Giraldus himself was of opinion that the wolf-form was an illusion, for, as he argued, only God can change the form. His opinion coincides with tradition, Irish and otherwise. It is the notion of many who have written about these things that magic is mainly the making of such illusions. Patrick Kennedy tells a story of a girl who, having in her hand a sod of grass containing, unknown to herself, a four-leaved shamrock, watched a conjurer at a fair. Now, the four-leaved shamrock guards its owner from all _pishogues_ (spells), and when the others were staring at a cock carrying along the roof of a shed a huge beam in its bill, she asked them what they found to wonder at in a cock with a straw. The conjurer begged from her the sod of grass, to give to his horse, he said. Immediately she cried out in terror that the beam would fall and kill somebody. This, then, is to be remembered--the form of an enchanted thing is a fiction and a caprice. BEWITCHED BUTTER (DONEGAL). MISS LETITIA MACLINTOCK. Not far from Rathmullen lived, last spring, a family called Hanlon; and in a farm-house, some fields distant, people named Dogherty. Both families had good cows, but the Hanlons were fortunate in possessing a Kerry cow that gave more milk and yellower butter than the others. Grace Dogherty, a young girl, who was more admired than loved in the neighbourhood, took much interest in the Kerry cow, and appeared one night at Mrs. Hanlon's door with the modest request-- "Will you let me milk your Moiley cow?" "An' why wad you wish to milk wee Moiley, Grace, dear?" inquired Mrs. Hanlon. "Oh, just becase you're sae throng at the present time." "Thank you kindly, Grace, but I'm no too throng to do my ain work. I'll no trouble you to milk." The girl turned away with a discontented air; but the next evening, and the next, found her at the cow-house door with the same request. At length Mrs. Hanlon, not knowing well how to persist in her refusal, yielded, and permitted Grace to milk the Kerry cow. She soon had reason to regret her want of firmness. Moiley gave no more milk to her owner. When this melancholy state of things lasted for three days, the Hanlons applied to a certain Mark McCarrion, who lived near Binion. "That cow has been milked by someone with an evil eye," said he. "Will she give you a wee drop, do you think? The full of a pint measure wad do." "Oh, ay, Mark, dear; I'll get that much milk frae her, any way." "Weel, Mrs. Hanlon, lock the door, an' get nine new pins that was never used in clothes, an' put them into a saucepan wi' the pint o' milk. Set them on the fire, an' let them come to the boil." The nine pins soon began to simmer in Moiley's[19] milk. Rapid steps were heard approaching the door, agitated knocks followed, and Grace Dogherty's high-toned voice was raised in eager entreaty.