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TCP/IP Sockets in C
Practical Guide for Programmers
The Morgan Kaufmann Practical Guides Series
Series Editor: Michael J. Donahoo

TCP/IP Sockets in C: Practical Guide for Programmers

Michael J. Donahoo and Kenneth L. Calvert

TCP/IP Sockets in Java: Practical Guide for Programmers

Kenneth L. Calvert and Michael J. Donahoo

JDBC: Practical Guide for Java Programmers

Gregory D. Speegle

For further information on these books and for a list of forthcoming titles,
please visit our Web site at www.mkp.com/practical.
TC P /I P SOC kets i n C
Practical G u ide for Prog ram me rs

Michael J. Donahoo
Baylor University

Kenneth L. Calvert
University of Kentucky

l~ ~4 ~
MORGAN KAUFMANN PUBLISHERS

An Imprint of Elsevier
SAN FRANCISCO SAN DIEGO NEW YORK BOSTON
LONDON SYDNEY TOKYO
Senior Editor Rick Adams
Publishing Services Manager Scott Norton
Senior Production Editor Cheri Palmer
Assistant Acquisitions Editor Karyn P. Johnson
Production Coordinator Mei Levenson
Cover Design Matt Seng, Seng Design
Cover Image Corbis Images/PictureQuest
Text Design Side by Side Studios
Composition/Illustration Windfall Software, using ZzTeX
Copyeditor Erin Milnes
Proojreader Jennifer McClain
Indexer Ty Koontz
Printer Maple Vail

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as

trademarks or registered trademarks. In all instances in which Morgan Kaufmann
Publishers is aware of a claim, the product names appear in initial capital or all
capital letters. Readers, however, should contact the appropriate companies for more
complete information regarding trademarks and registration.

Morgan Kaufmann Publishers

An Imprint of Elsevier
340 Pine Street, Sixth Floor
San Francisco, CA 94104-3205
www.mkp.com
9 2001 by Elsevier USA
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America

Originally published as The Pocket Guide to TCP/IP Sockets: C Version (1-55860-686-6)

06 05 5
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or
otherwise-without the prior written permission f the publisher.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2001095844

ISBN-13:978-1-55860-826-9 ISBN-10:1-55860-826-5
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
For Lisa and Tricia.
This Page Intentionally Left Blank
Contents

Preface xi

PART 1 Tutorial 1

1 Introduction 3
1.1 Networks, Packets, and Protocols 3
1.2 About Addresses 5
1.3 Clients and Servers 6
1.4 What Is a Socket? 7
Thought Questions 8

2 Basic Sockets 9
2.1 Creating and Destroying 9
2.2 Specifying Addresses 10
2.3 TCP Client 1 2
2.4 TCP Server 17
Thought Questions 23

3 Constructing Messages 25
3.1 Encoding Data 26
3.2 Byte Ordering 28
3.3 Alignment and Padding 30
3.4 Framing and Parsing 31
Thought Questions 33

vii
viii Contents 9

Using UDP Sockets 35

4.1 UDPClient 36
4.2 UDP Server 39
4.3 Sending and Receiving with UDP Sockets 41
Thought Questions 42

Socket Programming 43
5.1 Socket Options 43
5.2 Signals 44
5.3 Nonblocking I/O 50
5.4 Multitasking 60
5.5 Multiplexing 72
5.6 Multiple Recipients 77
Thought Questions 85

6 Under the Hood 87

6.1 Buffering and TCP 89
6.2 Deadlock 91
6.3 Performance Implications 92
6.4 TCP Socket Life Cycle 93
6.5 Demultiplexing Demystified 100
Thought Questions 102

Domain Name Service 103

7.1 Mapping Between Names and Internet Addresses 104
7.2 Finding Service Information by Name 106

PART 2 API Reference 109

API Reference 111

Data Structures 111
sockaddr 111
sockaddr_in 111
Socket Setup 112
socket() 112
bind() 112
getsockname() 113
 m Contents ix

Socket Connection 113

connect () 113
listen() 114
accept() 114
getpeername () 114
Socket Communication 115
send() 115
sendt o ( ) 115
recv() 116
recvfrom() 116
close() 117
shutdown() 117
Socket Control 118
getsockopt() 118
setsockopt() 118
Binary/String Conversion 119
inet_ntoa() 119
inet_addr() 119
htons(), htonl(), ntohs(), ntohl() 119
Host and Service Information 120
gethostname() 120
gethostbyname () 120
gethostbyaddr () 121
getservbyname () 121
getservbyport () 122

Bibliography 123

Index 125
This Page Intentionally Left Blank
Preface

For years, college courses in computer networking were taught with little or no "hands on"
experience. For various reasons, including some good ones, instructors approached the princi-
ples of computer networking primarily through equations, analyses, and abstract descriptions
of protocol stacks. Textbooks might include code, but it was unconnected to anything stu-
dents could get their hands on. Perhaps in an ideal world this would suffice, but we believe
that students learn better when they can see (and then build) concrete examples of the prin-
ciples at work. Fortunately, such examples abound today. The Internet has become a part of
everyday life, and access to its services is readily available to most students (and their pro-
grams).
The Berkeley Sockets interface, known universally as "sockets" for short, is the de facto
standard application programming interface (API) for networking, spanning a wide range of
operating systems. The sockets API was designed to provide generic access to interprocess
communication services that might be implemented by whatever protocols were supported
on a particular platform--IPX, Appletalk, TCP/IP, and so on. As a consequence of this generic
approach the sockets API may appear dauntingly complicated at first. But, in fact, the basics
of network programming using the Internet (TCP/IP) protocols are not difficult. The sockets
interface has been around for a long time--at least in "Internet time"--but it is likely to remain
important for the foreseeable future.
We wrote this book to improve the support for socket-based programming exercises in
our own networking courses. Although some networking texts deal with network program-
ming, we know of none that cover TCP/IP sockets. Excellent reference books on TCP/IP socket
programming exist, but they are too large and comprehensive to be considered as a supple-
ment to a networking text. UNIX "man pages" are okay for reference but do not make a very
good tutorial. Our goal, therefore, was to provide a gentle introduction, and a handy reference,
that would allow students to dive right in without too much handholding.

xi
xii Preface []

Enabling students to get their hands on real network services via the sockets interface
has several benefits. First, for a surprising number of people, socket programming is the first
exposure to concrete realizations of concepts previously seen only in the abstract. Dealing
with the very real consequences of messy details, such as the layout of data structures in
memory, seems to trigger a kind of epiphany in some students, and this experience has con-
sequences far beyond the networking course. Second, we find that students who understand
how application programs use the services of TCP/IP generally have an easier time grasping
the principles of the underlying protocols that implement those services. Finally, basic socket
programming skills are a springboard to more advanced assignments, which support learning
about routing algorithms, multimedia protocols, medium access control, and so on.

Intended Audience
This book is aimed primarily at students in introductory courses in computer networks, either
upper-level undergraduate or graduate. It is intended as a supplement, to be used with a
traditional textbook, which should explain the problems and principles of computer networks.
At the same time, we have tried to make the book reasonably self-contained (except for the
assumed background) so that it can also be used, for example, in courses on operating systems
or distributed computing. We have purposely limited coverage in order to keep the price low
enough to be reasonable as a supplementary text for such a course. An additional target
audience consists of practitioners who know some C and want to learn sockets. This book
should take you far enough so that you can start experimenting and learning on your own.
We assume basic programming skills and experience with C and UNIX. You are expected
to be conversant with C concepts such as pointer manipulation and type casting and should
have a basic understanding of how data structures are implemented in memory, including the
binary representation of data. Some of our examples are factored into files that should be
compiled separately; we assume that you can deal with that.
Here is a little test: If you can puzzle out what the following code fragment does, you
should have no problem with the code in this book:
typedef struct {
int a;
short s[2];
} MSG;

MSG *mp, m = {4, i, 0};

char *fp, *tp;
mp = (MSG *) malloc(sizeof(MSG));
for (fp = (char *)m.s, tp = (char *)mp->s; tp < (char *)(mp+l);)
*tp++ = *fp++;

If you do not understand this fragment, do not despair (there is nothing quite so convoluted
in our code), but you might want to refer to your favorite C programming book to find out
what is going on here.
 [] Preface xiii

You should also be familiar with the UNIX notions of p r o c e s s / a d d r e s s space, command-
line arguments, program termination, and regular file input and output. The material in
Chapters 4 and 5 assumes a somewhat more advanced grasp of UNIX. Some exposure to
networking concepts such as protocols, addresses, clients, and servers will be helpful.

Platform Requirements
You are a s s u m e d to have access to a computer equipped with an operating system and C
compiler that support the sockets interface, as well as a connection to the Internet or a private
network running TCP/IP. Our presentation is UNiX-based. When we were developing this book,
several people urged us to include code for Windows as well as UNIX. It was not possible to
do so for various reasons including the target length (and price) we set for the book.
For those who only have access to Windows platforms, please note that the examples
in Chapters 1-3 require minimal modifications to work with WinSock. You have to change the
include files and add a setup call at the beginning of the program and a cleanup call at the end.
Most of the other examples require very slight additional modifications. A few, however, are
so dependent on the UNIX programming model that it does not make sense to port them to
WinSock. WinSock-ready versions of the other examples, as well as detailed descriptions of the
code modifications required, are available from the book's Web site at www.mkp.com/socket.
Note also that almost all of our example code works with minimal modifications under the
Cygwin portability package for Windows, which is available (at the time of this writing) from . .

Red Hat Software. See the Web site for details.

Portability and Coding Styles

The example programs included here have all been tested (and should compile and run
without modification) on both Linux and Solaris. We have tried to make the code as portable
as possible and conform to the POSIX standard wherever possible without compromising
portability. Unfortunately, these goals sometimes conflict. For example, gee under Solaris
wants the sixth argument of recvfrom() to be a signed int, whereas under Linux it wants
u n s i g n e d int. POSIX says it should be a soclden_t, which is actually uint32_t. We have used
u n s i g n e d int. (Because the POSIX types (e.g., int8_t) are not universally supported, we are not
using them in this text.)
Header (. h) file locations and dependencies are, alas, far from standard and may require
some fiddling on your system. Socket option support also varies widely across systems; we
have tried to focus on those that are most universally supported. Consult your API documen-
tation for system specifics.
The two authors' coding styles turned out to be rather different; what you see here
is a compromise that we both could live with. Please be aware that although we strive for
xiv Preface 9

robustness, the primary goal of our code examples is pedagogy, and the code is not necessarily
production quality. Especially in the early examples, we have sacrificed some robustness for
brevity and clarity.

Approach
This book will not make you an expert! That takes years of experience, as well as other, more
comprehensive sources [4, 16]. However, we hope it will be useful as a resource, even to those
who already know quite a bit about sockets. (Each of us learned some things in writing it.)
The first part of the book is a tutorial, which begins with "just enough" of the big picture,
then quickly gets into code basics via some example programs. The first four chapters aim
to get you quickly to the point of constructing simple clients and servers, such as might
be needed to complete introductory assignments. After that we branch out in Chapter 5,
introducing some of the many different ways to use sockets. Chapter 6 returns to basic socket
operation to provide more in-depth coverage of some of the underlying mechanisms and some
pitfalls to watch out for. Chapter 7 describes domain names and how they can be used to
obtain Internet addresses.
Chapters 5, 6, and 7 are essentially independent and may be presented in any order. Also,
if you are familiar with socket basics, you may wish to skip the introductory material and go
directly to those chapters. We placed the material on names at the very end of the tutorial part
in order to emphasize that the TCP/IP and UDP/IP services are completely independent of the
domain name system--a convenience, rather than an integral part of the network service.
Part II is a reference section that provides the declaration and a description of the
parameters for the main functions that make up the sockets API. It is intended to serve as
a quick reference for both novices and more advanced network programmers.

Acknowledgments
We would like to thank all the people who helped make this book a reality. Despite the book's
brevity, many hours went into reviewing the original proposal and the draft, and the reviewers'
input has significantly shaped the final result.
First, thanks to those who meticulously reviewed the draft of the text and made sug-
gestions for improvement. These include (in alphabetical order) Michel Barbeau, Carleton
University; Steve Bernier, Communications Research Center; Arian Durresi, Ohio State Uni-
versity; Gary Harkin, University of Montana; Ted Herman, University of Iowa; Lee Hollaar,
University of Utah; Shunge Li, GTE; Willis Marti, Texas A&M; Kihong Park, Purdue University;
Dan Schmitt, Texas A&M; and CSI4321, Spring 2000. Paul Linton of the University of Kentucky
helped in testing the code for portability. Any errors that remain are, of course, our responsi-
bility. We are very interested in weeding out such errors in future printings, so if you find one,
please send email to either of us. We will maintain an errata list on the book's Web page.
 I Preface XV

Thanks are also due to those who reviewed the original proposal and thereby helped
us decide what to put in and what to leave out. Those not already mentioned include (again,
in alphabetical order): David Hutchison, Lancaster University; Ivan Marsic, Rutgers University;
Michael Scott, University of Rochester; Robert Strader, Stephen F. Austin State University; Ben
Wah, University of Illinois-Urbana; and Ellen Zegura, Georgia Tech.
Finally, we are grateful to the folks at Morgan Kaufmann. They take a hands-on approach
to development that contributes significantly to the ultimate text quality. Jennifer Mann,
our editor, and Karyn Johnson, editorial assistant, have worked hard to provide invaluable
guidance throughout this process. We are also grateful to Cheri Palmer, our production editor,
who has been very willing to work with us on the design and "look and feel" of the text; we
hope you like the result.

For Further Information

This book has a Web site (www.mkp.com/practical/csockets) that contains additional informa-
tion including all the source code presented in the book, errata, and programming exercises.
From time to time, we may also place new material on the Web site. We encourage you to take
advantage of this resource, and to send us your suggestions for improvement of any aspect
of this book. You can send feedback via the Web site maintained by the publisher, or you can
send us email to the addresses below.

M.J.D. jeff_donahoo@baylor, edu

K.L.C. [email protected]
This Page Intentionally Left Blank
PART 1
TUTORIAL
This Page Intentionally Left Blank
 M i l l i o n s of computers all over the world are now connected to the worldwide network
known as the Internet. The Internet enables programs running in computers thousands of
miles apart to communicate and exchange information. If you have a computer connected
to a network, you may have used a Web b r o w s e r m a typical program that makes use of the
Internet. What does such a program do to communicate with others over a network? The
answer varies with the application and the operating system, but a great many programs get
access to network communication services through the "sockets" programming interface. The
goal of this book is to get you started writing programs that use the sockets API.
Before delving into the details of the API, it is worth taking a brief look at the big picture
of networks and protocols to see how an application programming interface for TCP/IP fits
in. Our goal here is not to teach you how networks and TCP/IP w o r k m m a n y fine texts are
available for that purpose [2, 4, 10, 15, 20]rebut rather to introduce some basic concepts and
terminology.

1.1 Networks, Packets, and Protocols

A computer network consists of machines interconnected by communication channels. We
call these machines hosts and routers. Hosts are computers that run applications such as your
Web browser; the application programs running in hosts are really the "users" of the network.
Routers are machines whose job is to relay or forward information from one communication
channel to another. They may run programs but typically do not run application programs. For
our purposes, a communication channel is a means of conveying sequences of bytes from one
host to another; it may be a broadcast technology like Ethernet, a dial-up m o d e m connection,
or something more sophisticated.
Routers are important simply because it is not practical to connect every host directly
to every other host. Instead, a few hosts connect to a router, which connects to other routers,
and so on to form the network. This arrangement lets each machine get by with a relatively
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Irish Penny Journal,
Vol. 1 No. 11, September 12, 1840
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other
parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may
copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in
the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are
located before using this eBook.

Title: The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 11, September 12, 1840

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL, VOL. 1
NO. 11, SEPTEMBER 12, 1840 ***
 THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
Number 11. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 1840. Volume I.
 CLONTARF CASTLE, COUNTY OF DUBLIN.
There are few things that afford us a higher pleasure than to observe our metropolis and
our provincial cities and towns, despite of adverse circumstances, increasing in the
number and splendour of their public buildings, for they are sure evidences of the
advance of civilization, with its attendant train of arts, amongst us, and that we are
progressing to the rank and dignity of a great nation. Yet we confess we enjoy a still
higher gratification when we see springing up around us great architectural works of
another class—those erected by individuals of the aristocracy as residences for
themselves and those who are to come after them. Such architectural works are not
merely interesting from the gratifications they afford to the feeling of taste, and the epic
dignity and beauty which they contribute to landscape scenery, but have a higher interest
as pledges to the nation that those who have erected them have a filial attachment to
the soil which gave them birth, and which supplies them, whether for good or evil, with
the means of greatness; and that they are not disposed to play the part of unwise and
ungrateful children. To us it little matters what the creed or party of such individuals may
be; however they may err in opinions, their feelings are at heart as they should be. The
aristocrat of large means, who is resident not from necessity but from choice, and who
spends a portion of his wealth in the adornment of his home, is rarely, if ever, a bad
landlord. Desiring to see art and nature combine to produce the sentiment of beauty in
the objects immediately about him, he cannot willingly allow it to be associated with the
unsightly and discordant emblems of penury and sorrow. To be indifferent about the
presence of such accompaniments would be an anomaly in human character, and only an
exception proving the general rule. It is this class of men that we want—men who seek
happiness in their legitimate homes, and the diffusion of blessings among those to whom
it is their duty to be protectors—lovers of the arts of refined society, not the gross and
generally illiterate pursuers of field sports, which, by hardening the heart towards the
lower animals of creation, prepares it for reckless indifference to the wants and sufferings
of our fellow men. Had we more of such patriots—more of such domestic architectural
buildings starting into existence, evidencing as well their refined tastes and habits as the
sincerity of the love they bear their native land, we should soon see the face of our
country changed, and peace and happiness smiling around us. We do not, however,
indulge in any feelings of despondence for the future. Very many beautiful creations of
the architectural art have recently been erected in Ireland, and we have little
apprehension that they will not increase in number till our island shall rival any other
portion of the empire in the possession of such characteristic features of civilization and
beauty. Cheered by such pleasing anticipations, we shall endeavour to the best of our
ability to make our readers familiar with the architectural styles of the chief residences of
our nobility and gentry, as well as with the general features of the scenery in which they
are situated; and, as a commencement, we have selected the seat of the Vernons—the
recently re-erected Castle of Clontarf.
The name of this locality, which is situated on the northern shore of the Bay of Dublin,
and about two miles from the city, must at least be familiar to most of our readers, being
memorable in history as the scene of the most national and best contested battle ever
fought in Ireland, when in 1014 the monarch Brian Boru obtained a decisive victory over
the united forces of the Danish and Norwegian invaders of the British islands, assisted by
the Irish troops of a recreant King of Leinster. This name signifies in English the lawn or
recess of the bull, being formed from two Celtic words, cluain, a lawn or pastoral plain,
and tarbh, a bull; the latter appellation expressing its contiguity to one of the two great
sand-banks of the bay, now called the North and South Bulls, from the similitude of the
sounds produced by the breaking of the sea upon their shores, to the roar of animals of
that denomination.
As it is stated that a church or monastery was founded here as early as the year 550, it is
probable that this name is of ecclesiastical origin, and that the site of that ancient church
is still marked by the present parish one from which it was derived. But, however this
may be, immediately after the settlement of the Anglo-Normans, the lands of Clontarf
and Santry, constituting one knight’s fee, were granted by Hugh de Lacy, Lord of Meath,
to one of his followers, named Adam de Feipo, or as the name is now written, Phepoe, by
whom, as is generally supposed, the Castle of Clontarf was erected, and its lands created
a manor. This manor, as well as its castle, appears, however, to have passed very soon
after into the possession of the Knights Templars, by whom a commandery of the Order,
dependent upon their splendid establishment at Kilmainham, was placed here. Upon the
suppression of the Templars, their manor of Clontarf was granted, in 1311, to Richard de
Burgo, Earl of Ulster, the religious edifices upon it remaining in the king’s hands as a royal
house; and in 1326, Roger le Ken had a grant of the premises in Clontarf, which he had
heretofore occupied at will, to hold henceforth to him and the heirs of his body. Towards
the close of the same century, however, in obedience to the Pope’s decree in reference to
the lands of the Templars, the manor passed into the possession of the Knights
Hospitallers of St John of Jerusalem, on which Clontarf became a preceptory of that
Order, and a chief seat of the Grand Prior of Kilmainham. It seems somewhat probable,
however, that the descendants of Roger le Ken still continued to hold the manor as
lessees of the Hospitallers till the dissolution of the Order, as, immediately previous to
that event, on an inquisition taken, the Prior of Kilmainham was found seised of the
manor, rectory, tithes, and altarages of Clontarf, subject, however, to a lease made in the
year 1538 to Matthew King (a corrupted form perhaps of the name Ken) of all the town
and lordship, with the appurtenances, and also the pool of Clontarf, and the island lying
to the west side thereof, and all the said rectory, tithes, &c. to endure for nine years. In
this demise it was provided that the lessee should repair the manor-house and maintain a
sufficient person to administer all sacraments to the parishioners at their proper charges.
On the suppression of the monastic order in the thirty-second year of Henry the Eighth,
Sir John Rawson, the Prior of Kilmainham—a very distinguished man, who had at various
periods held the office of Treasurer of Ireland—having, with the consent of his Chapter
under their common seal, surrendered the hospital with its dependencies into the King’s
hands, he was created Viscount of Clontarf in 1541, on a representation made to his
majesty by the Lord Deputy, with a pension of five hundred marks, in right of which
dignity he sat in the parliament of that year.
In the year 1600, the manor, territory, tithes, town, and lordships of Clontarf, as enjoyed
by the Priors of Kilmainham, were granted by Queen Elizabeth to Sir Geoffry Fenton, who
had filled the office of Secretary of State for Ireland; and on his death in 1608 these
premises were further assured to his son Sir William, who had a confirmation of this
manor in 1637, under the commission for the remedy of defective titles. Yet it appears
that very shortly afterwards, the manor, however acquired, was again in the possession
of a member of the King family; for, on the breaking out of the rebellion of 1641, the
town, manor-house, &c. of Clontarf, then the property of Mr George King, were burnt by
Sir Charles Coote as a punishment for the supposed participation of that gentleman in a
plunder made of a cargo from a vessel which lay there, by Luke Netterville and his
adherents. King was shortly afterwards attainted, a reward of £400 offered for his head;
and his estates, comprising this manor, Hollybrook, and the island of Clontarf, containing,
as stated, 961 acres statute measure, were bestowed by Cromwell on Captain John
Bakewell, who afterwards sold the estate to John Vernon, a scion of the noble Norman
family of the De Vernons, and from whose brother the present proprietor descends.
In 1660, Colonel Edward Vernon, the son of John Vernon, passed patent for this manor in
fee, together with all anchorages, fisheries, creeks, sands and sea-shores, wrecks of the
sea, &c.; which right was saved in subsequent acts of parliament, and still remains to his
successors. And in 1675, the king further enlarged the jurisdictions, tenures, and courts
of this manor, with a grant of royalties (royal mines excepted), power to empark three
hundred acres, with free warren, privilege of holding two fairs, one on the 10th of April
and the other on the 16th of October, with customs, &c. These fairs have, however, been
long discontinued.
We have thus briefly traced the origin, and succession of proprietors of this castle and
manor, as immediately connected with the subject of our prefixed illustration; but our
limits will not allow us to touch on the general history of the locality on the present
occasion.
Of the original castle erected here in the twelfth century, a square tower, connected with
additions of the sixteenth and subsequent centuries, was preserved as a residence for the
proprietors of the manor till the year 1835, when the present noble structure was
commenced from the designs and under the superintendence of the late William
Morrison, Esq., the most eminent and accomplished architect whom Ireland has
possessed within the present century. With the good feeling as well as refined taste for
which this admirable artist was so distinguished, his first desire in the re-edification of
this castle was to preserve as far as possible the original buildings; and while he
increased their extent in the necessary additions to them, to preserve and restore them
as much as possible to what might be supposed to have been their original state. But it
was found impracticable to do so. The foundations were found to have sunk, and a nearly
total re-erection was therefore necessary; yet, in the new edifice, attending to the
historical associations connected with a spot so interesting, he so designed it as to exhibit
with historical accuracy what might be supposed to have been the forms and features of
the ancient buildings, and thus make it a consistent commentary on and illustration of
the past history of its locality.
With these remarks, which were necessary to insure a just appreciation of the intention
of the architect in the diversified character which he has given to this architectural
composition, we may describe it generally as a structure in its character partly military,
partly domestic, and to a certain extent ecclesiastical. Its grand feature is a tower in the
Norman style of the twelfth century, which ascends to the height of seventy feet, or with
a smaller tower which is placed behind it, eighty feet: it has turrets at its angles, and its
windows as well as its interior are enriched with decorations in harmony with its
architectural style. Connected with this tower, and placed on its west side, is the principal
portion of the domestic buildings, which present the purest specimen, perhaps, of Tudor
architecture to be found in Ireland. The entrance to this range is placed beneath a small
but lofty tower, beneath which a vestibule leads into a spacious and lofty hall, fifty-one
feet by twenty, which presents much the appearance of a Gothic church, the walls being
panelled, and painted to imitate dark oak. This hall is floored with Irish oak polished, and
its roof is supported by principals springing from richly ornamented corbels, or pendants
—its beauty being much increased by gilded bosses with which it is studded, and which,
sparkling among the dark tracery, have a singularly rich effect. The cornice is also richly
ornamented, and presents at intervals similar gilded bosses. But the imposing feature of
this great chamber is a magnificent staircase of oak, placed at its eastern end, which
leads, by two return flights, to a gallery crossing the hall, and communicating with the
principal bed-chambers, and which would serve for an orchestra on occasions of festivity.
At the other end of the hall are doors leading into the drawing-room, dancing-room, and
library; and in the centre of this end is placed a beautiful chimney-piece of black marble,
surrounded by a canopy of carved oak, the enrichments of which are in that peculiar
style which characterises the ornaments of Tudor architecture, containing the single and
double rose, stars, and other badges of that period. The hall is lighted by five stained
glass windows of an ecclesiastical character, and level with the gallery; and on these
windows are blazoned the arms of the families with whom the Vernons have
intermarried, comprising some of the highest of the English and Irish nobility. Of the
external architecture of this portion of the building some correct notion may be formed
from our illustration, which exhibits the style of the gables and oriel or bay windows
which are placed both on its southern and western sides; and we may justly apply to the
whole of this range the description given by Chaucer in his imaginary palace of
“pleasaunt regarde:”

“The chamberis and parlers of a sorte,

With bay windows goodlie as may be thought,
The galleries right wele y wrought,
As for dauncinge and otherwise disporte.”

Branching from the northern and eastern sides of the great tower, extensive ranges of
building contain the servants’ apartments, and an extensive suite of inferior bed-rooms,
and the tower itself contains a study, and above it a nursery, over which, again, a leaded
platform with parapets commands most extensive and diversified prospects of the
surrounding country.
The preceding description will, we fear, convey but an imperfect idea of the plan of this
interesting structure, nor will our illustration, which only gives a representation of its
southern front, give more than a general idea of the architectural character of a building,
the great merit of which, next to the beauty and chronological accuracy of its details,
consists in the number of picturesque points of view which it affords, from the irregularity
of its plan and the variety of its outlines.
We shall only add a few words in respect to its locality.
The Castle of Clontarf is situated in a district rich in pastoral beauty, and at the head or
northern extremity of the village of the same name, which consists of a single but wide
street composed of houses of a respectable class, and extending from it in a right line to
the sea. It is surrounded by forest trees of great age and grandeur, through which by
vistas are obtained views of the bay and the mountain scenery of the southern shore.
Upon the whole, we may truly say of this structure that its beauty is no less striking than
its moderate size and pretension are in happy proportion to the rank and means of its
owner; nor is it a lesser merit, that—unlike too many of the lordly residences in Ireland—
the close propinquity of its situation to the village of which he is lord, is characteristically
expressive of the confidence and kindly familiarity which should ever exist between the
proprietor and the community holding under him. Nor is it again a lesser merit, that—
unlike most of the mansion-houses to which we have alluded—it is not enclosed by
churlish and prison-like walls of stone, excluding it from the public eye, and indicating but
too truly the cold and heartless selfishness of their owners, which would not allow to the
many even the passing enjoyment of a glimpse of the grandeur and beauty which they
claim as their own.
P.

A Wooden Glass Goblet.—The first night of the “Stratford Jubilee” in Dublin, Robert Mahon
had to sing the song of the “Mulberry Tree,” the music composed by C. Dibdin senior, the
words of which begin with

“Behold, this fair goblet was carved from the tree

Which, oh! my sweet Shakespeare, was planted by thee.”

He walked on, and began the song, holding out in his hand a fine cut-glass rummer. The
other performers, who were also on, looked at him and his fair glass goblet “carved from
a tree” with wonder. The audience took the absurdity, and much mirth and loud hissing
followed. The play over, Mahon had the folly to insist upon it he was right: “’Tis true,” he
said, “the property-man did stand at the wing with a wooden cup in his hand, which he
wanted to thrust into mine; but could I appear before the audience with such a rascally
vulgar wooden mether?—no; I insisted he should that instant go and fetch me an elegant
glass rummer, and here it is!”—O’Keefe’s Recollections.
 CUTTING OLD FRIENDS.
One of the most difficult things a person has to do, who is getting ahead of the friends of
his earlier and less prosperous years in the race of fortune, is to rid himself of these
friends—to get quit of persons whose want of success in the world renders them no
longer fit associates. The thing is not easily done, for you have to maintain appearances.
You have to repel them gradually and gently, and in such a manner as to be able to defy
them to lay any particular act of rudeness, any positive act of repulsion, to your charge.
To manage the thing adroitly, therefore, requires some genius and a good deal of tact.
The difficulty of accomplishing this great manœuvre in a prosperous career, is much
increased by the circumstance that as you advance your ancient cronies throng the
thicker and closer around you. They in fact cling and cluster about you like so many bees,
and with impertinent looks of glee seek to express their satisfaction with your prosperity.
Now, it is a most desirable thing to get quit of these gentry—to have them brushed off.
But it would be rude to do this with the fly-flap and the strong hand. You must get rid of
them by more tact and management. And after you have got rid of them, that is, driven
them from personal contact as it were, you have to continue to keep them at a proper
distance. No easy matter this, for somehow or other the obtuse creatures, your poor
former acquaintance, will not see, what you see very distinctly, that you are now quite a
superior sort of person to them, and that they are no longer fit to be ranked amongst
your friends. This the perverse, dull-witted fellows will not see. And, more provoking still,
no degree of advancement in the world on your part, no acquisition of wealth, will induce
one of them, whatever you yourself may think to the contrary, to contemplate you with a
whit more respect than they did when you were one of themselves. They insist on
considering you merely as having been more fortunate than themselves—not a bit better
or a bit cleverer.
Let us remark here, that the successful in the world are stout deniers of the doctrine of
chances. They maintain that there is no such a thing as luck; while the unsuccessful,
again, are firm believers in the doctrine, and insist on it that not only is there such a
thing as luck, but that luck is every thing. The successful man’s vanity prompts him to
attribute his prosperity solely to his talents and merit—the unsuccessful man’s self-love to
deny that the want of these qualities has been his hindrance. Hence the conflicting
opinions of the two on this curious subject. Then, where lies the truth? We suspect
between.
From a good deal of experience in the science of “cutting” under the circumstances
alluded to in this paper—we shall not say whether as cutters or cuttees—we have
flattered ourselves that we could throw out a few hints that might be found useful to
gentlemen who are getting on in the world, and who are desirous of ridding themselves
of their earlier and poorer friends. Under this supposition we offer the few following
remarks:—
For some time after you have started on the prosperous career on which you have luckily
fallen, continue to smile and bow towards your old friends as formerly; and when you
meet them accidentally (let this be, however, as seldom as you possibly can), shake
hands with them as cordially as ever. You may even venture to remark, accompanying
such remark with an expression of regret, that they are prodigious strangers now. But
this is not quite safe ground, and we by no means advise its general adoption.
Conducting yourself in this way, your old friends will never suspect that there is already a
change working at your heart—a secret operation as yet known only to yourself.
By and bye, throw the least, the very least thing of distance into your greeting: let your
smile be apparently as cordial as formerly, but let there now be a slight expression of the
slightest degree possible of coolness, of an indefinable something or other in your
general manner of a repulsive character: take care, however, that it be indefinable—that
it be of a description that cannot be named.
This new feature in your bearing will probably startle the more shrewd and observant of
your former friends: but never mind that—it is precisely the impression you desire to
make. It is even possible that some of them may express by their manner towards you a
feeling of irritation at your new mode of treating them. Meet it by an expression of
surprise at their conduct, and by increased coolness. There is now good ground for a
quarrel—not open hostility, of course, but the warfare of distant looks and haughty
salutations. Improve it to the utmost, and wonder what the fellows mean.
Observe that the whole of this nice process of dissolving former associations is carried on
without one angry or offensive word being said on either side—without the slightest
approach to an overt act of hostility; you, particularly, being as bland as ever. The whole
is effected by look and manner alone.
To the gentleman who is rising in the world there are few things more offensive than the
familiarity of old acquaintanceship when presented in the shape of notes and letters. Your
old friends, still obstinately overlooking your advancement in the world, will in all
probability continue to write to you when they have occasion to do so, in the free-and-
easy way of former days. They will even sometimes so far forget themselves and you as
to address you in a jocular strain. This must be instantly put down. Do it by brief and
grave replies; take no notice of their jokes, and never attempt an approach to one in
return. This in time will cure them: if not, you must have recourse to stronger measures.
You must either not answer at all, or administer some decided dampers.
Should any of your former friends seek your patronage—a very probable case—take an
early opportunity, while doing him some trifling service, of letting him feel sensibly your
relative positions, all the while, however, exhibiting towards him the most friendly
dispositions. But let him ever and anon feel the bit gently—let him feel that he has got
somebody on his back. Begin as soon as possible to lecture him in a gentle way—all for
his own good of course. Your character of patron gives you a right to do this; and under
this guise you can say the most cutting things to him without affording him the slightest
ground for complaint. Under this guise you can address the most insulting language to
him, and defy him to take it amiss. If he should, however, you can without any difficulty
prove him to be one of the most ungrateful monsters that ever lived. You were doing all
you could for him, and when you ventured to advise him—having nothing but his own
good at heart—he chose to take offence at you, and to resent the friendly advice you
gave him. Such an ungrateful dog!
As few men can stand such treatment as that above alluded to long, we can venture to
promise you that by a steady course of proceeding in the way we have pointed out, you
will soon clear your hands of your old friends.
C.
 THE DIVORCED,[1]
A TRANSLATION FROM THE MOLDAVIAN.
“Ah! what a fatal gift from Heaven is a too sensitive heart!”—Rousseau.
What is that yonder shimmering so?
Can it be swans? Can it be snow?
If it were swans they would move, I trow,
If it were snow it had melted ere now.
No: it is Ibrahim Aga’s tent—
There lies the warrior, wounded and spent.
Mother and sisters tend him there
Night and morn with busiest care;
His wife alone—through shame or grief—
Stays away from the suffering Chief.

Wherefore, as soon as his illness was gone,

Wrote he thus to the Sensitive One—
“Go thy way from my house and hearth,
And bide with the mother that gave thee birth.”

Sad was Ayoob at the sudden word!

It pierced her tender heart like a sword.
Hark! the sound of a charger’s tramp—
Ibrahim, then, is come from the camp!
So she fancies, and, in her despair,
Thinks she will scale the turret-stair,
And dash herself down from the castle-wall,
When, lo! her two little daughters call—
“It isn’t our father, mother dear!
This is our uncle, Djaffar-al-Meer.”

Turning around, the weeping mother

Flings her arms about her brother—
“Oh, brother! that this black day should arrive!
Oh, how can I leave these helpless five?”

But, cold and wordless, as one who has yet

To study Compassion, or feel Remorse,
The brother draws forth, all shiningly set
In silk and gold, the Brief of Divorce,
And sternly he states the Law’s command—
That again she return to her kindred and land,
Free once more to dispose of her hand.

The mother’s heart felt breaking, for now

All hope was buried;—she could not speak—
She kissed her two little boys on the brow,
And her two little girls she kissed on the cheek,
While the babe in the cradle—unconscious child!—
Held out its diminutive arms, and smiled!
The iron Djaffar would wait no more—
His barb was pawing the earth at the door:
“Up, woman!” he cried—and they galloped away,
And reached their home by the close of day.

But there not long she pined alone,

For, barely a week was over and gone
When many a suitor came to sue;
Kapitans, Beys, and Agas too,
Came to see her and staid to woo.

And Djaffar saw that the richest of all

Was the noble Khadi of Nourjahaul.

Afresh for sorrow were hourly shed

The bitter tears of the mourner then:
“I pray thee, brother,” she sadly said,
“Give me not in marriage agen!
My broken heart would cease to beat
Should I and the children chance to meet.”

But Djaffar was ever the Man of Steel—

The morrow, he vowed, should see her a wife!
“Then, hear me, brother!—thy sister’s life
Hangs upon this her last appeal!
Write to the Khadi thus, I entreat—
‘Health from Ayoob to her lordly lover!
Send, she prays thee, a veil to cover
Her sorrowful figure from head to feet,
Lest, while passing the Aga’s door,
Her children greet her as heretofore.’”

The letter was sent, and the veil came home;

And by noon on the morrow the bride was arrayed;
And a gorgeous train and cavalcade
Set out for the Khadi’s palace-dome.
They journeyed till sunset purpled the sky,
And now, alas! her trial is nigh—
Her trial is nigh, her bosom is swelling;
They come within sight of Ibrahim’s dwelling—
They near the gates—ah, well-a-day!
Her children cannot mistake their mother—
“Mamma! Mamma! ah, don’t go away!”
They cry, and their voices drown one another.

That mother groaned in her wretchedness!

“Live long!” she said, “my Lord and Master!
M h d f Di !
 Mayest thou ever defy Disaster!
May thy shadow never be less!
Bid, I implore thee, the cavalcade wait
A moment in front of the Aga’s gate,
While I go into the house, and leave
Some gifts with my little ones, lest they grieve.”

Silently then, like a ghost from the tombs,

She enters once more the remembered rooms,
Gives to her sons little gold-laced boots,
Gives to her daughters little kapoots,[2]
And leaves with the babe in the cradle-bed
Some toys and a basket of sugar-bread.

Now, the desolate father was standing apart,

And he marked that she neither spake nor sighed,
And Agony wrung his manly heart—
“Come, come to me, hither, my children!” he cried,
“For I see that your mother’s bosom is grown
Colder and harder than marble stone.”

But, as soon as Ayoob heard Ibrahim speak,

And saw her children turning away,
She fell on the floor without a shriek,
And without a stir on the floor she lay;
And the funeral-wailers of Islambol
Were chanting ere night the hymn for her soul.[3]

M.
[1] The incidents of this narrative are founded on fact.
[2] Cloaks.
[3] The popular notion that the Mohammedans deny immortality to the souls of
women is altogether a mistake, as will be apparent to any one who takes the trouble
of looking through the Koran.
 OROHOO, THE FAIRY MAN,
A REMINISCENCE OF CONNAUGHT.
Were we to believe the chronicles of our grandmothers, Ireland at one period was held in
fee-simple by witches, warlocks, white ladies, fairies, and leprahauns; the earth, the air,
and the sky, were peopled by them; every crumbling and desolate cabin on the sterile
moor or common was tenanted by a witch; while the margins of our beautiful loughs, the
bosoms of our silent and sequestered glens, the recesses of our romantic mountain
valleys, the echoing walls of every mouldering edifice, and the mystic circle of each rude
hill-fort, were the chosen habitations of unearthly beings.
Nor was this belief held by the uneducated alone; many who moved in respectable
situations in society were infected by it; and otherwise sensible and well-informed people
on this head were deaf to the voice of reason and the dictates of common sense, and
would as soon doubt the truth of Holy Writ as the existence of supernatural agency; and
so interwoven was the superstition in the social system, that no event could happen poor
mortality from the cradle to the grave, in which the good people were not implicated for
good or evil. Did the head or a member of a leading family die, the wail of the banshee
was sure to be heard in the twilight. Was a favourite child smitten with disease, the
beautiful, the beloved one was believed to be changed for a squalling, ravenous, and
decrepid starveling. Did your cattle pine, or was your dairy not productive, your cows
were either elf-shot or bewitched. Was the wife of your bosom snatched away in her
bloom, in the most interesting though dangerous moment of her existence, the fairies
were whispered to be the authors of your misfortune—to have spirited her off, and to
have left in her stead a wooden substitute.
Well do I remember the thrill of fear, mingled with a degree of pleasurable awe, with
which I listened some forty years since to the narratives of a venerable aunt, who was
lingering out the evening of her existence at my father’s fireside—her only occupation
being, rocking the cradle and keeping the youngsters from mottling their shins. She was
an experienced dame, and withal pious, but would as soon doubt her own identity as that
of witches and fairies, and her memory was well stored with instances of their
interference. These I then believed most implicitly, particularly as in many of them “the
family” was concerned. She could relate how her grandfather one morning detected a
hare in the act of milking one of his cows, which he fired at and wounded, and on
tracking the blood, discovered it to flow from the thigh of an old crone who inhabited a
neighbouring hovel. She also could tell how an elder brother had surprised a leprahaun in
the act of making shoes for the gentle people—could describe his dress minutely, and
how he had escaped captivity by making a feint with his awl at my uncle’s eye, and
causing him to wink when in the very act of seizing him, and thereby marred his fortune.
She also knew a child which was taken from its mother’s arms at night, but luckily was
missed before he could be conveyed through the key-hole, and on the outcry of the
bereaved parent, was dropped “with a whack” on the floor uninjured. It never occurred
to her that probably the child had rolled out of the bed accidentally. There was another
tale often related by her, which it would be worse than heresy to doubt, as she knew the
parties intimately.
An honest man named John M’Kinstrey, who resided near Maheraveely, in the county
Monaghan, was once compelled to leave his warm bed in “the witching time of night,” on
a certain pressing occasion, and ride post-haste for a worthy dame whose assistance was
indispensable. While returning with the “howdy” safely stowed on an ample pillion
behind, he heard the strokes of an axe reverberating through a neighbouring wood, and
voices in conversation. Curiosity prompted him to draw up and listen, when he distinctly
heard the question asked, “What are you doing to-night?” and to his dismay the answer
was responded, “I’m making a wife for Jack M’Kinstrey.” “Faith,” said Jack, “you’ll make
no wife for me, my man—I’ll do very well with the one I have;” and giving his good beast
the spur, regardless of the neck, bones, or outcry of his freight, he never drew rein until
he had his better half clasped in his arms, where he held her in a death’s-grip until the
crisis was over, and thus baulked the fairies.
Thus was the whole system of society pervaded by the idea of supernatural influence;
and the consequence was an undefinable dread and fear, hanging like the sword of
Damocles over the heads of all, and embittering existence. ’Tis true the evil was only
imaginary, but not on that account the less hurtful; for, being a mental malady, it was the
more difficult to be counteracted or eradicated, and often led to real anxiety and distress,
as in the care of M’Kinstrey, whose ideas being full of witchcraft and fairy freaks, never
reflected that the noise and voices he had heard might be a practical joke of some of his
neighbours, and in consequence suffered all the suspense and trouble incident to real
danger.
But the diffusion of useful knowledge and the dissemination of sound education among
all classes, has latterly effected a mighty change in the intellectual powers of the people.
Such reveries as those referred to, though sometimes used to “adorn a tale,” are now
unheeded; and there are few indeed who would harbour for a moment in sincerity the
absurd idea of evil agency. There may be, ’tis true, some exceptions—a few old women
may be still haunted by the sprites of other days, and in some remote districts a belief in
witchcraft certainly prevails, ingrafted by early prejudices, and fostered and kept alive by
the practices of knaves, who profess to avert the effects by counter-charms, and live, like
many others, on the credulity of the public; but, generally speaking, the thing is defunct
—gone to the moles and the bats.
But there is an exception. In several districts in Ireland, in Connaught especially, an idea
is very prevalent that it is in the power of evil-disposed persons to deprive their
neighbours of their milk or butter. This is said to be done in various ways, the most usual
being the use of a corpse hand, which is kept shrivelled and dried to stir the milk and
gather the butter. Another plan is to follow the cows on a May morning, and gather the
soil which drops from between their cloots. Another, by collecting the froth which forms
on a stream running through their pasture, and milking your own cow on it. Indeed, the
means used are represented to be so simple, that the very absurdity of the matter is its
own refutation.
Yet it is believed in, and that firmly; and in order to prove that such is the case, and also
expose the trickery and legerdemain by which some knaves succeed in throwing dust in
the eyes of the natives, I will relate an occurrence in which I was concerned; and to open
the matter fully in all its ramifications, windings, and train of circumstantials, I trust I will
be pardoned if I enter into a rather minute detail, the rather as I confess I was for a
short time myself almost inclined to credit its existence—in short, believed myself the
dupe of a fairy man.
Some time since I resided in the neighbourhood of the “plains of Boyle,” a celebrated
pasture country, and was the possessor of a cow whose milk and butter were plentiful in
quantity and excellent in quality, and materially contributed to the comforts of my family.
She was a beautiful and a gentle creature; and I flattered myself that in her I possessed
the foundress of a numerous herd, and the germ of a profitable and extensive dairy.
As before observed, the idea was very prevalent there that it was in the power of evil-
disposed persons to deprive you of your milk and butter, and I heard many complaints of
the kind; the general voice fastened the imputation on a woman who lived in the vicinity,
who was locally termed “the Hawk,” and certainly the fire of her eye and the sharpness of
her beak justified the appellation: she was a comely middle-aged person, in rather easy
circumstances, her husband being a small farmer; but he lay under the suspicion of being
concerned in a murder some time before. She was a reputed witch, and the entire family
were disliked and avoided.
One morning in the month of January, I was informed that a woman had come into my
kitchen, who occupied herself in watching the motions of the family, without stating her
business. On going down, I found her well dressed and well looking, but with a very
sinister cast of countenance. On asking if she wanted me, she said she had heard I was
in want of some geese, and that she had a few to dispose of. “How many?” said I. “A
goose and a gander,” she replied. “How much do you want for them?” “Seven-and-
sixpence.” “Seven-and-sixpence!” I exclaimed in surprise, as the usual price then was
from one shilling to one-and-sixpence each. “Why, how many have you?” as I really
thought I had made a mistake in the number. “A goose and a gander,” said she. “And do
you suppose me to be a goose to give such a price as that?” said I. “Oh!” said she, “they
are good geese, and only I wish to serve you, I would not offer them at all.” “Indeed! I
am much obliged by your good wishes,” said I; “but as I think you want to impose upon
me, you must take your geese to another market, for I will not have them at any price,
and the sooner you take yourself off the better.” She got highly offended, muttered
something about my being sorry for refusing them, and went away in high dudgeon; and
after she was gone, I found it was “the Hawk” who had favoured me with the visit.
On the same morning, a gang of strollers, consisting of tinkers, chimney-sweeps, a brace
or two of beggars, and a piper, had pitched their tent on the road side, a short distance
from my residence; the members of the party had distributed themselves over the
surrounding district in pursuit of their various avocations; it also happened to be
churning-day, and my wife having set her vessels in order, was proceeding with her
lacteal operations favourably—the milk had cracked, the butter was expected—when the
sound of music was heard; the piper attached to the party had come to give us a
specimen of his skill; he favoured us with a few Connaught planxties, was duly rewarded,
and departed. Shortly after he was gone, two buxom baggages, brown and bare-legged,
with cans in their hands, kerchiefs on their heads, and huge massive rings on their
fingers, came and demanded an alms. They were told there was nothing then ready, on
which one of them asked a drink. “I have nothing to offer you but water,” said my wife,
“until the churning’s done.” “Well, water itself,” said she; on getting which, she took a sup
or two, put the remainder in her can, and went off; and, strange as it may seem, my
butter went too. And from that day in January until May eve following, not a morsel had
we from our beautiful Brownie.
As I did not put any faith in witchcraft, I was willing to attribute this to some natural
cause affecting the cow, though the milk showed no perceptible change in either quantity
or quality; neither did she exhibit any symptoms of ailment or disorder, except that she
began to cast her hair. She was well supplied with good fodder, comfortably lodged, and
well attended, and every possible care taken of the milk, but all to no purpose; the butter
was not forthcoming; and for my incredulity I was laughed at by my neighbours. “Your
cow is bewitched,” cried they; “and you may as well throw chaff against the wind, as
think you will get your butter back, till you get the charm.” Some said “the Hawk” had it,
some that the gipsy took it away in her can, and others that it followed the piper. Be that
as it may, I had to eat my bread butterless, and brood over my loss, without even the
comfort of common condolence.
Various were the counter-charms recommended for my adoption. “Send for Fraser the
Scotchman from beyond the Lough,” said one; “he fears neither man nor fiend, and he
will surely get it.” “Send for ‘the Hawk,’ and clip a bit off her ear,” said another. “Let them
keep their mouths full of water, and never speak while they are churning,” said a third. In
short, I found there were as many ways of getting it back, as there were of losing it—all
equally simple, and probably as efficacious.
Thus matters continued until the early part of the month of April, when one morning a
man called, who desired to see me. I found him a light, active, cute-looking fellow, low in
stature and spare in habit, but sinewy, well set and well knit, and regularly smoke-dried.
He was pretty well clad in frieze, cord breeches, and yarn stockings and pumps; his
caubeen on one side, a cutty in his mouth, and a certain jauntiness in his air, and crafty
audacity in his look, which seemed to say, “I’d have you to know I’m a clever fellow.”
“So,” said he at once without preamble, “so you’ve lost your butter.”
“Yes,” said I, “’tis certainly gone.”
“Well, if you like, I’ll get it for you. My name is Orohoo (O’Hara); I live at Sliev Bawn—the
people call me the Fairy man—I can find things that’s stole—and I keep the garvally.”
“Indeed!” said I: “why, you must be a clever fellow: but can you get my butter?”
“Not a doubt of it,” said he, “if it is in the country.”
I had heard of the garvally before, which was described as “a crooked thing like the
handle of an umbrella, covered with green baize.” It was formerly in much repute for
swearing on; “and a terrible thing it was, for if you swore falsely and it round your neck,
your mouth would turn to the back of your head, or you’d get such a throttling as you’d
never get the better of.” It had latterly, however, lost much of its virtue, or rather of its
fame, by an unbelieving vagabond yoking it on and swearing to a manifest falsehood,
without suffering any visible inconvenience. But to return to Orohoo.
He made no stipulation; but requiring a deep plate, some water and salt, with a little of
the cow’s milk, he commenced by desiring my wife and me to stand forward. He then
asked our names, if I was the owner of the cow, how long I had had her, if that woman
was my wife, when we had lost our butter, and if we suspected any person for taking it.
To these queries I answered as was necessary; but to the last I replied, I did not believe
in witchcraft.
“Don’t you believe in fairies?” he asked.
“Scarcely,” said I.
“No matter,” said he; “maybe before I’m done you will believe in them.”
He then in a very solemn manner poured some water into the plate at three several
times, thus—“In the name of the Father,” a drop; “in the name of the Son,” ditto; “in the
name of the Holy Ghost,” ditto. He added the milk in the same manner, and then
sprinkled in the salt, using the same formula. He now stirred round the mixture three
times with his finger, repeating the words as before, and desired us to do the same. To
this I demurred, for I did not wish to evince any faith in the proceeding, by taking an
active part; but he combated my scruples by asking “was it not done in a good name?”
Certainly for so far I saw nothing very objectionable, and my wife feeling no scruple on
the subject, at their joint persuasion I did as directed.
He next made the sign of the cross over the plate with his hands, and, waving them over
his head, cut several curious figures in the air, at the same time muttering an
unintelligible jargon I could not understand, but which, as I could catch a sound or
syllable, bore a close affinity to what is called bog Latin. Gradually he became much
excited; he raved like a demon, stamped with his feet, and threatened with his fists: now
his tones were those of supplication or entreaty, anon of abjuration or command; while
his eye seemed fixed upon and to follow the motions of some to us invisible being, with
which he appeared to hold converse. Suddenly he gave an unearthly scream, as if in an
agony of terror and perturbation, and, holding up his hands as in the act of warding off a
threatened danger, he retreated backwards round the room, pursued, as it seemed, by
an implacable enemy. Gradually he regained the spot he had left, turned himself to the
four cardinal points, making the sign of the cross at each turn, dipped his fingers in the
mixture, devoutly blessed himself, anointing his forehead, shoulders, and breast,
regained his self-possession, raised his hands and eyes in an attitude of fervent
thankfulness to heaven, wiped the perspiration which profusely streamed from his brow
with the cuff of his coat, gradually recovered his breath, and from a state of the greatest
possible excitement became calm and collected.
Now, this was all acting, to be sure, but it was inimitably done, and I confess, even
armed as I was with unbelief, it made a very powerful impression on me. I acknowledge I
did not feel at all comfortable. I did not like the idea of being in the same room with the
evil one, who to all appearance was chasing my friend the conjuror round and round it. I
felt an indescribable sensation of dread creeping over me, and, if I mistake not, there
were a few drops of perspiration on my brow; and my hair, of which I have not a
superabundance, to my apprehension began to get stiff and wiry. My wife, too, clung
closely to my side for protection, and the agitation of her mind was evident by the
audible action of her heart, which in that case beat only responsive to my own.
Having taken breath, he asked for a ribbon, which he passed over his forehead and
round his head, and, bringing the ends in front, knotted it over his nose; then twining it
round his fingers in the manner children call a cat’s cradle, he knelt down and peered
through it attentively into the mixture, which I imagined at the moment fermented and
sent up a blue vapour. After gazing a few seconds in this manner,
“Aha!” said he, “she is not far off that has your butter; bring me a lighted candle,” which
on being brought he placed in the plate. “Now,” said he, “both of you kneel down; do as I
do, and say as I say, and we’ll have her here directly.”
“No,” said I decidedly, “we will not.”
I thought we had gone far enough, and was convinced that if what we were engaged in
was not an unholy act, it was at least a piece of gross deception, and I would not
countenance it by any further participation.
“Why,” exclaimed he, “don’t you want to get your butter?”
“Yes,” said I, “I would like to have my butter, but I don’t choose to resort to a charm to
obtain it.”
“No doubt this is a charm,” said he, “but it is done in a good name; and I have done it
before for as good as ever you were.”
“So much the worse,” I replied; “that holy name should never be profaned in such a
manner, and I am sorry any person would be so wicked or so foolish as to encourage you
in your tricks. I neither like you nor your proceedings, and the sooner you go about your
business the better.”
He started to his feet in a passion, blew out the candle, seized the plate, and attempted
to throw the contents into the fireplace; but my wife, who did not wish her hearth to be
wet, took it from him and laid it past. He fumed and stormed, said I let him take a great
deal of trouble on my account, and insisted on proceeding; but I was determined, and,
being considerably chafed and annoyed by the transaction, I again ordered him off, and
left him.
In a few moments I heard the noise of a violent altercation and scuffle, and I was loudly
called on. I hastened to the scene of contention, and found my wife holding Orohoo by
the neck, and preventing his departure. “What’s all this?” I exclaimed. “This fellow,” said
she, “when he was going, took a live coal out of the grate, and told me to take care of
my children.” This he stiffly denied, until confronted by the servant, and I threatened to
give him up to the police as an impostor, when he quailed, and acknowledged that he
had said so, but that he meant no harm by it. “And sure,” said he, “there’s no harm in
bidding you mind them; for if your cow was hurt, so may your children. You’re not
treating me well,” he continued; “I came at the bidding of a friend to do you a good turn,
and asked nothing for it, and now you’re putting me out; you’ll be glad to see me yet,
though. But take my advice: never throw out your Sunday’s ashes until Tuesday morning,
and always sweep your floor in from the door to the hearth.” And away he went.
My heart now beat easy, for I thought we had fairly got rid of the fairy man; but I was to
be still further mystified and bewildered. On examining the plate over which he had
performed his incantations, we found the contents to be thick, yellow, and slimy, with a
red sediment like globules of blood at the bottom. This seemed extraordinary, as I
certainly watched him closely, and did not see him put any thing into the plate but milk,
water, and salt.
The month now drew near a close, and our bread was still butterless. This often caused
the morsel to stick in the throat of my poor dear partner, who felt none of the scruples of
conscience with which I was affected, and firmly believed, her cow was bewitched. “Here
we are day after day losing, our substance, and might have it only for your
squeamishness in not letting the fairy man finish his job.” Thus she would argue, and
hesitated not to call me a fool, nay, a downright ass; and indeed my neighbours were
much of the same opinion: one of them, a respectable farmer’s wife, was particularly
pertinacious. “My Robin,” said she one evening, as they were harping on the old string,
“my Robin was down in Sligo, and he heard that if you got the coulter of a plough, and
made it red-hot in the fire, while you were churning the butter would come back; or if
you chose to churn on Sunday morning before the lark sings, you will surely get it.”
“Tempt me no more with your spells or Sabbath-breaking; I will have none of them,” said
I, impatiently; “I will never barter my peace of mind for a pound of butter, if I should
never eat a morsel.”
But, in truth, my peace of mind was gone, for the continual urging and yammering I was
subjected to made me heartily sick, and I inwardly resolved to sell the cow the first
opportunity, and so end the matter.
On May eve, in the afternoon, I had occasion to leave home for a short time, and on my
return was rather surprised to find all the windows closed and the door locked against
me. I knocked and called for admittance, but received no answer; and hearing the noise
of churning going on within, “fast and furious,” the truth flashed across my mind; and
lamenting my wife’s credulity, I retired to the garden to await the result. In a short time
she came running out like one demented, clapping her hands and screaming, “Oh! we’ve
got the butter, we’ve got the butter!” and on going in I found a coulter phizzing and
sparkling at a white heat in the fire, an ass’s shoe (which had been found a few days
previously) under the churn, my worthy neighbour aforesaid standing over it, panting and
blowing from the exertions she had made on my behoof, and wiping the dew-drops from
her really comely countenance, and in the churn, floating like lumps of gold in a sea of
silver, as fine a churning of butter as ever we were blessed with.
Well, I own I was staggered, and being triumphantly asked, “Now, is there no witchcraft
or virtue in a red-hot coulter?” I could scarcely muster up courage to utter “No.” In vain I
protested the butter came back because “Brownie” got back to her pasture, in
consequence of the change in her feeding, from dry fodder to the mellow and genial
produce of spring, as the loss at first was owing to the transition from grass to hay. ’Twas
to no purpose to argue thus: all else were positive it was otherwise; but whether the
virtue was in Orohoo’s incantations, the efficacy of the red-hot coulter, the influence of
the ass’s shoe, or the tremendous pommelling the milk was subjected to on the occasion,
no one could exactly say.
A few days after, I conversed on the subject with an intelligent person, a herd in charge
of an extensive stock farm. After hearing my story to an end, he indulged in a hearty
laugh at my expense. “Faith,” said he, “I took you for a sensible man, and did not
suppose you would credit such folly.” “I’d as soon believe my mother was a bishop,” said
I, “as put any faith in it some time ago. But how can I get over the chain of
circumstantial evidence?—not a link of it wanting. First, ‘the Hawk’ coming with her
seven-and-sixpenny geese, then the gipsies and the piper, and losing my butter just
then.” “’Tis very easy,” said he, “to account for it. In the first place, you took your cow
from grass and fed her on hay.” “Yes, but she had plenty of winter cabbage, and we gave
her boiled potatoes.” “Just the thing; cabbage is good for plenty of milk, but not for
butter. I’ll engage you gave her the potatoes warm.” “Yes.” “And she got a scour?”
“Indeed she did, and her hair fell off.” “So I thought. And afterwards she got in good
condition?” “Yes.” “Oh! ay, she put her butter on her ribs. Did you kill a pig at Christmas?”
“I did.” “Where did you put your bacon in press?” “Why, under the shelf in the dairy.”
“Now the murder is out! Never as long as you live put meat, either fresh or salt, near
your milk-vessels; if you do, you will surely spoil your milk and lose your butter.” “This
may account for my loss, but what have you to say to its coming back?” “Why, what’s to
hinder it, when your bacon is in the chimney and your cow at grass?” “But the red blobs
in the plate, and Orohoo fighting the devil for me, what do you say to that?” Here he
gave way to such a violent fit of laughter that I really thought he would burst the
waistband of his doe-skins. “Orohoo! ha! ha!—Orohoo! ha! ha! ha!—the greatest villain
that ever breathed. He came to me one time that I had a cow sick, and said she was
fairy-smitten, and that he would cure her. He began with his tricks with the milk and
water, just the same as he did with you; but I watched him closer; and when I saw the
smoke rising out of the plate, I got him by the neck, shook a little bottle of vitriol out of
the cuff of his coat, and took a paper of red earthy powder out of his waistcoat pocket.” I
looked aghast and confounded. Was I, then, the dupe of the fairy man? The thought was
humiliating, and I even wished that I had remained in ignorance, but on reflection had
reason to congratulate myself that it was only a temporary lapse, and that I was right in
my original opinion, that, except the witchery of a pair of blue languishers, or the fairy
spell of a silver-tongued syren, there is now no evil of the kind to be apprehended.
A.

Fashion is a poor Vocation.—Its creed, that idleness is a privilege, and work a disgrace, is
among the deadliest errors. Without depth of thought, or earnestness of feeling, or
strength of purpose, living an unreal life, sacrificing substance to show, substituting the
fictitious for the natural, mistaking a crowd for society, finding its chief pleasure in
ridicule, and exhausting its ingenuity in expedients for killing time, fashion is among the
last influences under which a human being who respects himself, or who comprehends
the great end of life, would desire to be placed.
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