to disbelieve the vision at first, it so preyed on her mind that when her son was born, her husband and the nurse made her believe it was a daughter, and she was only undeceived, when nearly recovered, by a housemaid, who spoke of the child as 'he.' She burst into tears, but was persuaded out of her alarm, and was going down stairs when she cried There is Lord Tyrone, I see him on the landing-place,' fainted, and died in a few days' time.

The stubborn facts of the peerage shew that Lady Beresford was no sister of Lord Tyrone, and that she had lost her first husband before the death of that nobleman. This, however, is not much to the purpose, for her husband plays no part in the story. The Editor of the Diaries, on the authority of a letter to Mr. F. Pollock, from one of the Beresford family, says that it was true that

Evermore the lady wore
A bracelet on her wrist,'

but that it was to cover a scar left by disease early in life, and that she had really had a dream before her second marriage, warning her of her unhappiness in it.

We have given this whole process of ghost development because it is worth observing that there is a certain core of truth beneath the romantic additions. We believe that those who are determined on explaining away whatever seems supernatural, sometimes are quite as inventive as those who work up a brilliant phantom story. It was a fact that the high spirited Lady Edgeworth, who firmly took the tallow candle out of the barrel of gunpowder, where her Irish maid had stuck it, nevertheless suffered much terror from the supposed antics of elves on the mound called Fairy mount before her windows. Her descendants at Edgworthstown accounted for it by supposing the village people to have, like the Merry Wives of Windsor, sent their children to play tricks there in order to torment her. That Irish peasants should send their children by night to a haunted mound is assuredly as improbable as that some appearance unaccounted for should take place there. There is moreover-or more properly was-in the last half century, every temptation to deny or explain away a ghost story, since in that strongminded age, any confession of belief that there was some unexplained mystery, was supposed to be mere credulity and contemptible weakness. Even Mrs. Radcliffe, with all her poetical sense of the weird and terrible, was obliged to conform to the taste of her age by resolving her ghost into a waxen image. And when the Beresford family owned that their ancestress had really had a warning dream, it was, considering the

incredulous age, going a good way towards acknowledging the apparition.

Of Dreams, we say nothing here, for their remarkable accomplishment has been so often proved that not the most resolute scepticism has been able to get beyond the theory that the mind had been occupied with the subject dreamt of. They belong to the world of mystery rather than of Folk Lore, and we have only mentioned the cases in which the appearance of a wraith or double ganger coincided curiously with a dream of the person it represented, as if he had been there in spirit.

The apparitions that are most decidedly matters of local tradition are those that haunt spots where a crime has been committed or an untimely death has taken place. Littlecote Hall (see Rokeby) is a well-known instance, and we could quote on good private authority several more. The instance Mr. Henderson gives was from Mr. Wilkie's MS. book of Border traditions::

‘About half a mile to the east of Maxton, a small rivulet runs across the turnpike road, at a spot called Bow-brig Syke. Near this bridge lics a triangular field, in which, for nearly a century, it was averred that the forms of two ladies, dressed in white, might be seen pacing up and down. Night after night the people of the neighbourhood used to come and watch them, and curiosity brought many from a great distance. The figures were always to be seen at dusk; they walked arm in arm, precisely over the same spot of ground till morning light. Mr. Wilkie adds, that about twelve years before the time of his noting down the story, while some people were repairing the road, they took up the large flat stones upon which foot-passengers crossed the burn, and found beneath them the skeletons of two women, lying side by side. After this discovery, the Box-brig ladies were never again seen to walk in the Three-corner field. Mr. Wilkie says further, that be received this account from a gentleman who saw and examined the skeletons, and who added that they were believed to be those of two ladies, sisters to a former Laird of Litledean. Their brother is said to have killed them in a fit of passion, because they interfered to protect from ill-usage a young lady whom he had met at Bow-bridge Syke. He placed the bodies upon the bridge, and lowered the flat stones on them to prevent discovery.' - - Henderson, p 273.

Many of such stories resolve themselves into the fancies of persons, who, thinking a place ought to be haunted, immediately people it with sights and sounds of their own imagination, but still-as in the other case--there are numerous instances where the noises and appearances are observed by unprepared witnesses, and fail of being accounted for. We cannot refrain from quoting one, which-though Judge Haliburton has placed it among the dialogues of his Clockmaker, and has thus given it an air of invention, we know that he privately declared to be the full belief in the locality where the events took place-namely Sable Island, on the coast of Nova Scotia, a desolate, wild, and lonely sandy place, full of hollows scooped out by the

wind, with a few whortle berries and cranberries growing in them, in shallower places bent grass, and on the shores wild peas; but not a tree or shrub on the whole island, which is about thirty miles long, and from one and a half to two wide, shaped like a bow, tapering off at both ends, with a lake in it fifteen miles long. The sand drifts in a gale like snow, and blows up into high " cones. These dance about sometimes, and change places, and 'when they do they oncover dead bodies of poor critters that have been overtaken there.' The story is related by Sam Slick, as he heard it from a person who had frequently visited it to catch the horses that are to be found there, running wild in large herds:

'In the year 1802, the ship, Princess Amelia, was wrecked here, having the furniture of the Queen's father, Prince Edward, on board, and a number of recruits, sodger officers and their wives and women-servants. There were two hundred souls of them altogether, and they all perished. About that period, some piratical vagabonds used to frequent there, for there was no regular establishment kept on the island then; and it's generally supposed some of the poor people of that misfortunate ship reached the shore in safety, and were murdered by the wreckers for their property. Well, the Prince sends down Captain Torrens, of the 29th regiment, I think it was, from Halifax, to inquire after the missin ship, and as luck would have it, he was wrecked too, and pretty nearly lost his life in trying to drag others through the surf, for he was a man that didn't know what danger, or fear either, was, except by name. There were but few that could be rescued before the vessel went to pieces. Well, he stationed them that survived, at one end of the island, and off he goes to the other, so as to extend his look-out for aid, as far as he could; but first they had to bury the dead that floated up from the troop-ship, and gather up such of the Prince's effects as came ashore and were worth saving. It was an awful task, and took them a long time, for the grave was as large as a cellar, almost. There they are, just where that long bent grass grows. Having done this, and finding arms in the Government shelter-hut, off he goes alone to the other end of the island. One day, having made the circuit of the lower half here, he returned about dusk to where we now are. Where you see that little hillock, there was a small hut in those days, that bad fireworks in it, and some food, and chairs and tables, that had been saved out of wrecks, which were placed there for distressed people, and there were printed instructions in French and English, telling them what to do to keep themselves alive till they could be taken off. Well, he made up a fire, hauled down some bay out of the loft, and made up a bed in one corner, and went out to take a walk along by the side of the lake, afore he turned in. As he returned, he was surprised to see his dog standing at the door, looking awful skeered, growlin', barkin', and yelpin' like mad. The first thing he saw inside was a lady sitting on one side of the fire, with long, dripping hair hanging over her shoulders, her face pale as death, and having nothing on but a loose, soiled white dress, that was as wet as if she had just come out of the sea, and had sand sticking to it, as if she had been rolled over in the breakers. 'Good heavens! Madam,' said he, 'who are you, and where did you come from?'

'But she didn't speak to him, and only held up her hand before him, and he saw one of the forefingers was cut off, and was still bleeding. Well, he turned round, and opened a case that he had picked up in the morning from the drift-ship, in which was materials for bandagin' the wound, and was goin' NO. CXXXVII.-N.S.

E

to offer her some assistance, when she rose up sudden, slipped past him, and went out of the door, and walked off. Well, he followed and called to her, and begged her to stop, but on she went, and, thinkin' she was out of her mind, he ran after her, and the faster he went, the swifter she raced, till she came to the lake, and dove right into it, head-foremost.

'Well, he stood some time there, considerin' and ponderin' over what had happened, and at last he strolled back and sat down by the fire, a good deal puzzled . . and he looked at the primin' of his gun, and went out and kneeled down, and, takin' off his hat, held his head close to the ground, to see if anybody was a movin' between him and the horizon; and findin3 there warn't, and feelin' tired-for he had been on his feet all day-he returned to the hut again, and who should be there but the self-same lady, in the self-same place. Now," said he to himself, "don't go to near her, it's evidently onpleasant to her, but she has some communication to make.' Well, what do you think? it's a positive fact, she held up the mutilated hand again. He paused some time afore he spoke, and took a good look at her, to be sure there was no mistake, and to be able to identify her afterwards, if necessary.

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'Why," sais he, after scrutinizin' of her (for he was a man, was the brave Captain Torrens, that the devil himself couldn't daunt), "why," sais he, “it ain't possible! Why, Mrs. Copeland, is that you?" for he knew her as well as I know you. She was the wife of Dr. Copeland, of the 7th regiment, and was well known at Halifax, and beloved by all who knowed her. She just bowed her head, and then held up her hand and showed the bloody stump of her finger. "I have it," sais he, "murdered for the sake of your ring!" She bowed her head. Well," said he, "I'll track the villain out till he is shot or hanged." Well, she looked sad, and made no sign. "Well," sais he, "I'll leave no stone unturned to recover the ring, and restore it to your family.” Well, she smiled, bowed her head, and rose up and waved her hand to him to stand out of the way, and he did, and she slipped by him, and then turned back and held up both hands, as if she was pushin' some one back, and retreated that way, makin' the same motion; and he took the hint, shut to the door, and sat down to digest this curious scene.'-Sam Slick's Wise Saws and Modern Instances, vol. i, pp. 327-332.

The narrative proceeds to relate that Captain Torrens obtained the names of some of the most notorious wreckers, one of whom he heard lived at a solitary place called Salmon Island. He found, however, that the man and his family had removed to Labrador, and following them thither, contrived to lodge in their house while hunting and fishing in the neighbourhood, and one evening, in the father's absence, he put on a splendid ring, which attracted the notice of the daughters, and it was handed round among them to be admired; thus leading one of the girls to say it was not so pretty as the one daddy got off the lady's finger at Sable Island.' The mother hastily said the girl meant one that was bought of a Frenchman, who picked it up on the sand there, and Torrens presently expressed his desire of seeing and buying it, but he was answered that it had been left with a watchmaker at Halifax, who had given twenty shillings for it, and promised more if it should sell for a greater sum. There were at that time only two watchmakers at Halifax, and in the window of one the captain saw a ring answering to the description given by the woman. Going into the shop, he asked its history, and

was told the same account as the mother had given him. He at once laid down the twenty shillings, adding, "If the owner wants more, tell him to bring the finger that was cut off to get it, and then come to me.'

The ring was identified by the ladies of the regiment, and by the Prince himself, for it was a curious old family jewel, and it was of course restored to Mrs. Copeland's friends in England. Captain Torrens was ordered home, and no more was heard of the wreckers.

Nor can we refrain from quoting the famous apparition at Messina, which has been recently well told by Lady Herbert, in the Month' for last November:

In the year 1784, there was a terrible earthquake at Messina... the only thing which escaped was the cathedral, and people attributed its safety to a miracle. A few years after this event, the Chevalier, a man of noble French family, one of whose brothers was a distinguished general-officer, and the other a minister at Berlin, visited Messina for the purpose of seeing the scene of devastation, and of making researches among the monuments and ruins. He was of the Order of Knights of Malta, and a priest: a man of high character, of cultivated intellect, and of great physical courage. He arrived at Messina on a summer day, and getting the key of the oathedral from the Custode, for it was after Vespers, commenced copying the inscriptions, and examining the building. His researches occupied him so long that he did not see that the day was waning, and when he turned to go out by the door by which he had come in, he found it locked. He tried the other doors, but all were equally closed. The Custode, having let him in some hours before, and concluding he had gone away, had locked up the building and gone home. The Chevalier shouted in vain, the earthquake had destroyed all the houses in the neighbourhood, and there was no one to hear his cries. He had, therefore, no alternative but to submit to his fate, and to make up his mind to spend the night in the Cathedral. He looked round for some place to establish himself. Everything was of marble, except the confessionals, and in one of these he ensconced himself in a comfortable chair, and tried. to go to sleep. Sleep, however, was not so easy. The strangeness of the situation, the increasing darkness, and the superstition that the strongest minded man might be supposed to feel under the circumstances, effectually banished any feeling of drowsiness. There was a large clock in the tower of the cathedral, of which the tones sounded more nearly and solemnly within the building than without. The Chevalier, with the intensity of hearing which sleepliness gives, listened to every stroke of the clock, first ten, then the quarters, then twelve o'clock. As the last stroke of midnight died away, he perceived, suddenly, a light appearing at the high altar. The altar-candles seemed suddenly to be lighted, and a figure in a monk's dress and cowl walked out from a niche at the back of the altar. Turning when he reached the front of the altar, the figure exclaimed in a deep and solemn voice, "Is there any priest here who will say a mass for the repose of my soul?" No answer followed, and the monk slowly passed down the church, passing by the confessional where the Chevalier was sitting. As he passed, his eyes being naturally rivetted on the figure, the Chevalier saw that the face under the cowl was that of a dead man. Entire darkness followed, but when the clock struck the half-hour, the same events occurred, the same light appeared, and the same figure, the same question was asked, and no answer returned, and the same monk, illuminated by the same unearthly light, walked slowly down the church.