Corney constantly joined in any conversation carried on by the people of the house.  One could never tell when a voice from the coal-cellar would erupt into the dialogue.  He had his likes and dislikes:  he appeared to dislike anyone that was not afraid of him, and would not talk to them.  Mrs. C.’s mother, however, used to get good of him by coaxing.  An uncle, having failed to get him to speak one night, took the kitchen poker, and hammered at the door of the coal-cellar, saying, “I’ll make you speak”; but Corney wouldn’t.  Next morning the poker was found broken in two.  This uncle used to wear spectacles, and Corney used to call him derisively, “Four-eyes.”  An uncle named Richard came to sleep one night, and complained in the morning that the clothes were pulled off him.  Corney told the servants in great glee, “I slept on Master Richard’s feet all night.”

Finally Mr. A——­ made several attempts to dispose of his lease, but with no success, for when intending purchasers were being shown over the house and arrived at Corney’s domain, the spirit would begin to speak and the would-be purchaser would fly.  They asked him if they changed house would he trouble them.  He replied, “No! but if they throw down this house, I will trouble the stones.”

At last Mrs. A——­ appealed to him to keep quiet, and not to injure people who had never injured him.  He promised that he would do so, and then said, “Mrs. A——­, you will be all right now, for I see a lady in black coming up the street to this house, and she will buy it.”  Within half an hour a widow called and purchased the house.  Possibly Corney is still there, for our informant looked up the Directory as he was writing, and found the house marked “Vacant.”

Near Blanchardstown, Co.  Dublin, is a house, occupied at present, or up to very recently, by a private family; it was formerly a monastery, and there are said to be secret passages in it.  Once a servant ironing in the kitchen saw the figure of a nun approach the kitchen window and look in.  Our informant was also told by a friend (now dead), who had it from the lady of the house, that once night falls, no doors can be kept closed.  If anyone shuts them, almost immediately they are flung open again with the greatest violence and apparent anger.  If left open there is no trouble or noise, but light footsteps are heard, and there is a vague feeling of people passing to and fro.  The persons inhabiting the house are matter-of-fact, unimaginative people, who speak of this as if it were an everyday affair.  “So long as we leave the doors unclosed they don’t harm us:  why should we be afraid of them?” Mrs. ——­ said.  Truly a most philosophical attitude to adopt!