So the wife reared her, and loved her, and cared for her, till she was twelve years old; and then, seeing the girl was fit to be married, she said to her husband, "Seest thou not, O husband, that the time for our daughter's marriage is slipping by?" "Quite right," said he: "so if she is agreed, I will summon the exalted sun-god, and give her to him to wife.” "What's the harm?" said his wife: "do so."

So the sage called the sun. And such was the power of his summons, which was made up of words of the Scripture, that the sun came instantly, saying, "Reverend sir, didst thou call me?" He answered, "Here is my daughter. If she will but choose thee, then take her to wife." And to his daughter he spake, "My child, does the exalted sun, the illumer of the three worlds, please thee?» The girl said, "Father, he is too scorching. I like him not. Call me some one more eminent than he." Then said the hermit to the sun, "Exalted one, is there any one mightier than thou?" And the sun said, "There is one mightier than I, the cloud; for he covers me, and then none can see me.”

So the sage called the cloud, and said, "Daughter, to him do I give thee." "He is too dark and cold," answered she; "so give me to some other mightier being." Then the sage asked the cloud, "O cloud, is there any mightier even than thou?" "The wind is mightier than I," said the cloud: "when the wind strikes me I am torn to a thousand shreds."

he."

So the sage called the wind and said, "Daughter, does the wind please thee best for a husband?"—"Father, he is too fickle. Bring hither some one mightier even than And the sage said, “O wind, is any mightier than thou ?” And the wind made answer, "The mountain is mightier than I; for strong as I am, it braces itself and withstands me."

So the sage called the mountain and said, "Daughter, to him do I give thee." She answered and spake, "Father, he is too hard and unyielding. Give me to some other than him." So the sage asked the mountain, "O king of mountains, is there any mightier even than thou?" And the mountain said, "The mice are mightier than I; for they tear and rend my body. asunder."

So the sage called a mouse, and showed him to her, and said, "Daughter, to him do I give thee. Does the king of the mice please thee?»

And she, showing her joy at the thought that this one at last was of her own kind, said, "Father, make me a mouse again, and give me to him, in order that I may fulfill my household duties after the manner ordained for my kind." So by the power of his asceticism he made her a mouse again, and gave her to him.

Translation of Charles R. Lanman.

THE GREEDY JACKAL

From the Panchatantra,' Book ii., Fable 3

HE brahman said:

THE

Excessive greed should ne'er be cherished.
Have greed-but keep it moderate.
The all too greedy jackal perished,
A wooden top-knot on his pate.

"How was that?" asked the brahman woman. narrated.

And the brahman

IN a certain forest lived a savage tribesman, who, on a day, set out a-hunting. And as he went he met a mighty boar, as big as the peak of Mount Anjana. Straightway, drawing his bow till the string touched his ear, he let fly a keen arrow and hit the boar. Full of rage, the boar, with his sharp tusk that gleamed like the young moon's crescent, ripped up the belly of the hunter, that he fell lifeless to earth. But the boar too yielded his life, from the smarting wound of the arrow.

Meantime a jackal, for whom Fate had ordained a speedy death, roaming for hunger hither and yon, came to the spot. Delighted at the sight of the boar and the hunter, he bethought him: "Ah! Fate is kind to me in giving me this unexpected food. How true is the saying:

No finger need'st thou raise! may'st work or sleep!
But of thy deeds wrought in a former birth,
The fruit-or good or ill-thou needs must reap!
Inexorable Karma rules the earth.

And again

In whatso time of life, or when, or where,
In former birth thou didst or good or ill,
In just that time of life, and then, and there,
In future birth, of fruit shalt have thy fill!

Now I'll manage it so with these carcasses that I shall get a living off of them for many days. And to begin withal, I'll eat the sinew which forms the bowstring. For they say—

A wise man doth sip the elixir of life,

Circumspectly and slowly, and heedful.

Thus enjoy thou the riches thou'st won by thy strife:
Never take at one time more than needful."

Making up his mind in this way, he took the end of the bow in his mouth, and began to gnaw the sinew. But as soon as his teeth cut through the string, the bow tore through his palate, and came out of his head like a top-knot, and he gave up the ghost. Therefore, continued the brahman, therefore I

say:

Excessive greed should ne'er be cherished.
Have greed but keep it moderate.

The all too greedy jackal perished,

A wooden top-knot on his pate.

Translation of Charles R. Lanman.

T

"HOW PLAUSIBLE»

From the Jataka,' No. 89

HIS story was told by the Master while at Jetavana, about a knave. The details of his knavery will be related in the Uddala-jataka.

ONCE on a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, there lived hard by a certain little village a shifty rascal of an ascetic, of the class which wears long matted hair. The squire of the place had a hermitage built in the forest for him to dwell in, and used to provide excellent fare for him in his own house. Taking the matted-haired rascal to be a model of goodness, and living as he did in fear of robbers, the squire brought a hundred pieces of gold to the hermitage, and there buried them, bidding the ascetic keep watch over them.- "No need to say that, sir, to a man who has renounced the world; we hermits never covet other folks' goods."—"It is well, sir," said the squire, who went off with full confidence in the other's protestations. Then the rascally ascetic thought to himself, "There's enough here to keep a man all his life long." Allowing a few days to elapse first,

he removed the gold and buried it by the wayside, returning to dwell as before in his hermitage. Next day, after a meal of rice at the squire's house, the ascetic said, "It is now a long time, sir, since I began to be supported by you; and to live long in one place is like living in the world,-which is forbidden to professed ascetics. Wherefore I must needs depart." And though the squire pressed him to stay, nothing could overcome this determination.

"Well then, if it must be so, go your way, sir," said the squire; and he escorted the ascetic to the outskirts before he left him. After going a little way, the ascetic thought that it would be a good thing to cajole the squire; so putting a straw in his matted hair, back he turned again. "What brings you back?" asked the squire. "A straw from your roof, sir, had stuck in my hair; and as we hermits may not take anything which is not bestowed upon us, I have brought it back to you." "Throw it down, sir, and go your way," said the squire, who thought to himself, "Why, he won't take so much as a straw which does not belong to him! What a sensitive nature!" Highly delighted with the ascetic, the squire bade him farewell.

Now at that time it chanced that the Future Buddha, who was on his way to the border district for trading purposes, had halted for the night at that village. Hearing what the ascetic said, the suspicion was aroused in his mind that the rascally ascetic must have robbed the squire of something; and he asked the latter whether he had deposited anything in the ascetic's care. "Yes: a hundred pieces of gold."

"Well, just go and see if it's all safe."

Away went the squire to the hermitage, and looked, and found his money gone. Running back to the Future Buddha, he cried, "It's not there." "The thief is none other than that longhaired rascal of an ascetic," said the Future Buddha: "let us pursue and catch him." So away they hastened in hot pursuit. When they caught the rascal, they kicked and cuffed him till he discovered to them where he had hidden the money. When he procured the gold, the Future Buddha, looking at it, scornfully remarked to the ascetic, "So a hundred pieces of gold didn't trouble your conscience so much as that straw!" And he rebuked him in this stanza:

"How plausible the story that the rascal told!

How heedful of the straw! How heedless of the gold!"

When the Future Buddha had rebuked the fellow in this wise, he added: "And now take care, you hypocrite, that you don't play such a trick again."

When his life ended, the Future Buddha passed away, to fare thereafter according to his deserts.

His lesson ended, the Master said, "Thus you see, brethren, that this brother was as knavish in the past as he is to-day." And he identified the Birth by saying: "This knavish brother was the knavish ascetic of those days, and I the wise and good man."

THE MAN IN THE PIT

From the Maha-Bharata›

[This is one of the most famous parables of antiquity and the Middle Ages, and has served alike for the edification of Brahmans, Jains, Buddhists, Mohammedans, Jews, and Christians. The text of this passage of the MahaBharata (Book xi., Sections 5, 6) is corrupt, and the version therefore free. The history of the parable forms the subject of a charming essay by Ernst Kuhn, in 'Festgruss an Otto von Böhtlingk' (Stuttgart, 1888).]

THE PARABLE

CERTAIN brahman, it is said, once came into a vast and

A impassable jungle filled with beasts of prey, and so beset

on every hand with horribly roaring lions, tigers, and elephants that even the God of Death would quake at the sight. The brahman's heart was sore affrighted, and his hair stood on end. He ran hither and yonder, searching in every quarter for some place of refuge, but in vain. And as he ran, he saw that the horrible jungle was encompassed with a net which was held by a woman of most horrible aspect.

Now in the midst of the jungle was an overgrown pit, whose mouth was covered with creepers and tough grasses. The brahman fell into this hidden well, but caught himself in the tangled creepers and hung there, feet upwards, head downwards.

Meantime new troubles came upon him: for within the pit he beheld a huge and mighty serpent; and hard by the mouth of it, an enormous black elephant with six faces and twelve feet, gradually approaching. Many terrible bees swarmed about the branches of the tree that stood over the pit, eager for the honey which continually dripped down from the twigs.