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“Seen, did you say?” said Harry; “pray describe it.”

“Why,” replied the old crone, “it’s like any other coach, but twice as big, and hung over with black cloth, and a black coffin on the top of it, and drawn by headless black horses.”

“Heaven protect us!” ejaculated Jack.

“It is very strange,” remarked Harry.

“But,” continued Moya, “it always comes before the death of a person, and I wonder what brought it now, unless it came with the banshee.”

“Maybe it’s coming for you,” said Harry, with an arch yet subdued smile.

“No, no,” she said; “I am none of that family at all at all.”

A solemn silence now ensued for a few minutes, and they thought all was vanished, when again the dreadful cry struck heavily on their ears.

“Open the door, Jack,” said Harry, “and put out Hector.”

Hector was a large and very ferocious mastiff belonging to Jack O’Malley, and always accompanied him wherever he went.

Jack opened the door and attempted to put out the dog, but the poor animal refused to go, and, as his master attempted to force him, howled in a loud and mournful tone.

“You must go,” said Harry, and he caught him in his arms and flung him over the half-door. The poor dog was scarcely on the ground when he was whirled aloft into the air by some invisible power, and he fell again to earth lifeless, and the pavement was besmeared with his entrails and blood.

Harry now lost all patience, and again seizing his blunderbuss, he exclaimed: “Come, Jack, my boy, take your pistols and follow me; I have but one life to lose, and I will venture it to have a crack at this infernal demon.”

“I will follow you to death’s doors,” said Jack; “but I would not fire at the banshee for a million of worlds.”

Moya seized Harry by the skirts. “Don’t go out,” she cried; “let her alone while she lets you alone, for an hour’s luck never shone on any one that ever molested the banshee.”

“Psha, woman!” said Harry, and he pushed away poor Moya contemptuously.

The two men now sallied forth; the wild cry still continued, and it seemed to issue from amongst some stacks in the hay-yard behind the house. They went round and paused; again they heard the cry, and Harry elevated his blunderbuss.

“Don’t fire,” said Jack.

Harry replied not; he looked scornfully at Jack, then put his finger on the trigger, and–bang–away it exploded with a thundering sound. An extraordinary scream was now heard, ten times louder and more terrific than they heard before. Their hair stood erect on their heads, and huge, round drops of sweat ran down their faces in quick succession. A glare of reddish-blue fight shone around the stacks; the rumbling of the dead-coach was again heard coming; it drove up to the house, drawn by six headless sable horses, and the figure of a withered old hag, encircled with blue flame, was seen running nimbly across the hay-yard. She entered the ominous carriage, and it drove away with a horrible sound. It swept through the tall bushes which surrounded the house; and as it disappeared the old hag cast a thrilling scowl at the two men, and waved her fleshless arms at them vengefully. It was soon lost to sight; but the unearthly creaking of the wheels, the tramping of the horses, and the appalling cries of the banshee continued to assail their ears for a considerable time after all had vanished.

The brave fellows now returned to the house; they again made fast the door, and reloaded their arms. Nothing, however, came to disturb them that night, nor from that time forward; and the arrival of the dead man’s brother from London, in a few days after, relieved them from their irksome task.

Old Moya did not live long after; she declined from that remarkable night, and her remains were decently interred in the churchyard adjoining the last earthly tenement of the loved family to which she had been so long and so faithfully attached.

The insulted banshee has never since returned; and although several members of that family have since closed their mortal career, still the warning cry was never given; and it is supposed that the injured spirit will never visit her ancient haunts until every one of the existing generation shall have “slept with their fathers.”

Jack O’Malley and his friend Harry lived some years after. Their friendship still continued undiminished; like “Tam O’Shanter” and “Souter Johnny,” they still continued to love each other like “a very brither”; and like that jovial pair, also, our two comrades were often “fou for weeks thegither,” and often over their cruiskeen would they laugh at their strange adventure with the banshee. It is now, however, all over with them too; their race is run, and they are now “tenants of the tomb.”