There is a hawthorn bush near Castlebridge in the Co. Wexford and is supposed to be haunted Some evenings there would be seen a dog standing under it, and other times a man would be seen and be sitting down. Different thing would be seen there. These things would never be seen except on a stormy night. Some very stormy nights there would be seen a black eal, and other nights nothing at all would be seen, but if nothing would be seen, something would happen the person that would be passing by. For mistaner if a man was passing there and he had o lamb on his broyeh, that is a earbride lamb, the bottom of the lamb would fall off or the shell would ming of its own occord or the hump would drop off or something of that kind. No great

I
As I roamed out one evening in the pleasant month of May,
It was down by Carrig River I carelessly did stray,
When the hawthorn and sweet briar it would your heart illume,
And the rippling of the waters when the "frockuns" were in bloom.
II
I often times in vain regret the things I might have seen.
I've seen the past but can't forget the things that might have been,
As I strolled along the small brids song went rippling through the sky,
O'er the lonely church of Carrig hill where '98 men lie.
III
I often times go view the graves where my school mates do lie,
We often joined in harmless sport in the day that's long gone by.

The ash and the elm sycamore and yew tree
The spreading beech and hawthorn did this dwelling surround
And on my return from this grand department.
I behold a young sportsman and he counting his hounds
III
The dogs were all counted the hero he mounted
A horse of good metal and superior speed
He had scarce left the road all with his young whipper
Full fifty sports men they joined him indeed.
We went to Clonmore we soon started a hare there
The echo of the horn did the valley ring round
No music on earth could equal the music
the charming cry of the true running hounds