The one I will take first relates to the Rev. Charles Bunworth, who about the middle of the eighteenth century was rector of Buttevant, County Cork. Mr Bunworth was greatly beloved and esteemed, not only on account of his piety--for pious people are by no means always popular--but also on account of his charity. He used to give pecuniary aid, often when he could ill afford it, to all and any, no matter to what faith they belonged, whom he really believed were in need; and being particularly fond of music, especially the harp, he entertained, in a most generous and hospitable manner, all the poor Irish harpers that came to his house. At the time of his death, no fewer than fifteen harps were found in the loft of his granary, presents, one is led to infer, from strolling harpers, in token of their gratitude for his repeated acts of kindness to them. About a week prior to his decease, and at an early hour in the evening, several of the occupants of his house heard a strange noise outside the hall door, which they could only liken to the shearing of sheep. No very serious attention, however, was paid to it, and it was not until some time afterwards, when other queer things happened, that it was recalled and associated with the supernatural. Later on, at about seven o'clock in the evening, Kavanagh, the herdman, returned from Mallow, whither he had been dispatched for some medicine. He appeared greatly agitated, and, in response to Miss Bunworth's questions as to what was the matter, could only ejaculate: "The master, Miss, the master! He is going from us." Miss Bunworth, thinking he had been drinking, sternly reproved him, whereupon he responded: "Miss, as I hope mercy hereafter, neither bite nor sup has passed my lips since I left this house; but the master----" Here he broke down, only adding with an effort, "We will lose him--the master." He then began to weep and wring his hands. Miss Bunworth, who, during this strange recital, was growing more and more bewildered, now exclaimed impatiently: "What _is_ it you mean? Do explain yourself." Kavanagh was silent, but, as she persisted, commanding him to speak, he at length said: "The Banshee has come for him, Miss; and 'tis not I alone who have heard her." But Miss Bunworth only laughed and rebuked him for being superstitious. "Maybe I am superstitious," he retorted, "but as I came through the glen of Ballybeg she was along with me, keening, and screeching, and clapping her hands by my side, every step of the way, with her long white hair falling about her shoulders, and I could hear her repeat the master's name every now and then, as plain as ever I hear it. When I came to Old Abby, she parted from me there, and turned into pigeon field next the berrin'-ground, and, folding her cloak about her, down she sat under the tree that was struck by lightning, and began keening so bitterly that it went through one's heart to hear it."