Herodotus has attributed the same unfilial conduct to some Indian tribes. The incident of St. Bernard playing at dice for a soul (p. 151), is in the "Gesta Romanorum." The anecdote how a son induced his father to become a monk (p. 81) which is quoted from the "Vitas Patrum" is also in the "Gesta Romanorum," and has so much of the Buddhist flavour as to give rise to the suspicion that it comes from an Oriental source.[35] The story of two merchants quoted from Petrus Alphonsus is also in the "Gesta Romanorum." It is the foundation of Lydgate's "Two Friends," and is beyond doubt an Eastern importation. In a MS. of the "Speculum Laicorum," described by Prof. Ingram, the writer has transformed one of the merchants into an Englishman.[36] The story quoted from "Paul, the historiagraph of the Lombards" (p. 46), is also given in the "Gesta Romanorum." Mr. Herrtage says it is "evidently founded on the classical legend of Tarpeia." The narrative in the chess-book is taken from Paulus Diaconus.[37] The stratagem by which deposited money was recovered from a dishonest trustee (p. 114) is told by Petrus Alphonsus, and is also in the "Gesta Romanorum." The story of the danger of drunkenness (p. 129) was a favourite with our forefathers. It is given by John of Bromyard, and is the subject of a fabliau which is given by Meon.[38] The somewhat violent remedy recorded as having been adopted by Demosthenes (p. 103) will remind some readers of a passage in the life of St. Francis of Assisi. "He had given up," says Mrs. Oliphant, "without hesitation, as would appear, all the indefinite sweetness of youthful hopes. But, nevertheless, he was still young, still a man, with human instincts and wishes, the tenderest nature, and an imagination full of all the warmth and grace of his age and his country. It does not appear that he ever put into words the musings which caught him unawares--the relics of old dreams or soft recollections which now and then would steal into his heart. But one night suddenly he rose from the earthen floor which was his bed, and rushed out into the night in an access of rage and passion and despair. A certain brother who was praying in his cell, peering, wondering, through his little window, saw him heap together seven masses of snow in the clear moonlight. 'Here is thy wife,' he said to himself; 'these four are thy sons and daughters, the other two are thy servant and thy handmaid; and for all these thou art bound to provide. Make haste, then, and provide clothing for them, lest they perish with cold. But if the care of so many trouble thee, be thou careful to serve our Lord alone.' Bonaventura, who tells the story, goes on, with the true spirit of a monkish historian, to state how, 'the tempter being vanquished, departed, and the holy man returned victorious to his cell.' The piteous human yearning that is underneath this wild tale, the sudden access of self-pity and anger, mixed with a strange