So it was done, and an hour before sunrise the woman was up, loading the donkey with the best of her stores—ham, macaroni, flour, cheese, and wine. All this she committed to the pilgrim, saying, "You'll send the donkey back, won't you?" "Of course I would send him back," he replied; "he'd be of no use to me out there. But I shan't get out again myself for another hundred years or so, and I fear he won't find his way back alone, for it's no easy way to find." "To be sure not; I ought to have thought of that," replied the widow. "Ah, well, so as my poor husband gets a good meal, never mind the donkey." So the pretended pilgrim from the other world went his way. He hadn't gone a hundred yards before the widow called him back. "Ah, she's beginning to think better of it," said he to himself, and he continued his way, pretending not to hear. "Good pilgrim," shouted the widow, "I forgot one thing: would money be of any use to my poor husband?" "Oh dear, yes," said he, "all the use in the world. You can always get anything for money anywhere." "Oh, do come back, then, and I'll trouble you with a hundred scudi for him." He went back, willingly, for the hundred scudi, which the widow counted out to him. "There's no help for it," said he to himself as he went his way: "I must go back to those at home."

From sunny Italy to bleak Norway is certainly a "far cry," yet the adventure of the "Pilgrim from Paradise" is also known to the Norse peasants, in connection with the quest of the greatest noodles: A goody goes to market, with a cow and a hen for sale. She wants five shillings for the cow and ten pounds for the hen. A butcher buys the cow, but doesn't want the hen. As she cannot find a buyer for the hen, she goes back to the butcher, who treats her to so much brandy that she gets dead-drunk, and in this condition the butcher tars and feathers her. When she awakes, she fancies that she must be some strange bird, and cries out, "Is this me, or is it not me? I'll go home, and if our dog barks, then it is not me." Thus far we have a variant of our favourite nursery rhyme:

There was an old woman, as I've heard tell, She went to market her eggs for to sell; She went to market, all on a market-day, And she fell asleep on the king's highway.

There came a pedlar, whose name was Stout, He cut her petticoats all round about; He cut her petticoats up to the knees, Which made the old woman to shiver and freeze.

When the little woman first did wake, She began to shiver and she began to shake; She began to wonder, and she began to cry, "Lauk-a-mercy on me, this is none of I!"

"But if this be I, as I do hope it be, I've a little dog at home, and he'll know me; If it be I, he'll wag his little tail, And if it be not I, he loudly bark and wail."

Home went the little woman all in the dark, Up got the little dog, and began to bark; He began to bark, and she began to cry, "Lauk-a-mercy on me, this can't be I!"

To return to the Norse tale. As in our nursery rhyme, when the goody reaches home, the dog barks at her; then she goes to the calves' house, but the calves, having sniffed the tar with which she was smeared, turn away from her in disgust. She is now fully convinced that she has been transformed into some outlandish bird, so she climbs on to the roof of a shed, and begins to flap her arms as if she were about to fly, when out comes her goodman, and seeing a suspicious-looking creature on the roof of the shed, he fetches his gun and is going to shoot at his goody, when he recognises her voice. Amazed at such a piece of folly, he resolves to leave her and not come back till he has found three goodies as silly. He meets with a female descendant of the Schildburgers, evidently, carrying into her cottage sunshine in a sieve, there being no window in the house: he cuts out a window for her and is well paid for his trouble. He next comes to a house where an old woman is thumping her goodman on the head with a beetle, in order to force over him a shirt without a slit for the neck, which she had drawn over his head: he cuts a slit in the shirt with a pair of scissors, and is amply rewarded for his ingenuity. His third adventure is similar to that of the "pilgrim" in the Italian version:

At another house he informs the goody that he came from Paradise Place— which was the name of his own farm—and she asks him if he knew her second husband in paradise. (She had been married twice before she took her present husband, who was an old curmudgeon, and she liked her second husband best—she was sure he had gone to heaven.) He replies that he knew him very intimately, but, poor man, he was far from well off, having to go about begging from house to house. The goody gives him a cart-load of clothes and a box of shining dollars, for her dear second husband; for why should he go about begging in paradise when there was so much of everything in their house? So the stranger, jumps into the cart and drives off, as fast as possible. But Peter, the goody's third husband, sees him on the road, and recognising his own horse and cart, hastens home to his wife, and asks why a stranger has gone off with his property. She explains the whole affair, upon which he mounts a horse and gallops away after the rogue who had thus taken advantage of his wife's simplicity. The stranger, perceiving him approach, hides the horse and cart behind a high hedge, takes part of the horse's tail and hangs it on the branches of a birch-tree, and then lays himself down on his back and gazes up into the sky. When Peter comes up to him, he exclaims, still looking at the sky, "What a wonder! there is a man going straight to heaven on a black horse!" Peter can see no such thing. "Can you not?" says the stranger. "See, there is his tail, still on the birch-tree. You must lie down in this very spot, and look straight up, and don't for a moment take your eyes off the sky, and then you'll see— what you'll see." So Peter lies down and gazes up at the sky very intently, looking for the man going straight to heaven on a black horse. Meanwhile the traveller escapes, with the cart-load of clothes and the box of shining dollars, and the second horse besides. Peter, when he reaches home, tells his wife that he had given the man from paradise the other horse for her second husband to ride about on, for he was ashamed to confess that he had been cheated as well as herself.[7] As to our traveller, having found three goodies as great fools as his own, he returned home, and saw that all his fields had been ploughed and sown; so he asked his wife where she had got the seed from. "Oh," says she, "I have always heard that what a man sows he shall also reap, so I sowed the salt that our friends the north-countrymen laid up with us, and if we only have rain, I fancy it will come up nicely."[8] "Silly you are," said her husband, "and silly you will be as long as you live. But that is all one now, for the rest are not a bit wiser than you;—there is not a pin to choose between you!"[9]

Now, if it be "a far cry" from Italy to Norway, it is still farther from Norway to India; and yet it is in the southern provinces of our great Asiatic empire that a story is current among the people, which, strange as it may seem, is almost the exact counterpart of the Norse version of the pretended pilgrim from paradise, of which the above is an abstract. It is found in Pandit S.M. Natesa Sastri's Folk-lore in Southern India, now in course of publication at Bombay; a work which, when completed, will be of very great value, to students of comparative folk-tales, as well as prove an entertaining story-book for general readers. After condensation in some parts, this story—which the Pandit entitles "The Good Wife and the Bad Husband"—runs thus:

In a secluded village there lived a rich man, who was very miserly, and his wife, who was very kind-hearted and charitable, but a stupid little woman that believed everything she heard. And there lived in the same village a clever rogue, who had for some time watched for an opportunity for getting something from this simple woman during her husband's absence. So one day, when he had seen the old miser ride out to inspect his lands, this rogue of the first water came to the house, and fell down at the threshold as if overcome by fatigue. The woman ran up to him at once and inquired whence he came. "I am come from Kailasa,"[10] said he; "having been sent down by an old couple living there, for news of their son and his wife." "Who are those fortunate dwellers in Siva's mountain?" she asked. And the rogue gave the names of her husband's deceased parents, which he had taken good care, of course, to learn from the neighbours. "Do you really come from them?" said the simple woman. "Are they doing well there? Dear old people! How glad my husband would be to see you, were he here! Sit down, please, and rest until he returns. How do they live there? Have they enough to eat and dress themselves withal?" These and a hundred other questions she put to the rogue, who, for his part, wished to get away as soon as possible, knowing full well how he would be treated if the miser should return while he was there. So he replied, "Mother, language has no words to describe the miseries they are undergoing in the other world. They have not a rag of clothing, and for the last six days they have eaten nothing, and have lived on water only. It would break your heart to see them." The rogue's pathetic words deceived the good woman, who firmly believed that he had come down from Kailasa, a messenger from the old couple to herself. "Why should they so suffer," said she, "when their son has plenty to eat and clothe himself withal, and when their daughter-in-law wears all sorts of costly garments?" So saying, she went into the house, and soon came out again with two boxes containing all her own and her husband's clothes, which she handed to the rogue, desiring him to deliver them to the poor old couple in Kailasa. She also gave him her jewel-box, to be presented to her mother-in-law. "But dress and jewels will not fill their hungry stomachs," said the rogue. "Very true; I had forgot: wait a moment," said the simple woman, going into the house once more. Presently returning with her husband's cash chest, she emptied its glittering contents into the rogue's skirt, who now took his leave in haste, promising to give everything to the good old couple in Kailasa; and having secured all the booty in his upper garment, he made off at the top of his speed as soon as the silly woman had gone indoors.

Shortly after this the husband returned home, and his wife's pleasure at what she had done was so great that she ran to meet him at the door, and told him all about the arrival of the messenger from Kailasa, how his parents were without clothes and food, and how she had sent them clothes and jewels and store of money. On hearing this, the anger of the husband was great; but he checked himself, and inquired which road the messenger from Kailasa had taken, saying that he wished to follow him with a further message for his parents. So she very readily pointed out the direction in which the rogue had gone. With rage in his heart at the trick played upon his stupid wife, he rode off in hot haste, and after having proceeded a considerable distance, he caught sight of the flying rogue, who, finding escape hopeless, climbed up into a pipal tree.

The husband soon reached the foot of the tree, when he shouted to the rogue to come down. "No, I cannot," said he; "this is the way to Kailasa," and then climbed to the very top of the tree. Seeing there was no chance of the rogue coming down, and there being no one near to whom he could call for help, the old miser tied his horse to a neighbouring tree, and began to climb up the pipal himself. When the rogue observed this, he thanked all his gods most fervently, and having waited until his enemy had climbed nearly up to him, he threw down his bundle of booty, and then leapt nimbly from branch to branch till he reached the ground in safety, when he mounted the miser's horse and with his bundle rode into a thick forest, where he was not likely to be discovered. Being thus balked the miser came down the pipal tree slowly cursing his own stupidity in having risked his horse to recover the things which his wife had given the rogue, and returned home at leisure. His wife, who was waiting his return, welcomed him with a joyous countenance, and cried, "I thought as much: you have sent away your horse to Kailasa, to be used by your old father." Vexed at his wife's words, as he was, he replied in the affirmative, to conceal his own folly.

Through the Tamils it is probable this story reached Ceylon, where it exists in a slightly different form: A young girl, named Kaluhami, had lately died, when a beggar came to the parents' house, and on being asked by the mother where he had come from, he said that he had just come from the other world to this world, meaning that he had only just recovered from severe illness. "Then," said the woman, "since you have come from the other world, you must have seen my daughter Kaluhami there, who died but a few days ago. Pray tell me how she is." The beggar, seeing how simple she was, replied, "She is my wife, and lives with me at present, and she has sent me to you for her dowry." The woman at once gave him all the money and jewels that were in the house, and sent him away delighted with his unexpected good luck. Soon after, the woman's husband returned, and learning how silly she had been, mounted his horse and rode after the beggar. The rest of the story corresponds to the Tamil version, as above, with the exception that when the husband saw the beggar slide down the tree, get on his horse, and ride off, he cried out to him, "Hey, son-in-law, you may tell Kaluhami that the money and jewels are from her mother, and that the horse is from me;" which is altogether inconsistent, since he is represented as the reverse of a simpleton in pursuing the beggar, on hearing what his wife had done. It is curious, also, to observe that in the Tamil version the man goes to the house with the deliberate purpose of deceiving the simple woman, while in the Sinhalese the beggar is evidently tempted by her mistaking the meaning of his words. But both present very close points of resemblance to the Norwegian story of the pretended pilgrim from paradise. There are indeed few instances of a story having travelled so far and lost so little of its original details, allowing for the inevitable local colouring.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Campbell's Popular Tales of the West Highlands, vol. ii., pp. 373-381. In a note to these adventures Campbell gives a story of some women who, as judges, doomed a horse to be hanged: the thief who stole the horse got off, because it was his first offence; the horse went back to the house of the thief, because he was the better master, and was condemned for stealing himself!

[2]: Campbell's Popular Tales of the West Highlands, vol. ii., pp. 385—387.

In a Northumberland popular tale a child in bed sees a little fairy come down the chimney, and the child tells the creature that his name is My-ainsel. They play together, and the little fairy is burnt with a cinder, and on its mother appearing when it cries, and asking it who had hurt it, the imp answers, "It was My-ainsel."—There is a somewhat similar story current in Finland: A man is moulding lead buttons, when the Devil appears, and asks him what he is doing. "Making eyes." "Could you make me new ones?" "Yes." So he ties the Devil to a bench, and, in reply to the fiend, tells him that his name is Myself (Issi), and then pours lead into his eyes. The Devil starts up with the bench on his back, and runs off howling. Some people working in a field ask him who did it. Quoth the fiend, "Myself did it" (Issi teggi).

Cf. the Odyssey, Book ix., where Ulysses informs the Cyclops that his name is No-man, and when the monster, after having had his eye put out in his sleep, awakes in agony, he roars to his comrades for help:

"Friends, No-man kills me, No-man, in the hour Of sleep, oppresses me with fraudful power!" "If no man hurt thee, but the hand divine Inflict disease, it fits thee to resign;— To Jove, or to thy father, Neptune, pray," The brethren cried, and instant strode away.

[3] Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales.

[4] Crane's Italian Popular Tales, pp. 279—282.

[5] A game played with peach-pits, which are thrown into holes made in the ground, and to which certain numbers are attached.

[6] Crane's Italian Popular Tales, pp. 282-3.

[7] The same story is told in Brittany, with no important variations.

[8] Quite as literally did the rustic understand the priest's assurance, that whatsoever one gave in charity, for the love of God, should be repaid him twofold: next day he takes his cow to the priest, who accepts it as sent by Heaven—and the poor man did not get two cows in return. The story is known in various forms all over Europe; it was a special favourite in mediaeval times. See Le Grand's Fabliaux, tome iii., 376: "La Vache du Cure," by the trouvere Jean de Boves; Wright's Latin Stories; Icelandic Legends, etc.

[9] Dasent's Popular Tales from the Norse.

[10] "See note, p. 49" in original. This is Chapter II, Footnote 13 in this e-text.



APPENDIX.

The idea of the old English jest-book, Jacke of Dover His Quest of Inquirie, or His Privy Search for the Veriest Foole in England (London: 1604), may perhaps have been suggested by such popular tales as those of the man going about in quest of three greater fools than his wife, father-in-law, and mother-in-law. It is, however, simply a collection of humorous anecdotes, not specially examples of folly or stupidity, most of which are found in earlier jest-books. The introduction is rather curious:

"When merry Jacke of Dover had made his privy search for the Foole of all Fooles, and making his inquirie in most of the principal places in England, at his return home he was adjudged to be the fool himself; but now wearied with the motley coxcombe, he hath undertaken in some place or other to find a verier foole than himself. But first of all, coming to London, he went into Paul's Church, where walking very melancholy in the middle aisle with Captain Thingut and his fellowes, he was invited to dine at Duke Humphry's ordinary,[1] where, amongst other good stomachs that repaired to his bountiful feast, there came a whole jury of penniless poets, who being fellows of a merry disposition (but as necessary in a commonwealth as a candle in a straw bed), he accepted of their company, and as from poets cometh all kind of folly, so he hoped by their good directions to find out his Foole of Fooles, so long looked for. So, thinking to pass away the dinner-hour with some pleasant chat (lest, being overcloyed with too many dishes, they should surfeit), he discovered to them his merry meaning, who, being glad of so good an occasion of mirth, instead of a cup of sack and sugar for digestion, these men of little wit began to make inquiry and to search for the aforesaid fool, thinking it a deed of charity to ease him of so great a burden as his motley coxcomb was, and because such weak brains as are now resident almost in every place, might take benefit hereat. In this manner began the inquiry:

The Foole of Hereford.

"'Upon a time (quoth one of the jury) it was my chance to be in the city of Hereford, when, lodging at an inn, I was told of a certain silly-witted gentleman there dwelling, that would assuredly believe all things that he heard for a truth; to whose house I went upon a sleeveless errand, and finding occasion to be acquainted with him, I was well entertained, and for three days' space had my bed and board in his house; where, amongst many other fooleries, I, being a traveller, made him believe that the steeple of Brentwood, in Essex, sailed in one night as far as Calais, in France, and afterwards returned again to its proper place. Another time I made him believe that in the forest of Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire, were seen five hundred of the King of Spain's galleys, which went to besiege Robin Hood's Well, and that forty thousand scholars with elder squirts performed such a piece of service as they were all in a manner taken and overthrown in the forest. Another time I made him believe that Westminster Hall, for suspicion of treason, was banished for ten years into Staffordshire. And last of all, I made him believe that a tinker should be baited to death at Canterbury for getting two and twenty children in a year; whereupon, to prove me a liar, he took his horse and rode thither, and I, to verify him a fool, took my horse and rode hither.'

"'Well,' quoth Jacke of Dover, 'this in my mind was pretty foolery, but yet the Foole of all Fooles is not here found that I looked for.'

The Fool of Huntington.

"'And it was my chance (quoth another of the jury) upon a time to be at Huntington, where I heard tell of a simple shoemaker there dwelling, who having two little boys whom he made a vaunt to bring up to learning, the better to maintain themselves when they were men; and having kept them a year or two at school, he examined them saying, "My good boy," quoth he to one of them, "what dost thou learn and where is thy lesson?" "O father," said the boy, "I am past grace." "And where art thou?" quoth he to the other boy, who likewise answered that he was at the devil and all his works. "Now Lord bless us," quoth the shoemaker, "whither are my children learning? The one is already past grace and the other at the devil and all his works!" Whereupon he took them both from school and set them to his own occupation.[2]'"

A number of others of the jury of penniless poets having related their stories, at last it is agreed that if the Foole of all Fooles cannot be found among those before named, one of themselves must be the fool, for there cannot be a verier fool than a poet, "for poets have good wits, but cannot use them, great store of money, but cannot keep it," etc.

* * * * *

It is doubtful what the name "Jack of Dover" imports, as that of the imaginary inquirer after fools. The author of the Cook's Tale of Gamelyn—which is generally considered as a spurious "Canterbury" tale— represents, in the prologue, mine host of the Tabard as saying to Roger the Cook:

"Full many a pastie hast thou lettin blode; And many a jack of Dovyr hast thou sold, That hath ben twice hot and twice cold."

Dr. Brewer says—apparently on the strength of these lines—that a "Jack of Dover" is a fish that has been cooked a second time. But it may have been a name of a particular kind of fish caught in the waters off Dover. If, however, a "Jack of Dover" is a twice-cooked fish, the title of the jest-book is not inappropriate, since all the stories it comprises are at least "twice-told."

FOOTNOTES:

[1] To "dine with Duke Humphry" meant not to dine at all. See Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable for the origin of the expression.

[2] The jest is thus told in some parts of Scotland: An old gentleman, walking in the country, met three small boys on their way home from school, and asked them how they progressed in their learning. The youngest—referring, of course, to the Shorter Catechism—replied that he was "in a state of sin and misery;" the second, that he was past "redemption;" and the eldest, that he was "in the pains of hell for ever."



INDEX.

* * * * *

Abdera, Man of, 6.

Alewife and her Hens, 73.

Alfonsus, Peter, 45.

Arab and his Cow, 70.

Arab Schoolmaster, 83.

Arabian Idiot, 133.

Arabian Nights, 81, 83, 133, 146.

Arabian Noodles, 70,75,107, 147.

Armstrong's, Archie, Banquet of Jests, 74.

Ashton, John, xiv.

Ass and the Two Sharpers, 81.

Austwick, Carles of, 17,53,54.

Avadanas, 53.

Babrius, 53.

Bakki, Brothers of, 32, 64.

Bang-eater and his Wife, 147.

Bang-eaters and the Dogs, 109.

Barrett, F.T., 9.

Barrin' o' the Door, 107.

Belmont, Fools of, 55.

Beryn, Tale of, 40.

Beschi, Father, 29.

Bharataka Dwatrinsati, 158.

Bizarrures of the Sieur Gaulard, 8, 12, 20, 76.

Bidpai's Fables, 53.

Birth-Stories—see Jatakas.

Boccaccio's Decameron, 39.

"Boiling" River, 30, 43.

Bond, The Lord's, 17.

Borde, Andrew, 23.

Brahmans, Four Simple, 171.

Bromyard, John, 167.

Buddha's Five Precepts, 69.

Bull and the Gate, 54.

Bull of Siva, 48.

Burton's Arabian Nights, 83.

Busk's Folk-Lore of Rome, 204.

Butter eaten by a Dog, 18.

Buzzard, The Gothamite's, 38.

Cabbage-Tree, 47.

Caftan on Tree, 90.

Calf's Head in a Pot, 89.

Campbell's Popular Tales of the West Highlands, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 154, 193.

Cat and old Woman, 65.

Cat, Men of Schilda's, 61.

Cazotte's New Arabian Nights, 133.

Ceylon—see Sinhalese Noodles.

Chamberlain, B.H., 130.

Cheese, The Gothamite's, 34.

Cheese on the Highway, 40.

Cheese, The Stolen, 91.

Chinese Noodles, 93, 94.

Coelho's Contes Portuguezes, 120.

Colombo, Michele, 81.

Countryman and Dog, 79.

Cozens, F.W., 9.

Council-House, Dark, 57.

Crane's Italian Popular Tales, 117, 128, 139, 202, 204.

Cuckoo, Hedging in the, 26.

Cumeans and the bath, 4; and the father's corpse,15; and the fig-tree, 10; and the pot of honey, 19; and the stolen clothes, 4.

Dark Council-House, 57.

Dasent's Norse Tales, 126, 212.

Dekker's Gul's Horn Book, 26.

Devil in the Meadow, 42.

Disciplina Clericalis, 45.

Doctor and Patients, 5.

Doctor's Apprentice, 168.

Dog that ate Honey, 18.

Door, Taking Care of the, 97, 98.

Dreams, The Good, 92, 93.

Dubois, Abbe, 171.

Ear, Biting one's own, 86.

Eberhard's Hieraclis, 3.

Eel, Drowning the, 33.

El Conde Lucanor, 162.

English typical booby, 139.

Fabliaux, Le Grand's, 39,163.

Family, Best of the, 165.

Farmer and his Pigs, 54.

Fisher, Indian Silly Son as, 163.

Fishers, Gothamite, 28.

Fleas, Bit by, 14.

Folk-Lore in Southern India, 212.

Fool and the aloes-wood, 98; and the birch-tree, 151; and the cotton, 99; and the cup lost in the sea, 99; and the elephant-driver, 51; and his porridge, 119; and the Ramayana, 70; and the sack of meal, 19, 25, 68; and the shopkeeper, 100; at his fireside, 119; kicked by his mule, 119; of Hereford, 221; of Huntingdon, 222.

Fools and the buffalo, 101; and the Bull of Siva, 48; and their inheritance, 118; and the mosquitoes, 95; and the palm-trees, 96; and the trunks, 96.

Fortini's Italian Novels, 162.

Fuller, Thomas, on the Gothamites, 20.

Fumivall, F.J., 23.

Gaulard, The Sieur, 8, 12, 20, 76.

Geese and Tortoise, 52.

Gesta Romanorum, 117,163.

Gibb's Forty. Vazirs, 109, 166, 167.

Giufa, the Sicilian Booby, 97, 130, 165.

Goat and Old Woman, 66.

Gooroo Paramartan, 29, 37, 157.

Gossips and their late Husbands, 74.

Gossips at the Alehouse, 43.

Gotham, Tales of the Mad Men of, xiii., 20, 24-44.

Grazzini's Florentine Fool, 161.

Grecian Noodles, 1-15.

Halliwell-Phillipps, J.O., xiii., 13, 22, 27, 53.

Hama and Hums, Men of, 75.

Hazlitt, W.C., xiii., 12.

Heaven, Sorry he has gone to, 74.

Herdsman, The Foolish, 106.

Herodotus, Stephens' Apology for, 119.

Hierokles, Jests of, 2.

Hitopadesa, 162.

Honey, Pot of, 6, 18.

Hunter's Dream of a Boar, 4.

Icelandic Noodles, 32, 64, 163.

Indian Noodles, 29, 37, 44, 48, 51, 70, 96, 97-106, 111, 1l8, 158, l6l, 163, 170, 212.

Italian Noodles, 115, 127, 143, 160, 197, 202, 204.

Irish Labourer and Farmer, 8.

Irishman and his ass, 119.

Irishman and his hens, 120.

Irishman and lost shovel, 99.

Irishmen and mosquitoes, 14.

Irishman's Dream, 92.

Jack of Dover's Quest, 219.

Japanese Noodle, 130.

Jatakas (Buddhist Birth-Stories), 52, 65, 95, 164.

Jests of Scogin, 162.

Joe Miller's Jest-Book, 1, 2.

Judge and Thieves, 87.

Kabail Tales, 37, 154.

Kashmiri Tales, 65, 89, 111.

Katha Manjari, 11, 70, 100, 163.

Katha Sarit Sagara, 48, 53, 120, 164.

Kerchief, The, 90.

Khoja Nasr-ed-Din, 89.

King's Stupid Son, The, 167.

Knite, 'The Gothamites', 53.

Knowles, J.H., 66, 113.

Laird of Logan, 13.

Leger's Contes Populaires Slaves, 128, 154.

Marie de France, 46.

Mery Tales and Quicke Answeres, 161.

Miller's Jest-Book, 1, 2.

Millstone of the Schildburgers, 59.

Minstrel and Pupil, 166.

Monk Transformed, 81.

Moon a green cheese, 44.

Moon in the well, 92.

Moon swallowed by an ass, 46.

"Mortuus Loquens," 160.

Mummy, The, 15.

Nasr-ed-Din Khoja, 89.

Natesa Sastri Pandit, 212.

Needham's Hieroclis, 3.

Noodles, The Three Great, 191.

Norfolk Noodles, 17.

Norse Noodles, 123, 207.

Notts Bridge, 24.

Orientalist, The, 69, 87, 114, 143, 160.

Pancha Tantra, 67, 171.

Paradise, Man who came from, 204, 210, 212, 217.

Pedant, bald man, and barber, 6; and the lost book, 13; and his dream, 5,6; and the jar of feathers, 5; and his jar of wine, 9; and the mirror, 9; and the two slave-boys, 4; and his slave who died, 8; and the sparrows, 5; and the twin-brothers, 12; and his tomb, 8.

Persian Noodle, 7.

Persian Tales, 7, 66, 79.

Philotimus, 27.

Poet and the Dogs, 79.

Poggius' Facetiae 160, 162.

Priest of Gotham, 42.

Princess caused to grow, 102.

Pupil, The Attentive, 165.

Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, 48, 153.

Relic-hunter, 95.

Rents of Gothamites, 27.

Right Hand or Left, 91.

River, "Boiling," 30, 43.

Riviere's Contes Populaires de la Kabylie du Djurdjura, 37, 154.

Russian Noodles, 47, 128, 151, 154, 195

Rustic and the Dog, 79.

Sacke Full of Newes, 46, 97.

Sa'di's Gulistan, xi, 79.

Schilda, The Men of, 56.

Schoolmaster's Lady-love, 83.

Sesame, Roasted, 120.

Sheep's Eyes, Casting, 41, 126, 127.

Sicilian Boobies, 97, 116, 139, 165.

Silent Noodles, 107-117.

Silly Matt, 123.

Silly Son, The, 121.

Simple Simon, 121, 122.

Simpleton and Sharpers, 81.

Sindibad Nama, 66.

Sinhalese Noodles, 67-69, 87, 89, 113, 141, 165, 179, 217.

Smith, Alexander, 9.

Spade, The Stolen, 94.

Spinning-Wheel, The, 36.

Stephens, Henry, Tales by, 119.

Stokes' Indian Fairy Tales, 154.

Summa Praaedicantium, The, 167.

Tabourot, Etienne, 8.

Tales and Quicke Answeres, 161.

Tawney, C.H., 48.

Taylor's Wit and Mirth, 9, 10, 74, 78.

Thief on a Tree, 11.

Thoms, W.J., xii., 56.

Thoroton's History of Nottinghamshire, 21.

Three Greatest Noodles, 191.

Treasure Trove, 144, 151, 154.

Trivet, The Gothamite's, 36.

Turkish Noodles, 11, 86, 90, 93, 109, 166, 167.

Twelve Fishers, The, 28.

Twin Brothers, 12.

Vives, Ludovicus, 46.

Warton's History of English Poetry, 22.

Washerman and his young Ass, 103.

Wasp's Nest, 40.

"Whittle to the Tree," 53.

Widows, The Two, 74.

Wiltshire Noodles, 17, 54.

Wither's Abuses Whipt and Stript, 26.

Wolf's Tail, The, 91.

Wood, Anthony, on the Gotham Tales, 23.

Worsted Balls, The, 35.

Wrestler and the Wag, 7.

Wrong Man wakened, 6, 7.

THE END