Then come _The Solitary Fairies_, amongst whom we find the little _Lepracaun_ mentioned above. He has grown very rich, as he possesses all the treasure-crocks buried in war-time. In the early part of this century, according to Croker, they used to show in Tipperary a little shoe forgotten by the fairy shoemaker. Then there are two rather disreputable little fairies—the _Cluricaun_, who gets intoxicated in gentlemen’s cellars, and the Red Man, who plays unkind practical jokes. ‘The _Fear-Gorta_ (Man of Hunger) is an emaciated phantom that goes through the land in famine time, begging an alms and bringing good luck to the giver.’ The _Water-sheerie_ is ‘own brother to the English Jack-o’-Lantern.’ ‘_The Leanhaun Shee_ (fairy mistress) seeks the love of mortals. If they refuse, she must be their slave; if they consent, they are hers, and can only escape by finding another to take their place. The fairy lives on their life, and they waste away. Death is no escape from her. She is the Gaelic muse, for she gives inspiration to those she persecutes. The Gaelic poets die young, for she is restless, and will not let them remain long on earth.’ The _Pooka_ is essentially an animal spirit, and some have considered him the forefather of Shakespeare’s ‘Puck.’ He lives on solitary mountains, and among old ruins ‘grown monstrous with much solitude,’ and ‘is of the race of the nightmare.’ ‘He has many shapes—is now a horse, . . . now a goat, now an eagle. Like all spirits, he is only half in the world of form.’ The _banshee_ does not care much for our democratic levelling tendencies; she loves only old families, and despises the _parvenu_ or the _nouveau riche_. When more than one banshee is present, and they wail and sing in chorus, it is for the death of some holy or great one. An omen that sometimes accompanies the banshee is ‘. . . an immense black coach, mounted by a coffin, and drawn by headless horses driven by a _Dullahan_.’ A _Dullahan_ is the most terrible thing in the world. In 1807 two of the sentries stationed outside St. James’s Park saw one climbing the railings, and died of fright. Mr. Yeats suggests that they are possibly ‘descended from that Irish giant who swam across the Channel with his head in his teeth.’