To the Editor of the Weekly Irish Times, 19th August 1893

Sir, - I have been a careful reader of the very interesting correspondence in your paper relative to the banshee, and now, at the fag end of the discussion, I venture to offer a few remarks.

The majority, I think, of your correspondents, ridicule the idea of such a thing existing as the banshee, and in your issue of a couple of weeks ago "R.K.Hamilton" says he has been "amused by the number of letters on the subject," and winds up by asking some questions which, he says, if not satisfactorily answered, will leave him a thorough disbeliever in the banshee.

Now, sir, with your permission I will relate an event which occurred about forty years ago, and which proves (to me at least) "that there are stranger things in Heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy." I was, I may remark, in the prime of life - about thirty-five years - at the time when what I am about to relate happened, so that, I think, it cannot be said that it might have been some childish fear or fancy.

It was a beautiful moonlight night in December, business having detained me until a late hour, and not feeling weary I determined to have a short stroll, the night being gloriously fine. On my return I was astonished to find my greyhound trembling violently - the cold sweat actually dripping off him. For some time I sought in vain for a solution of this strange occurrence. After some time I heard, coming from a bush in the middle of a small paddock at the back of my house, a long, low wail, and after some time the most piteous sobbing I have ever heard.

Being then a disbeliever in banshees, ghosts, goblins, fairies, leprechauns, and company, I was glad of an opportunity to test once and for all their genuineness. I determined the greyhound should accompany me to the bush. First I coaxed, but I could not induce him to stir. Then I used force, but he broke away from my grasp, trembling violently the while. I left him so, and proceeded cautiously myself, armed with a heavy walking stick, and after a short time arrived at the bush, beneath which I saw, as plain as the paper I now write upon, a milk white deer, to all appearance unconscious of my presence, sobbing in the most heart-rending manner. There I stood within a couple of yards of it for fully five minutes. Fear in my heart there was none. At last I raised my stick and dealt a terrific blow to my strange visitor. The stick passed through space, but I heard such a scream as, I hope and pray, shall never fall on my ears again. I stood dazed, powerless, paralyzed.

However, I pulled myself together after some time, and went home a sadder but a wiser man. A month later I received news of the death of my cousin in distant Australia, he having passed away on the very night of my strange adventure.

Hoping, sir, I have not trespassed too much on your space - I remain, very truly yours,
Patrick Farrell.
Rathbride road, Kildare.