their kingdom, or for help to their own people. Some were wise,
learned, and statesmanlike, and used their powers for good. These were
the high Druids, and every king had a band of them at his court and in
his wars. They practiced what the Middle Ages called white magic.
Others were wizards, magicians, witches, who, like the children of
Cailitin, the foes of Cuchulain, or the three mutilated women whom
Maev educated in evil craft to do evil to her foes, or the dread band
that deceived Cuchulain into his last ride of death, practised black
magic--evil, and the ministers of evil. Magic, and the doing of it,
runs through the whole of Irish story-telling, and not only into pagan
but also into Christian legend; for it was easy to change the old gods
into devils, to keep the demonic creatures as demons, to replace the
wise Druids by the priests and saints, and the wizards by the heretics
who gave themselves to sorcery. Thus the ancient supernaturalism of
the Irish has continued, with modern modifications, to the present
day. The body of thought is much the same as it was in the days of
Conor and Finn; the clothing is a bit different.

Another characteristic of the stories, especially in the mythological
period, is the barbaric brutality which appears in them. Curiously
mingled with this, in direct contrast, is their tenderness. These
extreme contrasts are common in the Celtic nature. A Gael, whether of
Ireland or the Western Isles, will pass in a short time from the
wildest spirits, dancing and singing and drinking, into deep and grim
depression--the child of the present, whether in love or war; and in
the tales of Ireland there is a similar contrast between their
brutality and their tenderness. The sudden fierce jealousy and the
pitiless cruelty of their stepmother to the children of Lir is set
over against the exquisite tenderness of Fionnuala, which pervades the
story like an air from heaven. The noble tenderness of Deirdre, of