Our family was old enough and of distinction enough in the country, having, indeed, pure Milesian blood running in its veins, and claiming kings and queens among its ancestors, to have its own particular Banshee. Yes, and when a death was to occur in the family, was not there heard weepings and wailings near the house, sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, until the very heart was thrilled, and they that watched in the chamber of sickness felt that all hope was over, and that the husband or wife, the father or the sister, was delivered over to death?
The Banshee was heard, but never seen. My aunt had listened to its bitter lamentations; they seemed just outside the window of the room where she was sitting, so close that they seemed to breathe into her ear when her father lay a-dying; and once again when her mother's life was speeding to its end. In the case of her mother, she had hoped - the doctors had given her hope - that she would recover, and be raised up to live, perhaps, many years. My aunt, buoyed up with this belief, was at her table, writing in a cheerful strain to my father, and giving the doctor's opinion, for their dear one had certainly seemed better, and had taken more food that day, when a sound of sobbing was heard through the silence, low at first, but gradually gaining in strength, till it seemed to come from some one in the room. My aunt started, grew pale, the pen fell from her hand, she covered her face with her hands, and cried out, "O God! O God!" It was the Banshee. She knew it, and knew that hope was over. When she recovered a little, she walked to the bed with a dreadful terror at her heart, and there she saw her mother calm and white, with a sweet smile lingering on her lips, and her eyes filled with a look of awe and peace, and her hands folded across her breast, lying lifeless and still. the Banshee had fulfilled her prophetic office, and was heard no more.
From 'Reminiscences of a Boyhood in the Early Part of the Century' by Charles Dent Bell, 1889.
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