beautiful new life rather than with the solemnity The Sons 

 and dread aspect of death. 



Among the Gaelic hills we have a prose 

 variant of 'The Sons of the North Wind,' 

 which I suppose is still told to children by the 

 fireglow on winter evenings, as, when a child, 

 the present writer was told it and retold it by 

 the fireglow on many a winter evening when 

 the crackling fall of icicles from fir-sprays near 

 the window could be heard, or the sudden 

 shuffle of snow in the declivities of the steep 

 glen hard-by. The story is generally told as a 

 tale, but sometimes the teller chants it as a 

 duan or poem. For it is more a poem than a 

 prose narrative on the lips of Gaelic speakers. 



The North Wind had three sons. These 

 Sons of the North Wind were called White- 

 Feet and White- Wings and White-Hands. 

 When White-Feet and White- Wings and 

 White-Hands first came into our world from 

 the invisible palaces, they were so beautiful 

 that many mortals died from beholding them, 

 while others dared not look, but fled affrighted 

 into woods or obscure places. So when these 

 three sons of the Great Chieftain saw that they 

 were too radiant for the eyes of the earth-bound 

 they receded beyond the gates of the sunset, 

 and took counsel with the Allfather. When, 

 through the gates of dawn, they came again 



