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than the Beast who is wedded to Beauty, and the monster who becomes the husband of Psyche. But before he wins his bride, he is reduced to sore straits, and his adventures give occasion for some sharp satire on Hindoo popular theology. Coming across a bullock's carcase, the jackal eats his way into it, while the sun so contracts the hide that he finds himself unable to get out. Fearing to be killed if discovered, or to be buried alive if he escaped notice, the jackal, on the approach of the scavengers, cries out, 'Take care, good people, how you touch me, for I am a great saint." The mahars, in great terror, ask him who he is and what he wants. I,' answered the jackal, am a very holy saint. I am also the god of your village, and I am very angry with you, because you never worship me nor bring me offerings. O my Lord,' they cried, what offerings will please you? Tell us only, and we will bring you whatever you like.' 'Good,' he replied; then you must fetch here plenty of rice, plenty of flowers, and a nice fat chicken-place them as an offering beside me, and pour a great deal of water over them, as you do at your most solemn feasts, and then I will forgive you your sins. The wetting, of course, split the dry bullock's skin, and the jackal, jumping out, ran with the chicken in his mouth to the jungle. When again he was nearly starved, he heard a Brahmin bewailing his poverty, and declaring that if a dog or a jackal were to offer to marry one of his daughters he should have her, in complete contrast to the reluctance of the merchant who is obliged to surrender his child to the beast. The jackal takes him at his word and leads his wife away to a splendid subterranean palace, where she finds that each night

the jackal lays aside his skin and becomes a beautiful young man. Soon the Brahmin comes to the jackal's cave to see how his child gets on; but just as he is about to enter, the jackal stops him, and, learning his wants, gives him a melon, the seeds of which will bring him some money. A neighbour, admiring the fruit produced from these seeds, buys some from the Brahmin's wife, and finding that they are full of diamonds, pearls, and rubies, purchases the whole stock, until the Brahmin himself opens a small withered melon and learns how he has been overreached. In vain he asks restitution from the woman who has bought them; she knows nothing of any miraculous melons, and a jeweller to whom he takes the jewels from the withered melon accuses him of having stolen the gems from his shop, and impounds them all. Again he betakes himself to the jackal, who, seeing the uselessness of giving him gold or jewels, brings him out a jar, which is always full of good things. The Brahmin now lived in luxury; but another Brahmin informed the rajah of the royal style in which his poorer neighbour feasted, and the rajah appropriated the jar for his own special use. When once again he carried this story of his wrongs to his father-in-law, the jackal gave him another jar, within which was a rope and a stick, which would perform their work of chastisement as soon as the jar was opened. Uncovering the jar while he was alone, the Brahmin had cause to repent his rashness, for every bone in his body was left aching. With this personal experience of the powers of the stick, the Brahmin generously invited the rajah and his brother Brahmin to come and test the virtues of his new gift; and a belabouring as hearty as that which the wicked innkeeper

received in the German tale made them yield up the dinner - making chattle. The same wholesome measure led to the recovery of the precious stones from the jeweller, and the melons from the woman who had bought them. It only remained now, by burning the enchanted rajah's jackal-skin, to transform him permanently into the most splendid prince ever seen on earth.

The points of likeness and difference between the Hindoo story of Punchkin and the Norse tale of 'The Giant who had no Heart in his Body' are perhaps still more striking. In the former a rajah has seven daughters whose mother dies while they are still children, and a stepmother so persecutes them that they make their escape. In the jungle they are found by the seven sons of a neighbouring king, who are hunting, and each takes one of the princesses as a wife, the handsomest of course marrying the youngest. After a brief time of happiness the eldest prince sets off on a journey and does not return. His six brothers follow him and are seen no more. After this, as Balna, the youngest princess, rocks her babe in his cradle, a fakeer makes his appearance, and having vainly asked her to marry him, transforms her into a dog and leads her away. As he grows older, Balna's son learns how his parents and uncles have disappeared, and resolves to go in search of them. His aunts beseech him not to do so. 'We have lost our husbands and our sister. If you too are taken from us, what shall we do?' But the youth feels sure that he will bring them all back; and at length finds his way to the house of a gardener, whose wife on hearing his story tells him that his father and uncles have all been turned into

stone by the great magician Punchkin, who keeps Balna herself imprisoned in a high tower because she will not marry him. To aid him in his task, the gardener's wife disguises him in her daughter's dress, and gives him a basket of flowers as a present for the captive princess. Thus arrayed, the youth is admitted to her presence, and while none are looking makes himself known to his mother by means of a ring which she had left on his finger before the sorcerer stole her away. But the rescue of the seven princes seemed to be as far off as ever, and the young man suggests that Balna should now change her tactics, and by pretending a readiness to marry him, find out the secret of his power and whether he is subject to death. The device is successful, and the sorcerer tells her that.

'Far, far away, hundreds of thousands of miles away from this, there lies a desolate country covered with thick jungle. In the midst of the jungle grows a circle of palmtrees, and in the centre of the jungle stand six jars full of water, piled one above another; below the sixth jar is a small cage which contains a little green parrot; on the life of the parrot depends my life, and if the parrot is killed I must die.'

But this keep is guarded by myriads of evil demons and Balna tries hard to dissuade her son from the venture. He is resolute, and he finds true helpers in some eagles whose young he saves by killing a large serpent which was making its way to their nest. The parent birds give him their young to be his servants, and the eaglets, crossing their wings, bear him through the air to the spot where the six water-jars are standing. In an instant he upsets the jars, and snatching the parrot from his cage rolls him up in his cloak. The magician in his dismay at seeing the parrot in

the youth's hands yields to every demand made by him, and not only the seven princes but all his other victims are restored to life-a magnificent array of kings, courtiers, officers, and servants. Still the magician prayed to have his parrot given him.

Then the boy took hold of the parrot, and tore off one of his wings, and, as he did so, the magician's right arm fell off.

'Punchkin then stretched out his left arm, crying, "Give me my parrot." The prince pulled of the parrot's second wing, and the magician's left arm tumbled off.

"Give me my parrot," cried he, and fell on his knees. The prince pulled off the parrot's right leg, the magician's right leg fell off; the prince pulled off the parrot's left leg, down fell the magician's left.

'Nothing remained of him save the limbless body and the head; but still he rolled his eyes, and cried, "Give me my parrot." "Take your parrot, then," cried the boy; and with that he wrung the bird's neck, and threw if at the magician; and, as he did so, Punchkin's head twisted round and, with a fearful groan, he died.'

In its keynote and its leading incidents this story is precisely parallel to the Norse tale of The Giant who had no Heart in his Body.' Here, as in the Deccan legend, there is a king who has seven sons, but instead of all seven being sent to hunt or woo, the youngest is left at home; and the rajah whose children they marry has six daughters, not seven. This younger brother who stays at home is the Boots of European folk-lore, a being of infinitely varied character, and a subject of interest for all who wish to know whence the Aryan nations obtained the materials for their epic poems. Seemingly weak and often despised, he has keener wit and more resolute will than all who are opposed to him. Slander and obloquy are to him