The experiences of two constables of the Royal Irish Constabulary while on despatch duty one winter’s night in the early eighties has been sent us by one of the men concerned, and provides interesting reading.  It was a fine moonlight night, with a touch of frost in the air, when these two men set out to march the five miles to the next barrack.  Brisk walking soon brought them near their destination.  The barrack which they were approaching was on the left side of the road, and facing it on the other side was a whitethorn hedge.  The road at this point was wide, and as the two constables got within fifty yards of the barrack, they saw a policeman step out from this hedge and move across the road, looking towards the two men as he did so.  He was plainly visible to them both.  “He was bare-headed” (runs the account), “with his tunic opened down the front, a stout-built man, black-haired, pale, full face, and short mutton-chop whiskers.”  They thought he was a newly-joined constable who was doing “guard” and had come out to get some fresh air while waiting for a patrol to return.  As the two men approached, he disappeared into the shadow of the barrack, and apparently went in by the door; to their amazement, when they came up they found the door closed and bolted, and it was only after loud knocking that they got a sleepy “All right” from some one inside, and after the usual challenging were admitted.  There was no sign of the strange policeman when they got in, and on inquiry they learnt that no new constable had joined the station.  The two men realised then that they had seen a ghost, but refrained from saying anything about it to the men at the station—­a very sensible precaution, considering the loneliness of the average policeman’s life in this country.

Some years afterwards the narrator of the above story learnt that a policeman had been lost in a snow-drift near this particular barrack.  Whether this be the explanation we leave to others:  the facts as stated are well vouched for.  There is no evidence to support the theory of hallucination, for the apparition was so vivid that the idea of its being other than normal never entered the constables’ heads till they had got into the barrack.  When they found the door shut and bolted, their amazement was caused by indignation against an apparently unsociable or thoughtless comrade, and it was only afterwards, while discussing the whole thing on their homeward journey, that it occurred to them that it would have been impossible for any ordinary mortal to shut, bolt, and bar a door without making a sound.

In the winter of 1840-1, in the days when snow and ice and all their attendant pleasures were more often in evidence than in these degenerate days, a skating party was enjoying itself on the pond in the grounds of the Castle near Rathfarnham, Co.  Dublin.  Among the skaters was a man who had with him a very fine curly-coated retriever dog.  The pond was thronged with people enjoying themselves, when suddenly