The Mikado's Empire/Buku 2/Bab 13

XHL

FOLK-LORE AND FIRESIDE STORIES,

The hibachi, or fire-brazier, is to the Japanese household what the hearth or fire-place is in an Occidental home. Around it friends meet, the family gathers, parents consult, children play, the cat purrs, and the little folks listen to the fairy legends or household lore from nurse or grandame.

I have often, in many a Japanese home, seen children thus gathered round the hibachi, absorbing through open eyes and ears and mouth the marvelous stories which disguise the mythology, philosophy, and not a little of the wisdom of the world's childhood. Even the same world, with its beard grown, finds it a delight to listen now and then to the old wives* fables, and I propose in this chapter to give a few of the many short stories with which every Japanese child is familiar, and which I have often heard myself from children, or from the lips of older persons, while sitting round the hibachi, or which I have had written for me. The artist Ozawa, at my request, sketched such a scene as I have often looked upon. The grandmother has drawn the attention of her infantile audience to the highest tension of interest. Iron-bound top, picture-book, mask of Suzum^, jumping- jack, devil in a band-box, and all other toys are forgotten, while eyes open and mouths gape as the story proceeds. Besides the gayly colored little books, containing the most famous stories for children, there are nu- merous published collections of tales, some of which are centuries old. Among those current in Japan are some of Indian, Chinese, and per- haps of other origin.

The wonderful story of " Raiko and the Ohi " is one of the most famous in the collection of Japanese grandmothers. Its power to open the mouths and distend the oblique eyes of the youngsters long after bed-time, is unlimited. I have before me a little stitched book of seven leaves, which I bought among a lot of two dozen or more in one of the colored print and book shops in Tdkio. It is four inches long and three wide. On the gaudy cover, which is printed in seven colors, is a picture of Raiko, the hero, in helmet and armor, grasping in both hands the faithful sword with which he slays the ghoul whose frightful face glowers above him. The hiragana text and wood-cuts within the covers are greatly worn, showing that many thousand cop- ies have been printed from the original and oft-retouched face of the cherry-wood blocks. The story, thus illustrated with fourteen engrav- ings, is as follows :

Long, long ago there was a great war between the Genji and Heike, in which many men were killed. One of the Genji warriors, named Raiko, could not find any one valiant enough to fight with him, and so he wished to find a ghoul to slay. Now, there lurked at the palace gate a fierce ghoul, which he sent his retainer, Watanabe Tsuna, to kill. Now, Tsuna was, next to Raiko, the strongest man in the whole coun- try, and was not afraid of the ghoul. When he went out to the gate, the oni seized him by the helmet, but Tsuna caught the ghoul's arm with the left hand, and, with his sword in his right hand, cut off the limb. The ghoul was so frightened that it ran away, leaving its hairy arm and claws. Tsuna was very proud of his victory, and kept the arm as a trophy, carefully packed in a fine box. One day an old wom- an came to see the hero, saying she had heard of his feat, and would like to see the wonderful limb which he, by his valor, had cut off. Now, Tsuna was always good-natured to old people and good children, being only angry with wicked robbers and demons, and so he opened the box to show the old lady his treasure. Now, this old woman was nothing more than a ghoul in disguise. No sooner had Tsuna opened his box than she snatched the limb, and flew away with it through the smoke-hole in the roof, changing, as she flew, into her true shape — that of a hideous ghoul.

At this time Raiko was sick, and a three-eyed ghoul came to tor- ment him, knowing he was very weak ; but Raiko drew his sword, which he always kept at his side, and gave the ghoul a lusty cut that sent him, all bloody and howling, away. His retainers followed the tracks of blood to a great cave, in which they found a colossal spider, which Raiko succeeded in killing.

Shu-ten doji was another ghoul which Raiko, with his retainers, went to slay. Raiko went to his cave, and asked for a night's lodging. He found there a great red man, with long red hair, drinking strong sake out of a huge trencher which would hold several tubfuls. After a while the ghoul got drunk, and fell asleep. Raiko then drew his sword and cut off the monster's head. His retainers helped him to

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carry it out, and it was paraded with great pomp where every one could see it It was bigger than the great lion's head which used to be carried through the streets of Yedo at the great festival procession of Kanda Mio Jin (see page 188), which it required twenty men to carry. It had frightful horns and tusks, and devoured many people.

Raiko was a kug6, and one of the bravest warriors of all time. Brave men such as he long ago killed all the wicked things in Japan, so that good little children might go to sleep, and not be afraid of the ghouls coming to take them from papa, mamma, brothers, and sisters, and grandmother.

The children of a larger growth learn, as we did in a former chap- ter, that the word " spider " (kumo) anciently meant " robber." The red-haired, red-faced, or red -bearded foreigners in Japan, who drink brandy out of tumblers, and then in drunken fury roam in the streets of Yokohama and Nagasaki, are not unfrequently compared to the in- toxicated monster beheaded by Raiko. The Japanese child who sees his parents indulge in sake from a tiny cup, and to whom black eyes and hair, and the Japanese form, face, and dress constitute the true standard, is amazed at the great size of the mugs and drinking-glasses from which the men of red beards and faces drink a liquid ten times stronger than sake. Very naturally, to the Japanese imagination and memory the drunken sailor appears a veritable shu ten doji. Never- theless, the Yokohama coolie does not call him by so classic a name. He frames a compound adjective from the imprecation which most frequently falls from the sailor's lips. In the " Yokohama dialect," the word for sailor is dammuraisu hito (" d — n-your-eyes " man).

The story of " The Monkey and the Crab " has as many versions as that of " The Arkansas Traveler." It is continually re-appearing in new dress and with new variations, according to the taste and abili- ties of the audience. Its flavor, as told by the chaste mother instruct- ing her daughters, or by the vulgar coolie amusing his fellow-loafers while waiting for a job, is vastly different in either case. The most ordinary form of the story is as follows :

Once upon a time there was a crab who lived in a hole on the shady side of a hill. One day he found a bit of rice-cake. A mon- key who was just finishing a persimmon met the crab, and offered to exchange its seed for the rice cracknel. The simple-minded crab ac- cepted the proposal, and the exchange was made. The monkey eat up the rice-cake, but the crab backed off home, and planted the seed in his garden.

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A fine tree grew up, and the crab was delighted at the prospect of soon enjoying the luscious fruit. He built a nice new house, and used to sit on the balcony, watching the ripening persimmons. One day the monkey came along, and, being hungry, congratulated the crab on his fine tree, and begged for some of the fruit, offering to climb and gather it himself. The crab politely agreed, requesting his guest to throw down some of the fruit that he might enjoy it him- self. The ungrateful rascal of a monkey clambered up, and, after filling his pockets, eat the ripest fruit as fast as he could, pelting the crab with the seeds. The crab now determined to outwit the mon- key, and, pretending to enjoy the insults as good jokes, he dared the monkey to show his skill, if he could, by descending head foremost. The monkey, to show how versatile were his accomplishments, ac- cepted the friendly challenge, and turning flank — not tail — for Japa- nese monkeys have no tails — he began to come down head foremost. Of course, all the persimmons rolled out of his pockets. The crab, seizing the ripe fruit, ran off to his hole. The monkey, waiting till he had crawled out, gave him a sound thrashing, and went home.

Just at that time a rice-mortar was traveling by with his several ap- prentices, a wasp, an egg, and a sea -weed. After hearing the crab's story, they agreed to assist him. Marching to the monkey's house, and finding him out, they arranged their plans and disposed their forces so as to vanquish their foe on his return. The egg hid in the ashes on the hearth, the wasp in the closet, the sea -weed near the door, and the mortar over the lintel. When the monkey came home he lighted a fire to steep his tea, when the egg burst, and so bespat- tered his face, that he ran howling away to the well for water to cool the pain. Then the wasp flew out and stung him. In trying to drive off this fresh enemy, he slipped on the sea-weed, and the rice-mortar, falling on him, crushed him to death. Wasn't that splendid? The wasp and the mortar and sea-weed lived happily together ever after- ward.

The moral against greedy and ungrateful people needs no pointing. In one of the recently published elementary works on natural philoso- phy, written in the vernacular of Tokio, I have seen the incident of the bursting egg utilized to illustrate the dynamic power of heat at the expense of the monkey. Another story, used to feather the shaft aimed at greedy folks, is that of the elves and the envious neighbor. The story is long, but, condensed, is as follows :

A wood -cutter, overtaken by a storm and darkness among the

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mountains, seeks shelter in a hollow tree. Soon he saw little creatures, some of a red color, wearing blue clothes, and some of a black color, wearing red clothes. Some had no mouth ; others had but one eye. There were about one hundred of them. At midnight the elves, hav- ing lighted a fire, began to dance and carouse, and the man, forgetting his fright, joined them and began to dance. Finding him so jolly a companion, and wishing him to return the next night, they took from the left side of his face a large wen that disfigured it, as pawn, and disappeared. The next day, having told his story in high glee, an envious neighbor, who was also troubled with a wen on the right side of his face, resolved to possess his friend's luck, and went out to the same place. At night the elves assembled to drink and enjoy a jig. The man now appeared, and, at the invitation of the chief elf, began to dance. Being an awkward fellow, and not to be compared with the other man, the elves grew angry, and said, " You dance very bad- ly this time. Here, you may have your pledge, the wen, back again." With that an elf threw the wen at the man. It stuck to his cheek, and he went home, crying bitterly, with two wens instead of one.

Stories of cats, rabbits, dogs, monkeys, and foxes, who are born, pass through babyhood, are nursed, watched, and educated by anxious parents with all due moral and religious training, enjoy the sports proper to their age, fall in love, marry, rear a family, and live happy ever afterward to a green old age, form the staple of the tiny picture- books for tiny people. When told by garrulous nurses or old gran- nies, the story becomes a volume, varied and colored from rich imagi- nation or actual experience.

A great many funny stories are told about blind men, who are often witty wags. They go about feeling their way with a staff, and blow- ing a double -barreled whistle which makes a peculiarly ugly noise. They shave their heads, and live by shampooing tired travelers at hotels, or people who like to be kneaded like a sponge or dough. They also loan out money at high rates of interest, public sympathy being their sure guard against loss. Even among these men the spirit of caste and rank prevails, and the chief blind man of a city or town usually holds an official diploma. On the occasion of such an award the bald-pates enjoy a feast together. After imbibing freely, they sing songs, recite poetry, and crack jokes, like merry fellows with eyes. As one of these gatherings was once about to break up, one sightless fellow was asked if he had brought his lantern, and when he replied that he had not, the blind men were delighted at his foresight,

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" for," said they, " what do blind people want with candles to light them home  ?"

A story is told of two men who were stone-deaf, who met together one morning, when the following dialogue took place :

First Post. " Good-morning. Are you going to buy sake  ?"

Second Post. " No. I am going to buy sake."

Third Post. " Oh, excuse me, I thought you were going to buy sake."

I heard the following story from one of my students from Fukui. It is a favorite with the professional story-tellers in Tokio. It reminds one of the Spaniard who is said to have put on magnifying spectacles while eating grapes, or the Yankee who strapped green eyeglasses on his horse while feeding him on shavings :

A very economical old fellow, named Kisaburo, once took lodgings near a shop to which the elite of the epicures of Yedo resorted daily for the delicacy of eels fried in soy. The appetizing odor was wafted into his quarters, and Kisaburor being a man of strong imagination, daily enjoyed his frugal meal of boiled rice by his palate, and the sa- vory smoke of eels through his olfactories, and thus saved the usual expense of fish and vegetables.

The eel-frier, on discovering this, made up his mind to charge his stingy neighbor for the smell of his eels, and paid him a visit with his bill made out. Kisaburo, taking it in good humor, called his wife, who brought out the cash-box. After jingling the bag of money, he touched it on the bill, and replacing it in the box under look, ordered his wife to return it to its place. The eel-man, amazed at such finan- ciering, cried out, " Well, are you not going to pay me  ?" " Oh no !" said Kisaburo, " you have charged me for the smell of your eels ; I have paid you back with the sound of my money."

A story very similar to this, which I have transcribed as I heard it, is given by Rabelais, Third Book, thirty-seventh chapter.

Stories illustrating the freaks of absent-minded men are very nu- merous. Here is one, told 'me by a village lad from near Takefu, in Echizen. A farmer's wife about to enjoy the blessing of addition to her family besought her husband to visit a famous shrine of Kuan- on, the Goddess of Mercy, and make an offering and pray for easy deliverance of her offspring. The good wife packed up a lunch for her husband in a box of lacquered wood, and took out one hundred cash (about one and a half cents) from their hoard, which was kept in an old bag made of rushes, in a jar under the floor, as a gift to be

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thrown into the temple coffer to propitiate the deity. At early morn the man prepared to start, but in a fit of absent-mindedness, instead of his lunch-box, he took the pillow (a Japanese pillow is often a box of drawers holding the requisites of a woman's coiffure, with a tiny bol- ster on the top), and, carefully wrapping it up, set off, and in due time arrived at the shrine. Now, the husband was less devout than his spouse, and, being ten miles away from her tongue and eye, he decided to throw but ten cash into the sacred coffers, and spend the remaining ninety on a bottle of sake, to be served by a pretty waiter-girl at the adjoining tea-house. So he divided his money into two packages, but in his absent-mindedness he unintentionally flung the larger amount into the temple box. Annoyed on discovering his bad luck, he offered his prayers in no very holy frame of mind, and then sat down to en- joy his lunch. Not being able to eat the hair-pins, pomatum, etc., in the pillow-box, he made his way to an eating-shop to buy a bit of mochi (rice-dough) to satisfy his hunger. Again his greed and absent- mindedness led him to grief, for, seeing a large round piece of what he thought was good dough for short-cake for only five cash, he bought it and hurried of, thinking the shop-girl had made a mistake, which she would soon discover at her cost. When he went to eat it, how- ever, he found it was only a plaster show-piece for the dough. Chew- ing the cud of bitter reflections, the hungry man at dark reached, as he supposed, his home ; and seeing, as he thought, his wife lighting a lantern, greeted her with a box on the ear. The woman, startled at such conduct, screamed, bringing her husband to her relief, and the absent-minded man, now recovering his senses again, ran for his life ; but when beyond danger he relapsed into his old habits, and reaching his own dwelling, found himself begging pardon of his own amazed wife for having boxed her ears.

Here is another story of the same sort. A favorite method of mis- chief among the small and big boys in Japan is to double a stiff straw, twig, or stalk of hemp leaf, and insert it in the nostrils of a sleeper, who wakes to find his nostrils distended like those of an ox. A long while ago there was a lazy old fellow, on whom the children were fond of playing such tricks. Falling asleep one day, the children played the "snap -game" (hajiki) on his snoring organ. After a while he awoke, and, his nose tickling him, he passed his hand over his face and found a string tied to something like a loop in his nose. The ab- sentrminded old sinner, believing he was in another world, condemned to a lower state of existence, exclaimed, " Well, well, have I become an

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ox, as a punishment for my sins, to have a ring through my nose  ?" The moral to this story, duly tacked on by orthodox narrators, is, " The guilty conscience betrays itself when taken unawares."

Of foxes and badgers I have written elsewhere. I have in this chapter of folk-lore, given only a few specimens from a great store- house. This last is called " The Boy of Urashima."

In the reign of the Empress Suiko (A.D. 593-628) there lived, on a small island off the coast of Tango, a poor fisherman and his wife. Though too poor to provide more than the barest necessaries of life, they managed, being pious folks, to keep the lamp always burning in the shrine of Rogu, the sea-god, and their patron. Night and morn- ing they offered up their prayers, and, though their meals might be scanty, they never failed to burn a stick of incense at the shrine.

To this good couple a dear son was born, who grew up to be pious and dutiful, and to be the staff of his aged parents. When they were too old to go out to fish, Taro, the son, caught enough fish to sup- port himself and them. Now, it happened that one day in autumn Taro was out, as usual, in his boat, though the sea was rough and the waves high. The increasing storm finally compelled him to seek shel- ter in his hut. He uttered a prayer to the sea-god, and turned his prow homeward. Suddenly there appeared, on the crest of the waves, a divine being, robed in white, riding upon a large tortoise. Approach- ing the wearied fisherman, he greeted him kindly, and said, " Follow me, and I will make you a happy man."

Taro, leaving his boat, and mounting the tortoise with his august companion, the tortoise sped away with marvelous celerity; and on they journeyed for three days, passing some of the most wonderful sights human being ever beheld. There were ponds of perfectly transparent water filled with the fish he daily caught, and others with strange species. The roads were lined with rare and fragrant trees laden with golden fruit, and flowers more beautiful than he had ever seen or imagined. Finally, they came to a great gate of white mar- ble, of rare design and imposing proportion. Richly dressed ladies and pages were waiting to welcome him. He entered a golden pa- lanquin, and amidst trains of courtiers was borne to the palace of the king, and treated with honor and courtesy. The splendors of this palace it is not possible to describe in the language of earth. Taro was assigned to one of the fairest apartments, and beautiful girls waited upon him, and a host of servants were ready to do his bid- ding. Feasts, music, songs, dancing, gay parties, were given in his hon-

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or. Many of the people around him seemed very remarkable beings. Some had heads made of shells, some of coral. All the lovely colors of nacre, the rarest tints which man can see beneath the deep-blue sea when the ocean's floor is visible, appeared on their dresses and or- naments. Their jewels of pearls and precious stones and gold and silver were profuse, but wrought in exquisite art. Taro could scarce- ly tell whether the fascinating creatures were human or not; but he was very happy, and his hosts so kind that he did not stop to notice their peculiarities. That he was in fairy -land he knew, for such wealth was never seen, even in king's palaces, on earth.

After Taro had spent, as he supposed, seven days at the king's pal- ace, he wished to go and see his parents. He felt it was wrong to be so happy when he was uncertain of their fate in the upper world. The king allowed his request, and, on parting with him, gave him a box. " This," said he, " I give you on condition that you never open it, nor show it to any one, under any circumstances whatever." Taro, wondering, received it, and bid adieu to the king. He was escorted to the white marble gate, and, mounting the same tortoise, reached the spot where he had left his boat. The tortoise then left him.

Taro was all alone. He looked round, and saw nothing on the strand. The mountains and rocks were familiar, but no trace of his parents' hut was seen. He began to make inquiries, and finally learn- ed from an old gray-headed fisherman that, centuries before, the per- sons he described as his parents had lived there, but had been buried so long ago that their names could be read only by scraping the moss and lichens off the very oldest stones of the grave-yard in the valley yonder. Thither Taro hied, and after long search found the tomb of his dear parents. He now, for the first time since he had left his boat — as he thought, a few days ago — felt the pangs of sorrow. He felt an irresistible longing to open the box. He did so. A purple vapor, like a cloud, issued and suffused his head for a moment. A cold shiver ran through him. He tried to rise; his limbs were stiff and bent. His face was wrinkled ; his teeth dropped out ; his limbs trembled ; he was an old man, with the weight of four centuries on him. His infirmities were too great for flesh to bear ; he died a few days afterward.

I have given the story as it was current in Echizen. I have also heard it told with the location on the shores of the Bay of Yedo. Another version makes the strand of a river in Shinano the place of Taro's departure and return. In another form of the story, Taro re-

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tarns to find his parents dwelling in a glorious mansion. After greet- ings are over, the old folks are curious to know what the box con- tains. Taro, persuaded, opens it, to find himself, alone and old, on a desolate shore. The story is undoubtedly very old. It is found in several books, and has been often made the subject of art. The fish- ermen in various parts of Japan worship the good boy of Urashima, who, even in the palaces of the sea-gods, forgot not his old parents.

The four following stories are a few of many told of a famous judge, named Oka, who, for wisdom, shrewdness, and judicial acumen, may be called the Solomon of Japan. I first heard of his wondrous decisions when in Tokio, but there is a book of anecdotes of him, and a record of his decisions, called the Oka Jinseidan. I suppose they are true narrations.

A certain man possessed a very costly pipe, made of silver inlaid with gold, of which he was very proud. One day a thief stole it. After some vain search, Oka heard that a man in a certain street had such a pipe, but it was not certain whether it was his own or the stolen article. He found out the truth concerning the pipe in the following ingenious manner.

Japanese Pipe of Bamboo and Brass, Pipe-case, and Tobacco-pouch.

A Japanese pipe is usually made of a tiny bowl, or bowl-piece, fit- ted to a mouth-piece with a bamboo tube. Sometimes all the parts are in one, the material being metal or porcelain. The mild tobacco, cut into finest shreds, like gossamer, is rolled up in pellets, and lighted at a live coal in the brazier. After one or two whiffs, a fresh ball is

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introduced. A native will thus sit by the hour, mechanically rolling up these tobacco pills, utterly oblivious of the details of the act. Like certain absent-minded people, who look at their watches a dozen times, yet can not tell, when asked, what time it may be, so a Japanese, while talking at ease, will often be unable to remember whether he has smoked or not. After long mechanical practice, his nimble fingers with automatic precision roll the pellet to a size that exactly fills the bowl of the pipe.

The shrewd judge found an opportunity to see the suspected man a short time after the theft. He noticed him draw out the golden pipe, and abstractedly roll up a globule of tobacco from his pouch. It was too small. On turning to the brazier, and turning the mouth of the bowl sideward or downward, the pellet rolled out. Here was positive proof to Oka that the golden pipe was not his own. The thief, on be- ing charged with the theft, confessed his guilt, and was punished.

On another occasion a seller of pickled vegetables of various sorts, a miserly old fellow, being rich, and fearing thieves, kept his gold in a deep dish full of dai-kon (radishes), preserved in a liquid mixture composed of their own fermented juice, salt, and the skin of rice- grains. When long kept, the mass has a most intolerable odor, and to remove the smell from the hands after working in it stout scrub- bing with ashes is necessary. Now, it so happened that one of the neighbors found out the whereabouts of the pickler's savings, and, when his back was turned, stole. The old pickler kept his heart at the bottom of his radishes, and on his return, on examination, found his treasure gone. Forthwith informing the judge, Oka called in all the neighbors, and, after locking the doors, began, to the amazement of all and the horror of one, to smell the hands of those present. The unmistakable odor of dai-kon clung to one man, who thereupon con- fessed, disgorged, and received punishment.

Cases which other judges failed to decide were referred to Oka. Often the very threat of bringing a suspected man before this Solomon secured confession after other means had failed.

A young mother, being poor, was obliged to go out to service, and to leave her little daughter at the house of another woman to bring up for her. When the child grew up to womanhood, the mother was able to leave service, expecting to live with her daughter, and enjoy her love. To her surprise, on going to the house of the woman who had charge of her daughter, the woman claimed the girl as her own child, and refused to give her up.

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When brought before Oka, there being no evidence but the con- flicting testimony of the women, who both claimed maternity, the judge ordered them each to take hold of an arm of the young girl and pull. Whoever was the strongest should have her.

Not daring to disobey, the true mother reluctantly took gentle hold, while the other claimant seized a hand, and, bracing herself for the struggle, pulled with all her might. No sooner did the girl utter a cry of pain than the true mother dropped her hand, refusing to try again. Her friends urged her to continue the trial, and her antago- nist dared her to go on, but the mother was firm. The judge, silent and attentive the while, then angrily addressed the cruel woman as a deceiver, void of all maternal feeling, who regarded not the pain of her pretended offspring. He then ordered the girl to be restored to her true mother. The false claimant was dismissed in disgrace. Mother and child were overjoyed, and the witnesses astonished at such judicial wisdom.

In another case, a rich merchant of Yedo went to Kioto on busi- ness, and was absent thirteen months. On his return he found that his wife had been unfaithful to him. After fruitless efforts to extort her secret and find her paramour, he went to Oka. On a certain day, all the male relations, friends, and neighbors assembled, and, one by one, were called into the judgment -hall, and questioned. Oka told the husband to bring with him his cat, which had for years been a pet in the house. With the cat quietly nestled at his side, he leisurely questioned each person. No clue could be obtained, until one young man appeared and took his seat, as usual, on his heels and knees, on the matting. The cat, now interested, ran briskly up, rubbed itself against his knees, and, being stroked by the man, finally climbed up in his lap, and cuddled itself up as if perfectly familiar with that comfort- able place. All this time the young man was looking in the judge's face, and answering his questions, forgetful of the cat. The question- ing being finished, the judge ordered the officers to bind the man and conduct him to prison. The man, who was inwardly congratulating himself on his clever answers, and his freedom even from suspicion, thought Oka was helped by the gods, and confessed his crime.

I have an ivory and a wood Carving, both nitsuki, representing the Japanese form of the story of Rip Van Winkle, which is, perhaps, a universal myth. The ivory figure is that of an old man leaning on the handle of an axe. His hair is long and white, and his snowy beard sweeps his breast and falls below his girdle. He is intently watching

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two female figures playing a game of checkers. The story (of Chinese origin) is, as told by Japanese story-tellers, as follows :

Lu-wen was a pious wood-cutter, who dwelt at the base of the ma- jestic and holy mountain Tendai, the most glorious peak of the Nan- lin range, in China. Though he thought himself familiar with the paths, he for some reason one day lost his way, and wandered about, having his axe with him. He did not care, however, because the beauty of the landscapes, the flowers, and the sky seemed to possess his senses, and he gave himself up to the ecstasy of the hour, enjoy- ing all the pleasant emotions of holy contemplation. All at once he heard a crackling sound, and immediately a fox ran out before him and into the thickets again. The wood -cutter started to pursue it. He ran some distance, when suddenly he emerged into a space where two lovely ladies, seated on the ground, were engaged in playing a game of checkers. The bumpkin stood still and gazed with all his sight at the wonderful vision of beauty before him. The players ap- peared to be unaware of the presence of an intruder. The wood-cut- ter still stood looking on, and soon became interested in the game as well as in the fair players. After some minutes, as he supposed, he bethought himself to return. On attempting to move away, his limbs felt very stiff, and his axe-handle fell to pieces. Stooping down to pick up the worm - eaten fragments, he was amazed to find, instead of his shaven face of the morning, a long white beard covering his bosom, while, on feeling his head, he discovered on it a mass of silken white hair.

The wrinkled old man, now dazed with wonder, hobbled down the mountain to his native village. He found the streets the same, but the houses were filled with new faces; crowds of children gathered round him, teasing and laughing at him ; the dogs barked at the stranger ; and the parents of the children shook their heads and won- dered among themselves as to whence the apparition had come. The old man, in agony of despair, asked for his wife and children and relatives. The incredulous people set him down as a fool, knowing nothing of whom he asked, and treating his talk as the drivel of luna- tic senility. Finally, an old grandam hobbled up, and said she was a descendant of the seventh generation of a man named Lu-wen. The old man groaned aloud, and, turning his back on all, retraced his weary steps to the mountain again. He was never heard of more, and it is believed he entered into the company of the immortal hermits and spirits of the mountain.