Every one knows the delightful _Uncle Remus_ tales, and will remember the cunning and resourcefulness of ‘Brer Rabbit,’ who, with his family, ‘wuz at de head er de gang when any racket wuz on hand, en dar dey stayed!’ It is now generally agreed that these stories came from Africa; and wherever any Bantu folk-tales have been written down, there we are pretty sure to find Brer Rabbit, under one alias or another. The Anyanja call him _Kalulu_, the Yaos _Sungula_—generally _Che Sungula_, ‘Mr. Rabbit’; though naturalists remind us, by the bye, that he is not properly a rabbit but a hare. One comes across the Kalulu by himself in the bush, and he makes a form in the grass, not a burrow in the ground. If I can trust my recollection of him, he is a little smaller than an English hare. I cannot help feeling surprised that some writers on African folk-lore have chosen to ‘translate’ _sungula_, or its equivalent in other Bantu languages, by ‘fox,’ because the character assigned to the hare is in their opinion more appropriate to the fox. By doing so, we spoil one of the most characteristic features in the stories, and, moreover, lose an important distinction; for the place given by the Bantu to the Hare is occupied in Hottentot folk-lore by the Jackal. Of course the animals in _Uncle Remus_ are not all the same as those in the African tales; as some of the latter do not live in America, better-known ones have been substituted for them. Thus the Elephant, the Hippopotamus, the Lion, and the Python have disappeared, so has the Crocodile (‘Uncle Remus’ lived in Middle Georgia, where there are no alligators); and I fancy that Brer Wolf and Brer Fox have taken the place of the Hyena, who sometimes gets the better of the Hare for a time, but is always worsted by him in the end. The Tortoise (a land and not a water tortoise, usually) is as clever as Brer Terrapin, but is more bloodthirsty and vindictive—a kind of Shylock. The Baboon (_nyani_) does not seem to have an American counterpart, and the Cat, the Cock, and the Swallow, though one does not see why, have also dropped out. A somewhat puzzling creature in the Nyanja tales is the Dzimwe, sometimes translated ‘elephant,’ though the native explanations are rather hazy, and leave one with the impression that he is a kind of bogey—perhaps akin to Chiruwi. One boy actually states that _dzimwe_ (or, in the Likoma dialect, _jimwe_) sometimes means ‘an elephant,’ and sometimes ‘a spirit.’ In the present case, it seems more satisfactory to take it as the former; though in one or two stories we have the elephant under his proper Nyanja name of _njobvu_. In neither case does he act up to his reputation for wisdom, for in the end he is always cruelly victimised by the Hare.