“Ay, ay,” said his grandmother, removing her pipe, as he ended his description of the view from the bridge, “sure enough I remember myself, when I was a slip of a girl, these little white cabins among the gardens by the river side.  The artillery sogers that was married, or had not room in the barracks, used to be in them, but they’re all gone long ago.

“The Lord be merciful to us!” she resumed, when he had described the military procession, “It’s often I seen the regiment marchin’ into the town, jist as you saw it last night, acushla.  Oh, voch, but it makes my heart sore to think iv them days; they were pleasant times, sure enough; but is not it terrible, avick, to think it’s what it was the ghost of the rigiment you seen?  The Lord betune us an’ harm, for it was nothing else, as sure as I’m sittin’ here.”

When he mentioned the peculiar physiognomy and figure of the old officer who rode at the head of the regiment—­

“That,” said the old crone, dogmatically, “was ould Colonel Grimshaw, the Lord presarve us! he’s buried in the churchyard iv Chapelizod, and well I remember him, when I was a young thing, an’ a cross ould floggin’ fellow he was wid the men, an’ a devil’s boy among the girls—­rest his soul!”

“Amen!” said Peter; “it’s often I read his tombstone myself; but he’s a long time dead.”

“Sure, I tell you he died when I was no more nor a slip iv a girl—­the Lord betune us and harm!”

“I’m afeard it is what I’m not long for this world myself, afther seeing such a sight as that,” said Peter, fearfully.

“Nonsinse, avourneen,” retorted his grandmother, indignantly, though she had herself misgivings on the subject; “sure there was Phil Doolan, the ferryman, that seen black Ann Scanlan in his own boat, and what harm ever kem of it?”

Peter proceeded with his narrative, but when he came to the description of the house, in which his adventure had had so sinister a conclusion, the old woman was at fault.

“I know the house and the ould walls well, an’ I can remember the time there was a roof on it, and the doors an’ windows in it, but it had a bad name about being haunted, but by who, or for what, I forget intirely.”

“Did you ever hear was there goold or silver there?” he inquired.

“No, no, avick, don’t be thinking about the likes; take a fool’s advice, and never go next to near them ugly black walls again the longest day you have to live; an’ I’d take my davy, it’s what it’s the same word the priest himself id be afther sayin’ to you if you wor to ax his raverence consarnin’ it, for it’s plain to be seen it was nothing good you seen there, and there’s neither luck nor grace about it.”

Peter’s adventure made no little noise in the neighbourhood, as the reader may well suppose; and a few evenings after it, being on an errand to old Major Vandeleur, who lived in a snug old-fashioned house, close by the river, under a perfect bower of ancient trees, he was called on to relate the story in the parlour.