
presence.

There is also something so natural, and at the same time so unnatural, in
seeing a door open when we know that no human hand rests on the knob, or
in hearing the sound of footsteps, light or heavy, and feeling that it
cannot be attributed to the feet of mortal man or woman. Or perhaps a
form appears in a room, standing, sitting, or walking--in fact, situated
in its three dimensions apparently as an ordinary being of flesh and
blood, until it proves its unearthly nature by vanishing before our
astonished eyes. Or perhaps we are asleep in bed. The room is shrouded
in darkness, and our recumbent attitude, together with the weight of
bed-clothes, hampers our movements and probably makes us more cowardly. A
man will meet pain or danger boldly if he be standing uprig