Long he rode; the giant cryptomarias that flanked the highway towered overhead, and well-nigh shut out the remnant of the dying day. Night dropped her black pall over the earth as he entered the dark forests of the mountain, but far, far above the tree-tops the silver moon shone forth, with the stars peeping out

one by one, as though desiring to aid the loyal retainer in his search. Again and again he would check his horse and stop to listen, for it seemed that he could hear the melodious tones of a koto. At last, when, far late into the night, he arrived at the ancient temple of Horin, the sounds became more audible, al

though still distant. Was it the distant moan of some far-away tempest among the mountain peaks? Was it merely the night wind sighing through the lofty pines overhead? Or could it be the plaintive, liquid melody from the harp of the lost one? Checking his panting, foaming steed, Nakakuni listened intently, and while listening his heart began to beat wildly, for he now recognized the music of an old love song, and the magic touch of Kogo's fingers on the koto strings. Led by the guiding music, he soon reached a miserable-looking hut, whence the sounds proceeded. Dismounting at the door of the hut, he proclaimed himself a royal messenger and demanded admittance.

A voice from within answered that no dweller in so humble a hut was worthy of being the recipient of a message from the emperor, and that surely he had made some mistake. Not to be put off, however, Nakakuni declared that he had recognized Kogo's music, and that it was for Kogo that he was seeking. Then, indeed, he was made welcome to the humble abode; but, after delivering the emperor's message, the fair Kogo announced her determination to forsake the world forever and live the holy life of a recluse, and begged that Nakakuni would secure the emperor's pardon for her enforced disobedience to his commands. In vain did the faithful messenger endeavor to alter this determination, and presently the two fell to talking of the happy past at the palace. The koto was brought forth, and Kogo once more sang those well-known love songs, and the harp strings rang again with melody. The moments rolled into hours, and the day was breaking when Nakakuni took leave of the weeping and disconsolate maiden and rode slowly back to the palace alone.

Sometimes the story is ended here with the conclusion that Kogo became a Buddhist nun and spent her life in ministering to others, self-abnegation, and prayer; but the history of the romance, as set forth in the utai, is kindlier, for the emperor again sent for the sweet musician, who was finally prevailed upon to return to the palace, where she was restored to her former honorable position in the imperial household.

In rendering the above in English I have endeavored to retain, as far as possible, the quaintness of the original with which almost every Japanese is familiar. Regarding the purely legendary lore of Japan, this is as a rule most weird and mystical. The large variety of supernatural beings, for the most part of a purely psychical origin, is truly startling; indeed, it would be difficult to imagine or invent any grewsome form for an apparition that is not already an old inhabitant of Japanese "ghostdom."

But for "fireside" stories it is, after all, the recital of the uncanny and magical deeds of foxes and badgers that awakens the

greatest interest among the children, and which are, for the most part, believed in even by the elders. In fact, among the more illiterate classes to be possessed with the spirit of a fox (kitsuné-tsuki) is a form of zoanthropy not infrequently met with, although the disorder is more likely to be assumed than real, and the epithet kitsuné-tsuki, or "fox-hearted," is more apt to be figuratively applied than otherwise. Undoubtedly the popular belief in the magical powers of foxes and badgers in Japan is as extensive as the frequently unexpressed belief in the supernatural found in this country. The educated classes will decry any such superstitious belief, and yet will tell you of alleged experiences of their friends or relatives with foxes or badgers, which are very strange and not to be accounted for." Fox and badger stories are therefore highly appreciated by the juvenile members of any Japanese family, principally on account of their "authenticity," and because of that fascinating condition of fear and "the creeps that their recital occasions. Here is a good badger story, the truth of which I can vouch for, insomuch as there is a field of Inami near Kyōtō, and that it is a grewsome spot well suited for a trysting place for ghouls and ghosts.

THE BURIAL AT MIDNIGHT.*

66

Not far from Kyōtō, in the smiling hill-land of Harima, there is a broad, open plain known as the "Field of Inami." Although surrounded by verdant hillsides, this plain is bleak and barren; great gusts of wind sweep over the long, dry grasses, and nofarmer or peasant has ever found a home in this desolate spot. Yet the great highway to Kyōtō runs just to one side of the plain, and on this road a postman used to carry his load of letters once or twice every week. A little bypath leads across one corner of the plain, lessening the distance to the city, and this path was a great favorite with the postman, as it made his journey so much the shorter.

Going one day as usual to Kyōtō, he reached the field a little later than was his wont, and night came on before he had advanced very far. Without a light or the means of procuring one, he wandered aimlessly on for a while, but finally seeing that he had missed the path in the darkness, resolved to pass the night where he was, with the sky for a coverlet. Without giving a second thought to all the ugly stories told of the field, the ghosts and malicious fox-sprites said to hold their nightly revels in that spot, the postman bravely determined to make the best of it, and

* This tale was first translated from the Japanese into German, and read, among others, before the Gesellschaft für Völkerkunde in Ost-Asien, in Yokohama, by F. Warrington Eastlake, Ph. D.

was just looking for some sort of shelter when he caught sight of a little, half-ruined hut. Drawing nearer, he found that it was a sort of watch-house, such as the peasants build near the rice-fields in order to protect the growing grain. Overjoyed at having found even this poor shelter, the postman entered the little hut, and, throwing himself on a heap of dried grass, was soon fast asleep. Perfect silence reigned over the sterile plain; only now and again the far-off hoot of an owl or the mournful cry of some night bird broke the stillness of the night.

Several hours had passed, when the sleeper was suddenly awakened by the deep, sonorous note of a bell. The sound seemed to come from the western portion of the field, and all at once the startled sleeper heard a tramping as of many feet, and a confused murmur of Buddhist chants and prayers. Nearer and nearer came the crowd of people, to the listener's great astonishment. "There are no houses in the field," thought he," and anyhow no one would think of going at midnight to such a deserted and illomened spot." The stars were shining brightly, but no moon illumined the scene, so that the trembling postman could only see objects very near him. Nevertheless he peeped cautiously out of his hiding place and saw, to his unbounded surprise, a long procession of men bearing torches and lanterns. In front of all marched a tall priest, reciting the Buddhist invocation, Namu Amida Butsu, in a clear, loud voice. "It is a funeral procession!' thought the frightened listener, and crept farther back into the shadows of the hut.

As soon as the mournful procession had reached the little hut a halt was made, and the coffin-bearers stepped forward. Scarcely five paces from the hut the grave was dug, and the coffin placed in it. The priest then threw the earth back into the grave and built a little mound above it, and finally placed a few sticks covered with Buddhist characters in one end of the mound. Without further word the somber procession turned back, and moved slowly away in the same solemn and impressive manner, leaving the postman in a most pitiable frame of mind. It was quite bad enough to be compelled to spend the night in such an uncanny and grewsome spot; but the late hour, mysterious burial, and the proximity of the freshly dug grave were enough to frighten the bravest heart.

As if chained to the spot by some evil spell, the postman kept staring at the little mound before him. Suddenly, while he was gazing fixedly at the grave, it began to rock slowly from side to side. Quicker and quicker became the rocking, while the involuntary spectator underwent an agony of terror. Faster and faster still rocked the mound, until it fell over with a great shock, and a naked, horrid thing jumped from the grave and ran toward the