of a recent funeral pile, he bade him drum upon the skull with the thigh-bone, and repeat after himself the incantations which he began to scream out towards the western part of the firmament.  These charms were apparently possessed of singular efficacy, for scarcely were they commenced ere a hideous tempest arose, rain descended in torrents, phosphoric flashes darted across the sky, wolves and hyaenas thronged howling from their dens, and gigantic goblins, arising from the earth, extended their fleshless arms towards Ananda, and strove to drag him from his seat.  Urged by frantic terror, and the example and exhortations of his companion, he battered, banged, and vociferated, until on the very verge of exhaustion; when, as if by enchantment, the tempest ceased, the spectres disappeared, and joyous shouts and a burst of music announced the occurrence of something auspicious in the adjoining city.

“The hostile king is dead,” said the Jogi; “and his army has dispersed.  This will be attributed to thy incantations.  They are coming in quest of thee even now.  Farewell until thou again hast need of me.”

The Jogi disappeared, the tramp of a procession became audible, and soon torches glared feebly through the damp, cheerless dawn.  The monarch descended from his state elephant, and, prostrating himself before Ananda, exclaimed: 

“Inestimable man! why didst thou not disclose that thou wert a Jogi?  Never more shall I feel the least apprehension of any of my enemies, so long as thou continuest an inmate of this cemetery.”

A family of jackals were unceremoniously dislodged from a disused sepulchre, which was allotted to Ananda for his future residence.  The king permitted no alteration in his costume, and took care that the food doled out to him should have no tendency to impair his sanctity, which speedily gave promise of attaining a very high pitch.  His hair had already become as matted and his nails as long as the Jogi could have desired, when he received a visit from another royal messenger.  The Rajah, so ran the regal missive, had been suddenly and mysteriously attacked by a dangerous malady, but confidently anticipated relief from Ananda’s merits and incantations.

Ananda resumed his thigh-bone and his skull, and ruefully began to thump the latter with the former, in dismal expectation of the things that were to come.  But the spell seemed to have lost its potency.  Nothing more unearthly than a bat presented itself, and Ananda was beginning to think that he might as well desist when his reflections were diverted by the apparition of a tall and grave personage, wearing a sad-coloured robe, and carrying a long wand, who stood by his side as suddenly as though just risen from the earth.

“The caldron is ready,” said the stranger.

“What caldron?” demanded Ananda.

“That wherein thou art about to be immersed.”

“I immersed in a caldron! wherefore?”