But as he went to see her, little Annie went and sat down in his way again.

'Sitting all alone there, little Annie, the goose-girl', said the Prince.

'Yes, here I sit, and put stitch to stitch, and patch on patch; for I'm waiting to-day for the king's son from England', said Annie.

'Oh! you mustn't look to have him', said the king's son.

'Nay, but if I'm to have him, have him I shall, after all'; that was what Annie thought.

Well, it was the same story over again with the Prince; only this time, when his bride got up in the morning, the stone said she'd had six bairns.

So the Prince wouldn't have her either, but sent her about her business; but still he thought he'd try once more if he couldn't find one who was pure and spotless; and he sought far and wide in many lands, till at last he found one he thought he might trust. But when he went to see her, little Annie the goose-girl had put herself in his way again.

'Sitting all alone there, you little Annie, the goose-girl', said the Prince.

'Yes, here I sit, and put stitch to stitch, and patch on patch; for I'm waiting to-day for the king's son from England', said Annie.

'Him you mustn't look to have', said the Prince.

'Nay, but if I'm to have him, have him I shall, after all', said little Annie.

So when the Princess came, little Annie the goose-girl told her the same as she had told the other two, if she'd had any sweetheart before, or if there was anything else she didn't wish the Prince to know, she mustn't tread on the stone that the Prince had put at his bedside; for, said she:

'It tells him everything.'

The Princess got very red and downcast when she heard that, for she was just as naughty as the others, and asked Annie if she would go in her stead and lie down with the Prince that night; and when he was sound asleep, she would come and take her place, and then he would have the right bride by his side when it was light next morning.

Yes! they did that. And when little Annie the goose-girl came and stepped upon the stone, the Prince asked:

'Who is this that steps into my bed.'

'A maid pure and bright', said the stone; and so they lay down to rest.

Farther on in the night the Prince put a ring on Annie's finger, and it fitted so tight she couldn't get it off again; for the Prince saw well enough there was something wrong, and so he wished to have a mark by which he might know the right woman again.

Well, when the Prince had gone off to sleep, the Princess came and drove Annie away to the pigsty, and lay down in her place. Next morning, when they were to get up, the Prince asked:

'Who is this that steps out of my bed?'

'One that's had nine bairns', said the stone.

When the Prince heard that he drove her away at once, for he was in an awful rage; and then he asked the stone how it all was with these Princesses who had stepped on it, for he couldn't understand it at all, he said.

So the stone told him how they had cheated him, and sent little Annie the goose-girl to him in their stead.

But as the Prince wished to have no mistake about it, he went down to her where she sat tending her geese, for he wanted to see if she had the ring too, and he thought, 'if she has it, 'twere best to take her at once for my queen'.

So when he got down he saw in a moment that she had tied a bit of rag round one of her fingers, and so he asked her why it was tied up.

'Oh! I've cut myself so badly', said little Annie the goose-girl.

So he must and would see the finger, but Annie wouldn't take the rag off. Then he caught hold of the finger; but Annie, she tried to pull it from him, and so between them the rag came off, and then he knew his ring.

So he took her up to the palace, and gave her much fine clothes and attire, and after that they held their wedding feast; and so little Annie the goose-girl came to have the king of England's son for her husband after all, just because it was written that she should have him.



INTRODUCTION TO APPENDIX

ANANZI STORIES

The Negroes in the West Indies still retain the tales and traditions which their fathers and grandfathers brought with them from Africa. Some thirty years back these 'Ananzi Stories', as they are called, were invariably told at the Negro wakes, which lasted for nine successive nights. The reciters were always men. In those days when the slaves were still half heathen, and when the awful Obeah was universally believed in, such of the Negroes as attended church or chapel kept their children away from these funeral gatherings. The wakes are now, it is believed, almost entirely discontinued, and with them have gone the stories. The Negroes are very shy of telling them, and both the clergyman of the Church of England, and the Dissenting Minister set their faces against them, and call them foolishness. The translator, whose early childhood was passed in those islands, remembers to have heard such stories from his nurse, who was an African born; but beyond a stray fragment here and there, the rich store which she possessed has altogether escaped his memory. The following stories have been taken down from the mouth of a West Indian nurse in his sister's house, who, born and bred in it, is rather regarded as a member of the family than as a servant. They are printed just as she told them, and both their genuineness and their affinity with the stories of other races will be self-evident. Thus we have the 'Wishing Tree' of the Hindoos, the Kalpa Vriksha of Somadeva, and of the German Fairy Tales in the 'Pumpkin Tree', which throws down as many pumpkins as the poor widow wishes. In one story we have 'Boots' to the life, while the man whom he outwits is own brother to the Norse Trolls. In another we find a 'speaking beast', which reminds us at once of the Egyptian story of Anessou and Satou, as well as of the 'Machandelboom', and 'the Milk-white Doo'. We find here the woman who washes the dirty head rewarded, and the man who refuses to wash it punished, in the very words used in 'The Bushy Bride'. We find, too, in 'Nancy Fairy', the same story, both in groundwork and incident, as we have in 'the Lassie and her Godmother'; and most surprising of all, in the story of 'Ananzi and Quanqua', we find the very trait about a trick played with the tail of an ox, which is met with in a variation to 'Boots who ate a match with the Troll'. Here is the variation: 'Whilst he was with the Troll, the lad was to go out to watch the swine, so he drove them home to his father's house, but first he cut their tails off, and stuck them into the ground. Then he went home to the Troll, and begged him to come and see how his swine were going down to Hell. But when the Troll saw the swine's tails sticking out of the ground he wanted to pull them back again, so he caught hold of them and gave a great tug, and then down he fell with his heels up in the air, and the tails in his fist.'

They are called 'Ananzi Stories', because so many of them turn on the feats of Ananzi, whose character is a mixture of 'the Master-thief', and of 'Boots'; but the most curious thing about him, is that he illustrates the Beast Epic in a remarkable way. In all the West Indian Islands, 'Ananzi' is the name of spiders in general, and of a very beautiful spider with yellow stripes in particular. [Footnote: Compare Crowther's Yoruba Glossary, where Alansasa is given as the Yoruban for spider. The change of n into l is not uncommon, even supposing the West Indian word to be uncorrupt.] The Negroes think that this spider is the 'Ananzi' of their stories, but that his superior cunning enables him to take any shape he pleases. In fact, he is the example which the African tribes from which these stories came, have chosen to take as pointing out the superiority of wit over brute strength. In this way they have matched the cleverness and dexterity of the Spider, against the bone and muscle of the Lion, invariably to the disadvantage of the latter.

After this introduction, we let the Tales speak for themselves, only premising that the 'Jack-Spaniard' in the first story is a very pretty fly of the wasp kind, and, like his European brother, very small in the waist; that the 'Cush-cush', is a little red yam which imparts a strong red dye to everything with which it is boiled; and that the 'Doukana' is a forest tree which bears a fruit, though of what kind it is hard to say.



APPENDIX

WHY THE JACK-SPANIARD'S WAIST IS SMALL

Ananzi and Mosquito were talking together one day, and boasting of their fathers' crops. Ananzi said his father had never had such a crop in his life before; and Mosquito said, he was sure his father's was bigger, for one yam they dug was as big as his leg. This tickled Jack-Spaniard so much, that he laughed till he broke his waist in two. That's why the Jack-Spaniard's waist is so small.



ANANZI AND THE LION

Once on a time Ananzi planned a scheme. He went to town and bought ever so many firkins of fat, and ever so many sacks, and ever so many balls of string, and a very big frying pan, then he went to the bay and blew a shell, and called the Head-fish in the sea, 'Green Eel', to him. Then he said to the fish, 'The King sends me to tell you that you must bring all the fish on shore, for he wants to give them new life.'

So 'Green Eel' said he would, and went to call them. Meanwhile Ananzi lighted a fire, and took out some of the fat, and got his frying pan ready, and as fast as the fish came out of the water he caught them and put them into the frying pan, and so he did with all of them until he got to the Head-fish, who was so slippery that he couldn't hold him, and he got back again into the water.

When Ananzi had fried all, the fish, he put them into the sacks, and took the sacks on his back and set off to the mountains. He had not gone very far when he met Lion, and Lion said to him':

'Well, brother Ananzi, where have you been? I have not seen you a long time.'

Ananzi said, 'I have been travelling about.'

'But what have you got there?' said the Lion.

'Oh! I have got my mother's bones—she has been dead these forty- eleven years, and they say I must not keep her here, so I am taking her up into the middle of the mountains to bury her.'

Then they parted. After he had gone a little way, the Lion said, 'I know that Ananzi is a great rogue; I daresay he has got something there that he doesn't want me to see, and I will just follow him'; but he took care not to let Ananzi see him.

Now, when Ananzi got into the wood he set his sacks down, and took one fish out and began to eat; then a fly came, and Ananzi said, 'I cannot eat any more, for there is some one near'; so he tied the sack up, and went on further into the mountains, where he set his sacks down, and took out two fish, which he ate; and no fly came, he said, 'There's no one near'; so he took out more fish. But when he had eaten about half-a-dozen, the Lion came up, and said:

'Well, brother Ananzi, a pretty tale you have told me.'

'Oh! brother Lion, I am so glad you have come; never mind what tale I have told you, but come and sit down—it was only my fun.'

So Lion sat down and began to eat; but before Ananzi had eaten two fish, Lion had emptied one of the sacks. Then said Ananzi to himself:

'Greedy fellow, eating up all my fish.'

'What do you say, sir?'

'I only said you do not eat half fast enough', for he was afraid the Lion would eat him up.

Then they went on eating, but Ananzi wanted to revenge himself, and he said to the Lion, 'Which of us do you think is the strongest?'

The Lion said, 'Why, I am, of course.'

Then Ananzi said, 'We will tie one another to the tree and we shall see which is the stronger.'

Now they agreed that the Lion should tie Ananzi first, and he tied him with some very fine string, and did not tie him tight. Ananzi twisted himself about two or three times, and the string broke.

Then it was Ananzi's turn to tie the Lion, and he took some very strong cord. The Lion said, 'You must not tie me tight, for I did not tie you tight.' And Ananzi said, 'Oh! no, to be sure I will not.' But he tied him as tight as ever he could, and then told him to try and get loose.

The Lion tried and tried in vain—he could not get loose. Then Ananzi thought, now is my chance; so he got a big stick and beat him, and then went away and left him, for he was afraid to loose him lest he should kill him.

Now there was a woman called Miss Nancy, who was going out one morning to get some 'callalou' (spinach) in the wood, and as she was going, she heard some one say, 'Good morning, Miss Nancy!' She could not tell who spoke to her, but she looked where the voice came from, and saw the Lion tied to the tree.

'Good morning, Mr Lion, what are you doing there?'

He said, 'It is all that fellow Ananzi who has tied me to the tree, but will you loose me?'

But she said, 'No, for I am afraid, if I do, you will kill me.' But he gave, her his word he would not; still she could not trust him; but he begged her again and again, and said:

'Well, if I do try to eat you, I hope all the trees will cry out shame upon me.'

So at last she consented; but she had no sooner loosed him, than he came up to her to eat her, for he had been so many days without food that he was quite ravenous, but the trees immediately cried out 'shame', and so he could not eat her. Then she went away as fast as she could, and the Lion found his way home.

When Lion got home he told his wife and children all that happened to him, and how Miss Nancy had saved his life, so they said they would have a great dinner, and ask Miss Nancy. Now when Ananzi heard of it, he wanted to go to the dinner, so he went to Miss Nancy, and said she must take him with her as her child, but she said 'No'. Then he said, I can turn myself into quite a little child, and then you can take me, and at last she said 'Yes'; and he told her, when she was asked what pap her baby ate, she must be sure to tell them it did not eat pap, but the same food as every one else; and so they went, and had a very good dinner, and set off home again—but somehow one of the lion's sons fancied that all was not right, and he told his father he was sure it was Ananzi, and the Lion set out after him.

Now as they were going along, before the Lion got up to them, Ananzi begged Miss Nancy to put him down, that he might run, which she did, and he got away and ran along the wood, and the Lion ran after him. When he found the Lion was overtaking him, he turned himself into an old man with a bundle of wood on his head—and when the Lion got up to him, he said, 'Good-morning, Mr Lion', and the Lion said 'Good- morning, old gentleman.'

Then the old man said, 'What are you after now? 'and the Lion asked if he had seen Ananzi pass that way, but the old man said 'No, that fellow Ananzi is always meddling with some one; what mischief has he been up to now?'

Then the Lion told him, but the old man said it was no use to follow him any more, for he would never catch him, and so the Lion wished him good day, and turned and went home again.



ANANZI AND QUANQUA

Quanqua was a very clever fellow, and he had a large house full of all sorts of meat. But you must know he had a way of saying Quan? qua? (how? what?) when any one asked him anything and so they called him 'Quanqua'. One day when he was out, he met Atoukama, Ananzi's wife, who was going along driving an ox, but the ox would not walk, so Atoukama asked Quanqua to help her; and they got on pretty well, till they came to a river, when the ox would not cross through the water. Then Atoukama called to Quanqua to drive the ox across, but all she could get out of him was, 'QUAN? QUA? Quan? qua?' At last she said, 'Oh! you stupid fellow, you're no good; stop here and mind the ox while I go and get help to drive him across.' So off she went to fetch Ananzi. As soon as Atoukama was gone away, Quanqua killed the ox, and hid it all away, where Ananzi should not see it; but first he cut off the tail, then he dug a hole near the river side and stuck the tail partly in, leaving out the tip. When he saw Ananzi coming, he caught hold of the tail, pretending to tug at it as if he were pulling the ox out of the hole. Ananzi seeing this, ran up as fast as he could, and tugging at the tail with all his might, fell over into the river, but he still had hold of the tail, and contrived to get across the water, when he called out to Quanqua, 'You idle fellow, you couldn't take care of the ox, so you shan't have a bit of the tail', and then on he went. When he was gone quite out of sight, Quanqua took the ox home, and made a very good dinner.

Next day he went to Ananzi's house, and said, Ananzi must give him some of the tail, for he had got plenty of yams, but he had no meat. Then they agreed to cook their pot together. Quanqua was to put in white yams, and Ananzi the tail, and red yams. When they came to put the yams in, Quanqua put in a great many white yams, but Ananzi only put in one little red cush-cush yam. Quanqua asked him if that little yam would be enough, he said, 'Oh! plenty', for I don't eat much.

When the pot boiled, they uncovered it, and sat down to eat their shares, but they couldn't find any white yams at all; the little red one had turned them all red. So Ananzi claimed them all, and Quanqua was glad to take what Ananzi would give him.

Now, when they had done eating, they said they would try which could bear heat best, so they heated two irons, and Ananzi was to try first on Quanqua, but he made so many attempts, that the iron got cold before he got near him; then it was Quanqua's turn, and he pulled the iron out of the fire, and poked it right down Ananzi's throat.

THE EAR OF CORN AND THE TWELVE MEN

[This tale is imperfect at the beginning.]

Ananzi said to the King, that if he would give him an ear of corn, he would bring him twelve strong men. The King gave him the ear of corn, and he went away. At last he got to a house, where he asked for a night's lodging which was given him; the next morning he got up very early, and threw the ear of corn out of the door to the fowls, and went back to bed. When he got up in the morning, he looked for his ear of corn, and could not find it anywhere, so he told them he was sure the fowls had eaten it, and he would not be satisfied unless they gave him the best cock they had. So they were obliged to give him the cock, and he went away with it, all day, until night, when he came to another house, and asked again for a night's lodging, which he got; but when they wanted to put the cock into the fowl-house, he said no, the cock must sleep in the pen with the sheep, so they put the cock with the sheep. At midnight he got up, killed the cock, threw it back into the pen, and went back to bed. Next morning when it was time for him to go away, his cock was dead, and he would not take anything for it but one of the best sheep, so they gave it to him, and he went off with it all that day, until night-fall, when he got to a village, where he again asked for a night's lodging, which was given to him, and when they wanted to put his sheep with the other sheep, he said, no, the sheep must sleep with the cattle; so they put the sheep with the cattle. In the middle of the night he got up and killed the sheep, and went back to bed. Next morning he went for his sheep, which was dead, so he told them they must give him the best heifer for his sheep, and if they would not do so, he would go back and tell the King, who would come and make war on them.

So to get rid of him, they were glad to give him the heifer, and let him go; and away he went, and walked nearly all day with the heifer. Towards evening he met a funeral, and asked whose it was? one of the men said, it was his sister, so he asked the men if they would let him have her; they said no, but after a while, he begged so hard, saying he would give them the heifer, that they consented, and he took the dead body and walked away, carrying it until it was dark, when he came to a large town, where he went to a house and begged hard for a night's lodging for himself and his sister, who was so tired he was obliged to carry her, and they would be thankful if they would let them rest there that night. So they let them in, and he asked them to let them sit in the dark, as his sister could not bear the light. So they took them into a room, and left them in the dark; and when they were alone, he seated himself on a bench near the table, and put his sister close by his side, with his arm round her to keep her up. Presently they brought them in some supper; one plate he set before his sister, and put her hand in it, and the other plate for himself, but he ate out of both plates. When it was time to go to bed, he asked if they would allow his sister to sleep in a room where there were twelve strong men sleeping, for she had fits, and if she had one in the night, they would be able to hold her, and would not disturb the rest of the house. So they agreed to this, and he carried her in his arms, because, he said she was so tired, she was asleep, and laid her in a bed; he charged the men not to disturb her, and went himself to sleep in the next room. In the middle of the night he heard the men calling out, for they smelt a horrid smell, and tried to wake the woman-first one man gave her a blow, and then another, until all the men had struck her, but Ananzi took no notice of the noise. In the morning when he went in for his sister and found her dead, he declared they had killed her, and that he must have the twelve men; to this the townsmen said no, not supposing that all the men had killed her, but the men confessed that they had each given her a blow-so he would not be satisfied with less than the twelve, and he carried them off to the King, and delivered them up.



THE KING AND THE ANT'S TREE

There was a King who had a very beautiful daughter, and he said, whoever would cut down an Ant's tree, which he had in his kingdom, without brushing off the ants, should marry his daughter. Now a great many came and tried, but no one could do it, for the ants fell out upon them and stung them, and they were forced to brush them off. There was always someone watching to see if they brushed the ants off.

Then Ananzi went, and the King's son was set to watch him. When they showed him the tree, he said, 'Why, that's nothing, I know I can do that.' So they gave him the axe, and he began to hew, but each blow he gave the tree, he shook himself and brushed himself, saying all the while, 'Did you see me do that? I suppose you think I'm brushing myself, but I am not.' And so he went, on until he had cut down the tree. But the boy thought he was only pretending to brush himself all the time, and the King was obliged to give him his daughter.



THE LITTLE CHILD AND THE PUMPKIN TREE

There was once a poor widow who had six children. One day when she was going out to look for something to eat, for she was very poor, she met an old man sitting by the river side. He said to her 'Good morning.'

And she answered, 'Good morning, father.'

He said to her, 'Will you wash my head?'

She said she would, so she washed it, and when she was going away, he gave her a 'stampee'[A small coin], and told her to go a certain distance, and she would see a large tree full of pumpkins; she was then to dig a hole at the root of the tree and bury the money, and when she had done so, she was to call for as many pumpkins as she liked, and she should have them.

So the woman went, and did as she was told, and she called for six pumpkins, one for each child, and six came down, and she carried them home; and now they always had pumpkins enough to eat, for whenever they wanted any, the woman had only to go to the tree and call, and they had as many as they liked. One morning when she got up, she found a little baby before the door, so she took it up and carried it in, and took care of it. Every day she went out, but in the morning she boiled enough pumpkins to serve the children all day. One day when she came back she found the food was all gone, so she scolded her children, and beat them for eating it all up. They told her they had not taken any—that it was the baby—but she would not believe them, and said, 'How could a little baby get up and help itself'; but the children still persisted it was the baby. So one day when she was going out, she put some pumpkin in a calabash, and set a trap over it. When she was gone the baby got up as usual to eat the food, and got its head fastened in the trap, so that it could not get out, and began knocking its head about and crying out, 'Oh! do loose me, for that woman will kill me when she comes back.' When the woman came in, she found the baby fastened in the trap, so she beat it well, and turned it out of doors, and begged her children's pardon for having wronged them.

Then after she turned the baby out, he changed into a great big man, and went to the river, where he saw the old man sitting by the river side, who asked him to wash his head, as he had asked the poor woman, but the man said:

'No, he would not wash his dirty head', and so he wished the old man 'good bye'.

Then the old man asked him if he would like to have a pumpkin, to which he said 'yes', and the old man told him to go on till he saw a large tree with plenty of pumpkins on it, and then he must ask for one. So he went on till he got to the tree, and the pumpkins looked so nice he could not be satisfied with one, so he called out, 'Ten pumpkins come down', and the ten pumpkins fell and crushed him.



THE BROTHER AND HIS SISTERS

There were once upon a time three sisters and a brother. The sisters were all proud, and one was very beautiful, and she did not like her little brother, 'because', she said, 'he was dirty'. Now, this beautiful sister was to be married, and the brother begged their mother not to let her marry, as he was sure the man would kill her, for he knew his house was full of bones. So the mother told her daughter, but she would not believe it, and said, 'she wouldn't listen to anything that such a dirty little scrub said', and so she was married.

Now, it was agreed that one sister was to remain with their mother and the other was to go with the bride, and so they set out on their way. When they got to the beach, the husband picked up a beautiful tortoise-shell comb, which he gave to his bride. Then they got into his boat and rowed away over the sea, and when they reached their home, they were so surprised to see their little brother, for the comb had turned into their brother. They were not at all glad to see him, and the husband thought to himself he would kill him without telling his wife. When night came the boy told the husband that at home his mother always put him to sleep in the blacksmith's shop, and so the husband said he should sleep in the smithy.

In the middle of the night the man got up, intending to kill them all, and went to his shop to get his irons ready, but the boy jumped up as soon as he went in, and he said, 'Boy, what is the matter with you?' So the boy said, when he was at home his mother always gave him two bags of gold to put his head on. Then the man said, he should have them, and went and fetched him two bags of gold, and told him to go to sleep.

But the boy said, 'Now mind, when you hear me snore I'm not asleep, but when I am not snoring, then I'm asleep.' Then the boy went to sleep and began to snore, and as long as the man heard the snoring, he blew his bellows; but as soon as the snoring stopped, the man took his irons out of the fire, and the boy jumped up.

Then the man said, 'Why, what's the matter? why, can't you sleep?'

The boy said 'No; for at home my mother always gave me four bags of money to lie upon.

Well, the man said he should have them, and brought him four bags of money. Then the boy told him again the same thing about his snoring and the man bade him go to sleep, and he began to snore, and the man to blow his bellows until the snoring stopped. Then the man took out his irons again, and the boy jumped up, and the man dropped the irons, saying, 'Why, what's the matter now that you can't sleep?'

The boy said, 'At home my mother always gave me two bushels of corn.'

So the man said he should have the corn, and went and brought it, and told him to go to sleep. Then the boy snored, and the man blew his bellows till the snoring stopped, when he again took out his irons, and the boy jumped up, and the man said, 'Why, what's it now?'

The boy said, 'At home my mother always goes to the river with a sieve to bring me some water.'

So the man said 'Very well, I will go, but I have a cock here, and before I go, I must speak to it.'

Then the man told the cock if he saw any one moving in the house, he must crow; that the cock promised to do, and the man set off.

Now when the boy thought the man was gone far away, he got up, and gave the cock some of the corn; then he woke up his sisters and showed them all the bones the man had in the house, and they were very frightened. Then he took the two bags of gold on his shoulders, and told his sisters to follow him. He took them to the bay, and put them into the boat with the bags of gold, and left them whilst he went back for the four bags of money. When he was leaving the house he emptied the bags of corn to the cock, who was so busy eating, he forget to crow, until they had got quite away.

When the man returned home and could not find them in the house, he went to the river, where he found his boat gone, and so he had no way of going after them. When they landed at their own place, the boy turned the boat over and stove it in, so that it was of no use any more; and he took his sisters home, and told their mother all that had happened, and his sisters loved him, and they lived very happily together ever afterwards, and do so still if they are not dead.



THE GIRL AND THE FISH

There was once a girl who used to go to the river to fetch water, but when she went she was never in a hurry to come back, but staid so long, that they made up their minds to watch her. So one day they followed her to the river, and found when she got there, she said something (the reciter forgets the words), and a fish came up and talked to her; and she did not like to leave it, for it was her sweetheart. So next day they went to the river to see if the fish would come up, for they remembered what the girl said and used the same words. Then up came the fish immediately, and they caught it, and took it home, and cooked it for dinner—and a part they set by, and gave to the girl when she came in. Whilst she was eating, a voice said, 'Do you know what you are eating? I am he you have so often talked with. If you look in the pig's tub, you will see my heart.' Then the voice told her to take the heart, and wrap it up in a handkerchief, and carry it to the river. When she got to the river she would see three stones in the water, she was to stand on the middle stone, and dip the handkerchief three times into the water. All this she did, and then she sank suddenly, and was carried down to a beautiful place, where she found her lover changed from a fish into his proper form, and there she lived happily with him for ever. And this is the reason why there are mermaids in the water.



THE LION, THE GOAT, AND THE BABOON

A Lion had a Goat for his wife. One day Goat went out to market, and while she was gone, Lion went out in the wood, where he met with Baboon, who made friends with Lion, for fear he would eat him, and asked him to go home with him; but the Lion thought it would be a good chance, so he asked the Baboon to go home with him and see his little ones. When they got home, the Baboon said to the Lion.

'Why, you have got plenty of little goats here.'

The Lion said, 'Yes, they are my children.'

So the Baboon said, 'If they are, they are little goats, and they are very good meat.'

So the Lion said, 'Don't make a noise; their mother will come presently, and we will see.'

So these little goats took no notice, but went out to meet their mother, and told her what had passed.

Their mother said to them, 'Go back, take no notice, and I shall come home presently, and shall do for him.'

So she went and bought some molasses, and took it home with her. The Lion said, 'Are you come; what news?'

'Oh!' she said, 'good news, taste here.' He tasted, and said, 'It's very good, it's honey.'

And she said, 'It's baboon's blood; they have been killing one to- day, the blood is running in the street, and every one is carrying it away.'

The Lion said, 'Hush, there's one in the house, and we shall have him.'

At this the Baboon rushed off, and when they looked for him, he was gone, and never came near them again, which saved the little goats' lives.



ANANZI AND BABOON

Ananzi and Baboon were disputing one day which was fattest. Ananzi said he was sure he was fat, but Baboon declared he was fatter. Then Ananzi proposed that they should prove it; so they made a fire, and agreed that they should hang up before it, and see which would drop most fat.

Then Baboon hung up Ananzi first, but no fat dropped.

Then Ananzi hung up Baboon, and very soon the fat began to drop, which smelt so good that Ananzi cut a slice out of Baboon, and said,

'Oh! brother Baboon, you're fat for true.'

But Baboon didn't speak.

So Ananzi said, 'Well, speak or not speak, I'll eat you every bit to- day', which he really did. But when he had eaten up all Baboon, the bits joined themselves together in his stomach, and began to pull him about so much that he had no rest, and was obliged to go to a doctor.

The doctor told him not to eat anything for some days, then he was to get a ripe banana, and hold it to his mouth; when the Baboon, who would be hungry, smelt the banana, he would be sure to run up to eat it, and so he would run out of his mouth.

So Ananzi starved himself, and got the banana, and did as the doctor told him; but when he put the banana to his mouth, he was so hungry he couldn't help eating it. So he didn't get rid of the Baboon, which went on pulling him about till he was obliged to go back to the doctor, who told him he would soon cure him; and he took the banana, and held it to Ananzi's mouth, and very soon the Baboon jumped up to catch it, and ran out of his mouth; and Ananzi was very glad to get rid of him. And Baboons to this very day like bananas.



THE MAN AND THE DOUKANA TREE

There was once a man and his wife, who were very poor, and they had a great many children. The man was very lazy, and would do nothing to help his family. The poor mother did all she could. In the wood close by grew a Doukana Tree, which was full of fruit. Every day the man went and ate some of the fruit, but never took any home, so he ate and he ate, until there were only two Doukanas left on the Tree. One he ate, and left the other. Next day, when he went for that one, he was obliged to climb up the tree to reach it; but when he got up, the Doukana fell down; when he got down the Doukana jumped up; and so it went on until he was quite tired.

Then he asked all the animals that passed by to help him, but they all made some excuse. They all had something to do. The horse had his work to do, or he would have no grass to eat. The donkey brayed. Last came a dog, and the man begged him hard to help him; so the dog said he would. Then the man climbed up the tree, and the Doukana jumped to the ground again, when the dog picked it up and ran off with it The man was very vexed, and ran after the dog, but it ran all the faster, so that the man could not overtake him. The dog, seeing the man after him, ran to the sea shore, and scratching a hole in the ground, buried himself all but his nose, which he left sticking out.

Soon after the man came up, and seeing the nose, cried out that he had 'never seen ground have nose'; and catching hold of it he tugged till he pulled out the dog, when he squeezed him with all his might to make him give up the Doukana. And that's why dogs are so small in their bodies to this very day.



NANCY FAIRY

There was once an old woman called 'Nancy Fairy'. She was a witch, and used to steal all the little babies as soon as they were born, and eat them. One day she stole a little baby, who was so beautiful that she had not the heart to eat her; but she took her home and brought her up. She called her 'daughter', named her 'Nancy Fairy', after herself, and the girl called the old woman 'Granny'.

So the girl grew up, and the more she grew the more beautiful she got.

The old woman never let her daughter know of her doings; but one day when she had brought a baby home, and had locked herself in a room, her daughter peeped through a chink to see what she was about, and the old woman saw her shadow, and thought her daughter had seen what she was doing, and the daughter thought her granny had seen her, and was very much afraid.

So the old woman asked her, 'Nancy Fairy, did you see what I was doing?'

'No, Granny.'

She asked the girl several times, 'Nancy Fairy, did you see what I was doing?' and the girl always said, 'No, Granny.'

So the old woman took her up to a hut in a wood, and left her there as a punishment; and she took her food every day.

One day it happened that the king's servant, going that way, saw the beautiful girl come out of the hut. Next day he went again and saw the same beautiful girl again. So he went home and told the prince that he could show him in the wood a girl more beautiful than he had ever seen. The prince went and saw the girl, and then sent a band of soldiers to fetch her home, and took her for his bride.

A year after she had a baby. Soldiers were set to keep guard at the gate, and the room was full of nurses; but in the middle of the night the old woman came in a whirlwind and put them all to sleep. She stole the child, and on going away gave the mother a slap on the mouth which made her dumb.

Next morning there was a great stir, and they said the mother had eaten the child. There was a trial, but the mother was let off that time.

Next year she had another baby, and the same thing happened again. The old woman came in the middle of the night in a whirlwind, and put them all to sleep. She stole the child, and struck the mother on the mouth, which made it bleed.

In the morning there was a stir; and the servant maid, who was jealous, said the mother had eaten the child. All believed it, as her mouth was covered with blood; and, besides, what would be expected of a girl brought out of the wood? So she was tried again, and condemned to be hanged.

Invitations were sent out to all the grand folk to come and see her hanged; so many fine carriages came driving up. At last, just before the time, there came a very grand carriage, all of gold, which glistened in the sun. In it were the old woman and two children, dressed in fine clothes, with the king's star on them. When the queen saw this grand carriage she got her speech and sung,

'Do spare me till I see that grand carriage.'

The old woman came into the courtyard, and asked the people if they saw any likeness to any one in the children. They said, 'they were like the prince', and asked her how she came by them, and told her she had stolen them. She said she had not stolen them; she had taken them, for they were her own; the prince had taken away her daughter without her leave, and so she had taken his children; but she was willing to give them back, if they would allow that she was right.

So they consented, and the old woman made the prince and his queen a present of the grand carriage, and so they lived happily. The old woman was allowed to come and see the children whenever she liked. But the servant girl, who said the queen had eaten her babies, was hanged.



'THE DANCING GANG'

A water carrier once went to the river to fetch water. She dipped in her calabash, and brought out a cray-fish. The cray-fish began beating his claws on the calabash, and played such a beautiful tune, that the girl began dancing, and could not stop.

The driver of the gang wondered why she did not come, and sent another to see after her. When she came, she too began to dance. So the driver sent another, who also began to dance when she heard the music and the cray-fish singing:

Vaitsi, Vaitsi, O sulli Van. Stay for us, stay for us, how long will you stay for us?

Then the driver sent another and another, till he had sent the whole gang.

At last he went himself, and when he found the whole gang dancing, he too began to dance; and they all danced till night, when the cray- fish went back into the water; and if they haven't done dancing, they are dancing still.



FOOTNOTES TO INTRODUCTION

[1]

How strange is the terror of Natural Science, which seems to possess, with a religious possession, so many good and pious people! How rigidly do they bind themselves hand and foot with the mere letter of the law, forgetting Him who came to teach us, that 'the letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life!' What are we to say of those who, when the old crust which clogs and hampers human knowledge is cracking and breaking all around them, when the shell is too narrow an abode for the life within it, which is preparing to cast it off, still cling to the crust and shell, looking, like the disciples by the sepulchre, at the linen clothes lying, and know not that He has risen in glory? These are they who obstinately refuse to believe in the 'Testimony of the Rocks', who deny Geology the thousands, nay millions, of years which she requires to make her deposits in Nature's great saving-bank. These are they for whom the Nile, as he brings down year by year his tribute to the sea from Central Africa, lays down in vain layer after layer of alluvial deposit, which can be measured to an inch for tens of thousands of years. These are they to whom the comparatively younger growth of trees, the dragon tree of Orotava, and the cedars of California, plead in vain when they show, year after year, ring on ring of wood for thousands of years. 'No; the world is only five or six thousands of years old, or thereabouts. The Old Testament'—the dates in which have been confessedly tampered with, and in some cases forged and fabricated by Hebrew scribes— 'says so. We believe in it—we will believe in nothing else, not even in our senses. We will believe literally in the first chapter of Genesis, in working days and nights of twenty-four hours, even before the sun and moon were made, on the fourth day, "to divide the day from the night", and to be "for signs and for seasons, and for days and years". We will not hear of ages or periods, but "days", because the "letter" says so'. This is what our Western Brahmins say; but if they remembered that He who set sun and moon also planted the eye and ear, that he gave sense, and speech, and mind; if they considered that faith is a lively thing, elastic and expansive; that it embraces a thousand or a million years as easily as a moment of time; that bonds cannot fetter it, nor distance darken and dismay it; that it is given to man to grow with his growth and strengthen with his strength; that it rises at doubts and difficulties, and surmounts them; they would cease to condemn all the world to wear their own strait-waistcoat, cut and sewn by rabbis and doctors some thousand years ago; a garment which the human intellect has altogether outgrown, which it is ridiculous to wear, which careless and impious men laugh at when it is seen in the streets; and might begin to see that spirit is spirit, and flesh is flesh; that while one lives for ever, the other is corruptible and passes away; that there are developments in faith as in every thing else; that as man's intellect and human knowledge have grown and expanded, so his faith must grow and expand too; that it really matters nothing at all, as an act of faith, whether the world is six thousand or six million years old; that it must have had a beginning; that there must be one great first cause, God. Surely there is no better way to bring His goodness into question, to throw doubt on His revelation, and to make it the laughing stock of the irreligious, than thus to clip the wings of faith, to throw her into a dungeon, to keep her from the light of day, to make her read through. Hebrew spectacles, and to force her to be a laggard and dullard, instead of a bright and volatile spirit, forward and foremost in the race of life.

[2]

But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest'— SHAKESPEARE, Dedication to Venus and Adonis.

[3]

As a specimen of their thoughtful turn of mind, even in the Vedas, at a time before the monstrous avatars of the Hindoo Pantheon were imagined, and when their system of philosophy, properly so called, had no existence, the following metrical translation of the 129th hymn of the 10th book of the Rig-Veda may be quoted, which Professor Mueller assures us is of a very early date:

Nor aught nor naught existed; yon bright sky Was not, nor Heaven's broad woof outstretched above. What covered all? what sheltered? what concealed? Was it the water's fathomless abyss? There was not death—yet was there nought immortal. There was no confine betwixt day and night; The only One breathed breathless by itself, Other than It there nothing since has been. Darkness there was, and all at first was veiled In gloom profound—an ocean without light— The germ that still lay covered in the husk Burst forth, one nature, from the fervent heat. Then first came love upon it, the new spring Of mind—yea, poets in their hearts discerned, Pondering, this bond between created things And uncreated. Comes this spark from earth, Piercing and all pervading, or from Heaven? Then seeds were sown, and mighty powers arose— Nature below, and power and will above— Who knows the secret? who proclaimed it here, Whence, whence this manifold creation sprang? The Gods themselves came later into being— Who knows from whence this great creation sprang? He from whom all this great creation came, Whether His will created or was mute, The Most High Seer that is in highest heaven, He knows it—or perchance even he knows not.

If we reflect that this hymn was composed centuries before the time of Hesiod, we shall be better able to appreciate the speculative character of the Indian mind in its earliest stage.

[4]

'A Brahmin, who had vowed a sacrifice, went to the market to buy a goat. Three thieves saw him, and wanted to get hold of the goat. They stationed themselves at intervals on the high road. When the Brahmin, who carried the goat on his back, approached the first thief, the thief said, "Brahmin, why do you carry a dog on your back?" The Brahmin replied: "It is not a dog, it is a goat." A little while after, he was accosted by the second thief, who said, "Brahmin, why do you carry a dog on your back?" The Brahmin felt perplexed, put the goat down, examined it, and walked on. Soon after he was stopped by the third thief, who said, "Brahmin, why do you carry a dog on your back?" Then the Brahmin was frightened, threw down the goat, and walked home to perform his ablutions for having touched an unclean animal. The thieves took the goat and ate it.' See the notice of the Norse Tales in The Saturday Review, January 15. In Max Mueller's translation of the Hitopadesa, the story has a different ending. See also Le Piacevoli Notti, di M. Giovan Francesco Straparola da Caravaggio (Venice, 1567), Notte Prima, Favola III: 'Pre Scarpacifico da tre malandrini una sol volta gabbato, tre fiate gabba loro, finalmente vittorioso con la sua Nina lietamente rimane'. In which tale the beginning is a parallel to the first part of 'The Master Thief', while the end answers exactly to the Norse tale added in this edition, and called Big Peter and Little Peter'.

[5]

The following are translations from Saxo, the Wilkina Saga, and the Malleus Maleficarum. The question is completely set at rest by Grimm, D. M. p. 353 fol. and p. 1214.

'Nor is the following story to be wrapped in silence. A certain Palnatoki, for some time among King Harold's bodyguard, had made his bravery odious to very many of his fellow-soldiers by the zeal with which he surpassed them in the discharge of his duty. This man once, when talking tipsily over his cups, had boasted that he was so skilled an archer, that he could hit the smallest apple placed a long way off on a wand at the first shot; which talk, caught up at first by the ears of backbiters, soon came to the hearing of the king. Now, mark how the wickedness of the king turned the confidence of the sire to the peril of the son, by commanding that this dearest pledge of his life should be placed instead of the wand, with a threat that, unless the author of this promise could strike off the apple at the first flight of the arrow, he should pay the penalty of his empty boasting by the loss of his head. The king's command forced the soldier to perform more than he had promised, and what he had said, reported by the tongues of slanderers, bound him to accomplish what he had not said'...'Nor did his sterling courage, though caught in the snare of slander, suffer him to lay aside his firmness of heart; nay, he accepted the trial the more readily because it was hard. So Palnatoki warned the boy urgently when he took his stand to await the coming of the hurtling arrow with calm ears and unbent head, lest by a slight turn of his body he should defeat the practised skill of the bowman; and, taking further counsel to prevent his fear, he turned away his face lest he should be scared at the sight of the weapon. Then taking three arrows from the quiver, he struck the mark given him with the first he fitted to the string. But, if chance had brought the head of the boy before the shaft, no doubt the penalty of the son would have recoiled to the peril of the father, and the swerving of the shaft that struck the boy would have linked them both in common ruin. I am in doubt, then, whether to admire most the courage of the father or the temper of the son, of whom the one by skill in his art avoided being the slayer of his child, while the other by patience of mind and quietness of body saved himself alive, and spared the natural affection of his father. Nay, the youthful frame strengthened the aged heart, and showed as much courage in awaiting the arrow as the father, skill in launching it. But Palnatoki, when asked by the king why he had taken more arrows from the quiver, when it had been settled that he should only try the fortune of the bow once, made answer "That I might avenge on thee the swerving of the first by the points of the rest, lest perchance my innocence might have been punished, while your violence escaped scot-free"'.—Saxo Gram., Book X, (p. 166, ed. Frankf.)

'About that time the young Egill, Wayland's brother, came to the court of King Nidung, because Wayland (Smith) had sent him word. Egill was the fairest of men and one thing he had before all other men—he shot better with the bow than any other man. The king took to him well, and Egill was there a long time. Now, the king wished to try whether Egill shot so well as was said or not, so he let Egill's son, a boy of three years old, be taken, and made them put an apple on his head, and bade Egill shoot so that the shaft struck neither above the head nor to the left nor to the right; the apple only was he to split. But it was not forbidden him to shoot the boy, for the king thought it certain that he would do that on no account if he could at all help it. And he was to shoot one arrow only, no more. So Egill takes three, and strokes their feathers smooth, and fits one to his string, and shoots and hits the apple in the middle, so that the arrow took along with it half the apple, and then fell to the ground. This master-shot has long been talked about, and the king made much of him, and he was the most famous of men. Now, King Nidung asked Egill why he took out three arrows, when it was settled that one only was to be shot with. Then Egill answered "Lord", said he, "I will not lie to you; had I stricken the lad with that one arrow, then I had meant these two for you." But the king took that well from him, and all thought it was boldly spoken'.—Wilkina Saga, ch. 27 (ed. Pering).

'It is related of him (Puncher) that a certain lord, who wished to obtain a sure trial of his skill, set up his little son as a butt, and for a mark a shilling on the boy's cap, commanding him to carry off the shilling without the cap with his arrow. But when the wizard said he could do it, though he would rather abstain, lest the Devil should decoy him to destruction; still, being led on by the words of the chief, he thrust one arrow through his collar, and, fitting the other to his crossbow, struck off the coin from the boy's cap without doing him any harm; seeing which, when the lord asked the wizard why he had placed the arrow in his collar? he answered "If by the Devil's deceit I had slain the boy, when I needs must die, I would have transfixed you suddenly with the other arrow, that even so I might have avenged my death."'—Malleus Malef., p. ii, ch. 16.

[6]

See Pantcha-Tantra, v. ii of Wilson's Analysis, quoted by Loiseleur Deslongchamps, Essai sur les Fables Indiennes (Paris, Techener, 1838, p. 54), where the animal that protects the child is a mangouste (Viverra Mungo). See also Hitopadesa, (Max Mueller's Translation, Leipzig, Brockhaus, p. 178) where the guardian is an otter. In both the foe is a snake. [7]

The account in the Nibelungen respecting the Tarnhut is confused, and the text probably corrupt; but so much is plain, that Siegfried got it from Elberich in the struggle which ensued with Schilbung and Niblung, after he had shared the Hoard.

[8]

Thus we find it in the originals or the parallels of Grendel in Beowulf, of Rumpelstiltskin, of the recovery of the Bride by the ring dropped into the cup, as related in 'Soria Moria Castle,' and other tales; of the 'wishing ram', which in the Indian story becomes a 'wishing cow', and thus reminds us of the bull in one of these Norse Tales, out of whose ear came a 'wishing cloth'; of the lucky child, who finds a purse of gold under his pillow every morning; and of the red lappet sown on the sleeping lover, as on Siegfried in the Nibelungen. The devices of Upakosa, the faithful wife, remind us at once of 'the Master-maid', and the whole of the stories of Saktideva and the Golden City, and of Viduschaka, King Adityasena's daughter, are the same in groundwork and in many of their incidents as 'East o' the Sun, and West o' the Moon', 'the Three Princesses of Whiteland', and 'Soria Moria Castle'.

[9]

Koelle, Kanuri Proverbs and Fables (London Church Missionary House, 1854), a book of great philological interest, and one which reflects great credit on the religious society by which it was published.

[10]

Notte Duodecima. Favola terza. 'Pederigo da Pozzuolo che intendeva il linguaggio de gli animali, astretto dalla moglie dirle un segreto, quella stranamente batte.'

[11]

The story of the Two Brothers Anesou and Satou, from the D'Orbiney Papyrus, by De Ronge, Paris, 1852.

[12]

See the Ananzi Stories in the Appendix, which have been taken down from the mouth of a West Indian nurse.

[13]

See Anecd. and Trad., Camd. Soc. 1839, pp. 92 fol. See also the passages from Anglo-Saxon laws against 'well-waking', which Grimm has collected: D. M., p. 550.

[14]

One of Odin's names, when on these adventures, was Gangradr, or Gangleri. Both mean 'the Ganger, or way-farer'. We have the latter epithet in the 'Gangrel carle', and 'Gangrel loon', of the early Scotch ballads.

[15]

So also Orion's Belt was called by the Norsemen, Frigga's spindle or rock, Friggjar rock. In modern Swedish, Friggerock, where the old goddess holds her own; but in Danish, Mariaerock, Our Lady's rock or spindle. Thus, too, Karlavagn, the 'car of men', or heroes, who rode with Odin, which we call 'Charles' Wain', thus keeping something, at least, of the old name, though none of its meaning, became in Scotland 'Peter's-pleugh', from the Christian saint, just as Orion's sword became 'Peter's-staff'. But what do 'Lady Landers' and 'Lady Ellison' mean, as applied to the 'Lady-Bird' in Scotland?

[16]

Here are a few of these passages which might be much extended: Burchard of Worms, p. 194, a. 'credidisti ut aliqua femina sit quae hoc facere possit quod quaedam a diabolo deceptae se affirmant necessario et ex praecepto facere debere; id est cum daemonum turba in similitudinem mulierum transformata, quam vulgaris stultitia Holdam vocat, certis noctibus equitare debere super quasdam bestias, et in eorum se consortio annumeratam esse.'

'Illud etiam non omittendum, quod quasdam sceleratae mulieres retro post Sathanam conversae, daemonum illusionibus et phantasmatibus seductae credunt se et profitentur nocturnis horis cum Diana paganorum dea, vel cum Herodiade et innumera multitudine mulierum equitare super quasdam bestias, et multa terrarum spatia intempestae noctis silentio pertransire, ejusque jussionibus velut Dominae obedire et certis noctibus ad ejus servitium evocari.' —Burchard of Worms, 10, I.

'Quale est, quod noctilucam quandam, vel Herodiadem, vel praesidem noctis Dominam concilia et conventus de nocte asserunt convocare, varia celebrari convivia, etc.'—Joh. Sarisberiensis Polycrat. 2, 17 (died 1182).

'Herodiam illam baptistae Christi interfectricem, quasi reginam, immo deam proponant, asserentes tertiam totius mundi partem illi traditam.'—Rather. Cambrens. (died 974).

'Sic et daemon qui praetextu mulieris cum aliis de nocte, domos et cellaria dicitur frequentare, et vocant eam Satiam a satietate, et Dominam Abundiam pro abundantia, quam eam praestare dicunt domibus quas frequentaverit; hujusmodi etiam daemones quas dominas vocant, vetulae penes quas error iste remansit et a quibus solis creditur et somniatur.'—Guilielmus Alvernus, 1, 1036 (died 1248).

So also the Roman de la Rose (Meon line 18, 622.)

Qui les cinc sens ainsinc decoit Par les fantosmes, qu'il recoit,

Don maintes gens par lor folie Cuident estre par nuit estries, Errans aveques Dame Habonde: Et dient, que par tout le monde Li tiers enfant de nacion Sunt de ceste condicion.

And again, line 18,686:

Dautre part, que li tiers du monde Aille ainsinc eavec Dame Habonde.

[17]

See the derivation of pagan from paganus, one who lived in the country, as opposed to urbanus, a townsman.

[18]

Keisersberg Omeiss, 46 b., quoted by Grimm, D.M. pp. 991, says:

Wen man em man verbrent, so brent man wol zehen frauen.

[19]

See the passage from Vincent, Bellov. Spec. Mor., iii, 2, 27, quoted in Grimm, D. M. pp. 1,012-3.

[20]

The following passage from The Fortalice of Faith of Alphonso Spina, written about the year 1458, will suffice to show how disgustingly the Devil, in the form of a goat, had supplanted the 'Good Lady': Quia nimium abundant tales perversae mulieres ine Delphinatu et Guasconia, ubi se asserunt concurrere de nocte in quadam planitie deserta ubi est caper quidam in rupe, qui vulgariter dicitur el boch de Biterne et clued ibi conveniunt cum candelis accensis et adorant illum caprum osculpntes eum in ano suo. Ideo captae plures earum, ab inquisitoribus fidei et convictae comburuntur.'

About the same time, too, began to spread the notion of formal written agreements between the Fiend and men who were to be his after a certain time, during which he was to help them to all earthly goods. This, too, came with Christianity from the East. The first instance was Theophilus, vicedominus of the Bishop of Adana, whose fall and conversion form the original of all the Faust Legends. See Grimm, D. M. 969, and 'Theophilus in Icelandic, Low German, and other tongues, by G. W. Dasent, Stockholm, 1845.' There a complete account of the literature of the legend may be found. In almost all these early cases the Fiend is outwitted by the help of the Virgin or some other saint, and in this way the reader is reminded of the Norse Devil, the successor of the Giants, who always makes bad bargains. When the story was applied to Faust in the sixteenth century, the terrible Middle Age Devil was paramount, and knew how to exact his due.

[21]

How strangely full of common sense sounds the following article from the Capitularies of Charlemagne, De part. Sax., 5:

Si quis a diabolo deceptus crediderit secundum morem. Paganorum, virum aliquem aut faeminam strigam esse et homines comedere, et propter hoc ipsum incenderit, vel carnem eius ad comedendum dederit, capitis sententia punietur.' And this of Rotharius, Lex. Roth., 379: 'Nullus praesumat aldiam alienam aut ancillam quasi strigam occidere, quod Christianis mentibus nullatenus est credendum nec possible est, ut hominem mulier vivum intrinsecus possit comedere.'

Here the law warns the common people from believing in witches, and from taking its functions into their own hands, and reasons with them against the absurdity of such delusions. So, too, that reasonable parish priest who thrashed the witch, though earlier in time, was far in advance of Gregory and his inquisitors, and even of our wise King James.

[22]

The following is the title of this strange tract, Newes from Scotland, declaring the damnable life of Doctor Fian, a notable Sorcerer, who was burned at Edenbrough, in Januarie last 1591, which Doctor was register to the devil, that sundrie times preached at North Baricke Kirke to a number of notorious Witches. With the true examinations of the said Doctor and witches, as they uttered them in the presence of the Scottish king. Discovering how they pretended to bewitch and drowne his Majestic in the sea, comming from Denmarke, with such other wonderfull matters as the like, hath not bin heard at anie time. Published according to the Scottish copie. Printed for William Wright. It was reprinted in 1816 for the Roxburghe Club by Mr H. Freeling, and is very scarce even in the reprint, which, all things considered, is perhaps just as well.

[23]

The following specimens of the tortures and confessions may suffice; but most of the crimes and confessions are unutterable. One Geillis Duncane was tortured by her master, David Seaton, dwelling within the town of Tranent, who, 'with the help of others, did torment her with the torture of the Pilliwinkes (thumbscrews), upon her fingers, and binding and wrinching her head with a cord or roape, which is a most cruel torment also.' So also Agnes Sampson, 'the eldest witch of them all, dwelling in Haddington, being brought to Haleriud House before the kinge's majestie and sundry other of the nobilitie of Scotland, had her head thrawne with a rope according to the custom of that countrie, beeing a payne most greevous.' After the Devil's mark is found on her she confesses that she went to sea with two hundred others in sieves to the kirk of North Berwick in East Lothian, and after they had landed they 'took handes on the lande and daunted, this reill or short daunce, saying all with one voice:

Commer goe ye before, Commer goe ye, Gif ye will not goe before, Commer let me.

'At which time she confessed that this Geillis Duncane did goe before them playing this reill or daunce upon a small trumpe called a Jew's trump, until they entered into the kirk of North Barrick.' 'As touching the aforesaid Doctor Fian', he 'was taken and imprisoned, and used with the accustomed paine provided for these offences, inflicted upon the rest, as is aforesaid. First by thrawing of his head with a rope, whereat he would confesse nothing! Secondly, he was persuaded by faire means to confesse his follies, but that would prevaile as little. Lastly, he was put to the most severe and cruell paine in the world, called the Bootes, who, after he had received three strokes, being inquired if he would confesse his damnable actes and wicked life, his toong would not serve him to spaake.' This inability, produced no doubt by pain, the other witches explain by saying that the Devil's mark had not been found, which, being found, 'the charm' was 'stinted', and the Doctor, in dread probably of a fourth stroke, confessed unutterably shameful things. Having escaped from prison, of course by the aid of the Devil, he was pursued, and brought back and re-examined before the king. 'But this Doctor, notwithstanding that his own confession appeareth remaining in recorde, under his owne handewriting, and the same thereunto fixed in the presence of the King's majestie and sundrie of his councell, yet did he utterly deny the same, whereupon the King's majestie, perceiving his stubborne wilfulness...he was commanded to have a most strange torment, which was done in this manner following: His nailes upon all his fingers were riven and pulled off with an instrument called in Scottish a Turkas, which in England wee call a payre of pincars, and under everie nayle there was thrust in two needels over even up to the heads. At all which torments, notwithstanding the Doctor never shronke anie whit; neither would he then confesse it the sooner for all the tortures inflicted upon him.

'Then was he with all convenient speed, by commandement convaied againe to the torment of the Bootes, wherein hee continued a long time, and did abide so many blowes in them, that his legges were crusht and beaten together as small as might bee, and the bones and flesh so brused that the blond and marrow spouted forth in great abundance, wherby they were made unserviceable for ever. And notwithstanding all these grievous panes and cruel torments, he would not confesse aniething, so deepely had the Devil entered into his heart, that hee utterly denied all that which he had before avouched, and would saie nothing thereunto but this, that what he had done and sayde before, was onely done and saide for fear of paynes which he had endured.' Thereupon as 'a due execution of justice' 'and 'for example sake', he was tried, sentenced, put into a cart, strangled and immediately put into a great fire, being readie provided for that purpose, and there burned in the Castle Hill of Edenbrough on a saterdaie, in the ende of Januaire last past, 1591.' The tract ends significantly: 'The rest of the witches which are not yet executed remayne in prison till further triall and knowledge of his majestie's pleasure.'

[24]

Ecl., viii, 97:

His ego saepe lupum fieri et se condere silvis Maerin—vidi.

[25]

See Grimm's D.M., 1,047 fol.; and for this translation from Petronius, a very interesting letter prefixed to Madden's Ed. of the old English Romance of William and the Werewolf, 1832, one of the Roxburghe Club Publications. This letter, which was by the hand of Mr Herbert of Petworth, contains all that was known on this subject before Grimm; but when Grimm came he was, compared with all who had treated the subject, as a sober man amongst drunkards.

[26]

Bisclavaret in the Lais of Marie de France, 1, 178 seems to be a corruption of Bleizgarou, as the Norman garwal is of garwolf. See also Jamieson Dict., under warwolf.

[27]

Troldham, at kaste ham paa. Comp. the old Norse hamr, hamfoer, hammadr, hamrammr, which occur repeatedly in the same sense.

[28]

Comp. Vict. Hugo, Notre-Dame de Paris, where he tells us that the gipsies called the wolf piedgris. See also Grimm, D. M., 633 and Reinhart, lv, ccvii, and 446.

[29]

Thus from the earliest times 'dog', 'hound', has been a term of reproach. Great instances of fidelity, such as 'Gellert' or the 'Dog of Montargis', both of which are Eastern and primeval, have scarcely redeemed the cringing currish nature of the race in general from disgrace. M. Francisque Michel, in his Histoire des Races Maudites de da France et de l'Espagne, thinks it probable that Cagot, the nickname by which the heretical Goths who fled into Aquitaine in the time of Charles Martel, and received protection from that king and his successors, were called by the Franks, was derived from the term Canis Gothicus or Canes Gothi. In modern French the word means hypocrite, and this would come from the notion of the outward conformity to the Catholic formularies imposed on the Arian Goths by their orthodox protectors. Etymologically, the derivation is good enough, according to Diez, Romanisches Woerterbuch; Provencal ca, dog; Get, Gothic. Before quitting Cagot, we may observe that the derivation of bigot, our bigot, another word of the same kind, is not so clear. Michel says it comes from Vizigothus, Bizigothus. Diez says this is too far-fetched, especially as 'Bigot', 'Bigod', was a term applied to the Normans, and not to the population of the South of France. There is, besides another derivation given by Ducange from a Latin chronicle of the twelfth century. In speaking of the homage done by Rollo, the first Duke of Normandy, to the King of France, he says:

Hic non dignatus pedem Caroli osculari nisi ad os suum levaret, cumque sui comites illum admonerent ut pedem Regis in acceptione tanti muneris, Neustriae provinciae, oscularetur, Anglica lingua respondit 'ne se bi got', quod interpretatur 'ne per deum'. Rex vero et sui illum deridentes, et sermonem ejus corrupte referentes, illum vocaverunt Bigottum; unde Normanni adhuc Bigothi vocantur.

Wace, too, says, in the Roman de Rou, that the French had abused the Normans in many ways, calling them Bigos. It is also termed, in a French record of the year 1429, 'un mot tres injurieux'. Diez says it was not used in its present sense before the sixteenth century.

[30]

The most common word for a giant in the Eddas was Joetunn (A. S. coten), which, strange to say, survives in the Scotch Etin. In one or two places the word ogre has been used, which is properly a Romance word, and comes from the French ogre, Ital. orco, Lat. orcus. Here, too, we have an old Roman god of the nether world degraded.

[31]

These paroxysms were called in Old Norse Joetunmodr, the Etin mood, as opposed to Asmodr, the mood of the Aesir, that diviner wrath which, though burning hot, was still under the control of reason.

[32]

It may be worth while here to shew how old and widespread this custom or notion of the 'naked sword' was. In the North, besides being told of Sigurd and Brynhildr, we hear it of Hrolf and Ingigerd, who took rest at night in a hut of leaves in the wood, and lay together, 'but laid a naked sword between them'. So also Saxo Grammaticus says of King Gorm, 'Caeterum ne inconcessum virginis amorem libidinoso complexu praeripere videretur, vicina latera non solum alterius complexibus exult, sed etiam districto mucrone secrevit. Lib. 9, p.179. So also Tristan and Isolt in Gottfried of Strasburg's poem, line 17,407-17.

Hierue ber vant Tristan einen sin, Si giengen an ir bette wider, Und leiten sich da wider nider, Von einander wol pin dan, Reht als man and man, Niht als man and wip; Da lac lip and lip, In fremder gelegenheit, Ouch hat Tristan geleit Sin swert bar enzwischen si.

And the old French Tristan in the same way:

Et qant il vit la nue espee Qui entre eus deus les deseurout.

So the old English Tristrem, line 2,002-3:

His sword he drough titly And laid it hem bitvene.

And the old German ballad in Des Knaben Wunderhorn, 2, 276:

Der Herzog zog aus sein goldiges schwert, Er leit es zwischen beide hert Das schwert soll weder hauen noch schneiden, Das Annelein soll ein megedli bleiben.

So Fonzo and Fenizia in the Pentamerone, I, 9:

Ma segnenno havere fatto vuto a Diana, de non toccare la mogliere la notte, mese la spata arranata comme staccione 'miezo ad isso ed a Fenizia.

And in Grimm's story of 'The Two Brothers' where the second brother lays 'a double-edged sword' at night between himself and his brother's wife, who has mistaken him for his twin brother. In fact the custom as William Wackernagel has shewn in Haupt's Zeitschrift fuer Deutsches Alterthum was one recognized by the law; and so late as 1477, when Lewis, County Palatine of Veldenz represented Maximilian of Austria as his proxy at the betrothal of Mary of Burgundy, he got into the bed of state, booted and spurred, and laid a naked sword between him and the bride. Comp. Birkens Ehrenspiegel, p. 885. See also as a proof that the custom was known in England as late as the seventeenth century, The Jovial Crew, a comedy first acted in 1641, and quoted by Sir W. Scott in his Tristrem, p. 345, where it is said (Act V, sc. 2): 'He told him that he would be his proxy, and marry her for him, and lie with her the first night with a naked cudgel betwixt them.' And see for the whole subject, J. Grimm's Deutsche Rechts-Alterthuemer, Goettingen, 1828, p. 168-70.

[33]

M. Moe, Introd. Norsk. Event (Christiania, 1851, 2d Ed.), to which the writer is largely indebted.

[34]

Footnote: The following list, which only selects the more prominent collections, will suffice to show that Popular Tales have a literature of their own:—Sanscrit. The Pantcha Tantra, 'The Five Books', a collection of fables of which only extracts have as yet been published, but of which Professor Wilson has given an analysis in the Transactions of the Asiatic Society, vol. I, sect. 2. The Hitopadesa, or 'Wholesome Instruction', a selection of tales and fables from the Pantcha Tantra, first edited by Carey at Serampore in 1804; again by Hamilton in London in 1810; again in Germany by A. W. von Schlegel in 1829, an edition which was followed in 1831 by a critical commentary by Lassen; and again in 1830 at Calcutta with a Bengali and English translation. The work had been translated into English by Wilkins so early as 1787, when it was published in London, and again by Sir William Jones, whose rendering, which is not so good as that by Wilkins, appeared after his death in the collected edition of his works. Into German it has been translated in a masterly way by Max Mueller, Leipzig, Brockhaus, 1844. Versions of these Sanscrit collections, the date of the latter of which is ascribed to the end of the second century of the Christian era, varying in many respects, but all possessing sufficient resemblance to identify them with their Sanscrit originals, are found in almost every Indian dialect, and in Zend, Arabic, Persian, Hebrew, Greek and Turkish. We are happy to be able to state here that the eminent Sanscrit scholar, Professor Benfey of Goettingen, is now publishing a German translation of the Pantcha Tantra, which will be accompanied by translations of numerous compositions of the same kind, drawn from unpublished Sanscrit works, and from the legends current amongst the Mongolian tribes. The work will be preceded by an introduction embracing the whole question of the origin and diffusion of fables and popular tales. The following will be the title of Prof. Benfey's work: 'Pantcha Tantra. Erster Theil, Fuenf Buecher Indischer Fabeln, Maerchen, and Erzaehlungen. Aus dem Sanskrit uebersetzt, mit Anmerkungen and Einleitung ueber das Indische Grundwerk und dessen Ausfluesse, so wie ueber die Quellen und Verbreitung des Inhalts derselben. Zweiter Theil, Uebersetzungen und Anmerkungen.' Most interesting of all for our purpose is the collection of Sanscrit Tales, collected in the twelfth century of our era, by Somadeva Bhatta of Cashmere. This has been published in Sanscrit, and translated into German by Hermann Brockhaus, and the nature of its contents has already been sufficiently indicated. We may add, however, that Somadeva's collection exhibits the Hindoo mind in the twelfth century in a condition, as regards popular tales, which the mind of Europe has not yet reached. How old these stories and fables must have been in the East, we see both from the Pantcha Tantra and the Hitopadesa, which are strictly didactic works, and only employ tales and fables to illustrate and inculcate a moral lesson. We in the West have got beyond fables and apologues, but we are only now collecting our popular tales. In Somadeva's time the simple tale no longer sufficed; it had to be fitted into and arranged with others, with an art and dexterity which is really marvellous; and so cleverly is this done, that it requires a mind of no little cultivation, and a head of more than ordinary clearness, to carry without confusion all the wheels within wheels, and fables within fables, which spring out of the original story as it proceeds. In other respects the popular tale loses in simplicity what it gains in intricacy by this artificial arrangement; and it is evident that in the twelfth century the Hindoo tales had been long since collected out of the mouths of the people, and reduced to writing; in a word, that the popular element had disappeared, and that they had passed into the written literature of the race. We may take this opportunity, too, to mention that a most curious collection of tales and fables, translated from Sanscrit, has recently been discovered in Chinese. They are on the eve of publication by M. Stanislas Julien, the first of Chinese scholars; and from the information on the matter which Professor Max Mueller has kindly furnished to the translator, it appears that they passed with Buddhism from India into China. The work from which M. Julien has taken these fables, which are all the more precious because the Sanscrit originals have in all probability perished,—is called Yu-lin, or 'The Forest of Comparisons'. It was the work of Youen-thai, a great Chinese scholar, who was President of the Ministry of justice at Pekin in the year 1565 of our era. He collected in twenty-four volumes, after the labour of twenty years, during which he read upwards of four hundred works, all the fables and comparisons he could find in ancient books. Of those works, two hundred were translations from the Sanscrit made by Buddhist monks, and it is from eleven of these that M. Julien has translated his Chinese Fables. We need hardly say that this work is most anxiously expected by all who take an interest in such matters. Let it be allowed to add here, that it was through no want of respect towards the memory of M. de Sacy that the translator has given so much prominence to the views and labours of the Brothers Grimm in this Introduction.

To M. de Sacy belongs all the merit of exploring what may be called the old written world of fable. He, and Warton, and Dunlop, and Price, too, did the day's work of Giants, in tracing out and classifying those tales and fables which had passed into the literature of the Aryan race. But, besides this old region, there is another new hemisphere of fiction which lies in the mouths and in the minds of the people. This new world of fable the Grimms discovered, and to them belongs the glory of having brought all its fruits and flowers to the light of day. This is why their names must ever be foremost in a work on Popular Tales, shining, as their names must ever shine, a bright double star in that new hemisphere. In more modern times, the earliest collection of popular tales is to be found in the Piacevoli Notte of John Francis Straparola of Caravaggio, near Milan, the first edition of which appeared at Venice in 1550. The book, which is shamefully indecent, even for that age, and which at last, in 1606, was placed in the Index Expurgatorius, contains stories from all sources, and amongst them nineteen genuine popular tales, which are not disfigured by the filth with which the rest of the volume is full. Straparola's work has been twice translated into German, once at Vienna, 1791, and again by Schmidt in a more complete form, Maerchen-Saal, Berlin, 1817. But a much more interesting Italian collection appeared at Naples in the next century. This was the Pentamerone of Giambattista Basile, who wrote in the Neapolitan dialect, and whose book appeared in 1637. This collection contains forty-eight tales, and is in tone, and keeping, and diction, one of the best that has ever appeared in any language. It has been repeatedly reprinted at Naples. It has been translated into German, and a portion of it, a year or two back, by Mr. Taylor, into English. In France the first collection of this kind was made by Charles Perrault, who, in 1697, published eight tales, under a title taken from an old Fabliau, Contes de ma mere L'Oye, whence comes our 'Mother Goose'. To these eight, three more tales were added in later editions. Perrault was shortly followed by Madame D'Aulnoy (born in 1650, died 1705), whose manner of treating her tales is far less true to nature than Perrault's, and who inserts at will, verses, alterations, additions, and moral reflections. Her style is sentimental and over-refined; the courtly airs of the age of Louis XIV predominate, and nature suffers by the change from the cottage to the palace. Madame d'Aulnoy was followed by a host of imitators; the Countess Muerat, who died in 1710; Countess d'Auneuil, who died in 1700; M. de Preschac, born 1676, who composed tales of utter worthlessness, which may be read as examples of what popular tales are not, in the collection called Le Cabinet des Fees, which was published in Paris in 1785. Not much better are the attempts of Count Hamilton, who died in 1720; of M. de Moncrif, who died in 1770; of Mademoiselle de la Force, died 1724; of Mademoiselle l'Heritier died 1737; of Count Caylus, who wrote his Feeries Nouvelles in the first half of the 18th century, for the popular element fails almost entirely in their works. Such as they are, they may also be read in the Cabinet des Fees, a collection which ran to no fewer than forty-one volumes, and with which no lover of popular tradition need trouble himself much. To the playwright and the story- teller it has been a great repository, which has supplied the lack of original invention. In Germany we need trouble ourselves with none of the collections before the time of the Grimms, except to say that they are nearly worthless. In 1812-14 the two brothers, Jacob and William, brought out the first edition of their Kinder-und Haus- Maerchen, which was followed by a second and more complete one in 1822: 3 vols., Berlin, Reimer. The two first volumes have been repeatedly republished, but few readers in England are aware of the existence of the third, a third edition of which appeared in 1856 at Goettingen, which contains the literature of these traditions, and is a monument of the care and pains with which the brothers, or rather William, for it is his work, even so far back as 1820, had traced out parallel traditions in other tribes and lands. This work formed an era in popular literature, and has been adopted as a model by all true collectors ever since. It proceeded on the principle of faithfully collecting these traditions from the mouths of the people, without adding one jot or tittle, or in any way interfering with them, except to select this or that variation as most apt or beautiful. To the adoption of this principle we owe the excellent Swedish collection of George Stephens and Hylten Cavallius, Svenska Folk-Sagor og Aefventyr, 2 vols. Stockholm 1844, and following years; and also this beautiful Norse one, to which Jacob Grimm awards the palm over all collections, except perhaps the Scottish, of MM. Asbjoernsen and Moe. To it also we owe many most excellent collections in Germany, over nearly the whole of which an active band of the Grimm's pupils have gone gathering up as gleaners the ears which their great masters had let fall or let lie. In Denmark the collection of M. Winther, Danske Folkeeventyr, Copenhagen, 1823, is a praiseworthy attempt in the same direction; nor does it at all detract from the merit of H. C. Andersen as an original writer, to observe how often his creative mind has fastened on one of these national stories, and worked out of that piece of native rock a finished work of art. Though last not least, are to be reckoned the Scottish stories collected by Mr. Robert Chambers, of the merit of which we have already expressed our opinion in the text.

[35]

After all, there is, it seems, a Scottish word which answers to Askepot to a hair. See Jamieson's Dictionary, where the reader will find Ashiepattle as used in Shetland for a 'neglected child'; and not in Shetland alone, but in Ayrshire, Ashypet, an adjective, or rather a substantive degraded to do the dirty work of an adjective, 'one employed in the lowest kitchen work'. See too the quotation, 'when I reached Mrs. Damask's house she was gone to bed, and nobody to let me in, dripping wet as I was, but an ashypet lassy, that helps her for a servant.'—Steamboat, p. 259. So again Assiepet, substantive 'a dirty little creature, one that is constantly soiled with ass or ashes'.

[36]

The Sagas contain many instances of Norsemen who sat thus idly over the fire, and were thence called Kolbitr, coalbiters, but who afterwards became mighty men.

THE END