Having thus blown off the steam—I mean to say, having thus ventilated the enthusiasm engendered by again reading the tale of Prince Ahmad and the Perí Bánú, I am now in a fitter frame of mind for the business of examining some versions and variants of it; for though the tale has not yet been found in Arabic, it is known from the banks of Ganga to the snow-clad hills and vales of Iceland—that strange land whose heart is full of the fiercest fires. This tale, like that of Zayn al-Asnám, comprises two distinct stories, which have no necessary connection, to wit, (1) the adventures of the Three Princes, each in quest of the rarest treasure, wherewith to win the beautiful Princess Núr-en-Nihár; and (2) the subsequent history of the third Prince and the Perí Bánú. The oldest known form of the story concludes with the recovery of the lady—not from death’s door, but from a giant who had carried her off, and the rival claims of the heroes to the hand of the lady are left undecided: certainly a most unsatisfactory ending, though it must be confessed the case was, as the priest found that of Paddy and the stolen pullet, somewhat “abstruse.” In the “Vetálapanchavinsati,” or Twenty-five Tales of a Vampyre (concerning which collection see Appendix to the preceding volumes, p. 320), the fifth recital is to this purpose: There was a Bráhman in Ajjayini (Oojein) whose name was Harisvamin; he had a son named Devasvamin and a daughter far famed for her wondrous beauty and rightly called Somaprabha (Moonlight). When the maiden had attained marriageable age, she declared to her parents that she was only to be married to a man who possessed heroism, or knowledge, or magic power. It happened soon after this that Harisvamin was sent by the king on state business to the Dekkan, and while there a young Brahman, who had heard the report of Somaprabha’s beauty, came to him as a suitor for the hand of his daughter. Harisvamin informed him of the qualifications which her husband must possess, and the Bráhman answered that he was endowed with magic power, and having shown this to the father’s satisfaction, he promised to give him his daughter on the seventh day from that time. In like manner, at home, the son and the wife of Harisvamin had, unknown to each other, promised Somaprabha to a young man who was skilled in the use of missile weapons and was very brave, and to a youth who possessed knowledge of the past, the present, and the future; and the marriage was also fixed to take place on the seventh day. When Harisvamin returned home he at once told his wife and son of the contract he had entered into with the young Bráhman, and they in their turn acquainted him of their separate engagements, and all were much perplexed what course to adopt in the circumstances.