to shoot me like this, because of those miserable beans! I meant to have left some for you to-day, that you too might eat!” And the Hare said, “Ha! my friend!—then it was you who finished up those beans by yourself, and I thought it was a wild beast!” The Elephant said, “Ha! to shoot me with a barbed arrow!—you have hurt me, my friend!—and how shall I get this out?” And he tried to pull out the arrow, and died. And the Hare ate the beans by himself, and went home.’ Another story in which these two figure is given by Mr. Macdonald under the title of ‘The Fox and the Hyena’; but this is in two parts—in the first, the Hyena plays a series of tricks on a long-suffering creature called the _mbendu_, apparently a kind of civet-cat; in the second, he tries to repeat these tricks on the Hare (for this is a case where ‘fox’ is used to translate _sungula_), and fails. In my version, the Hare is cheated at first, and learns by bitter experience; the closing incident, too, is different. The Hare and the Dzimwe went on a journey together, begging food (as native travellers do) at all the villages they came to. At the first, the Elephant said, ‘Let us ask for sugar-cane and _bango_ reeds’ (which are uneatable); he then took the sugar-cane and gave the Hare the _bango_. At the next village he acted in the same way with millet and pebbles. At the next, the people had been cooking porridge; and the Elephant, in order to secure both the Hare’s portion and his own, sent the latter back to gather some ‘medicine’ leaves from a tree he had noticed on the way, saying that the _nsima_ would not be good without them. The Hare, however, produced some from his bag; he had run back on the road, just after passing the tree, saying that he wanted to look for an arrow he had dropped, and had then picked the leaves. The Dzimwe was so disgusted at being outwitted that he would not eat, but left all the _nsima_ to the Hare. Next day, however, when they reached another village, he contrived to get him out of the way for a time, and, on his return, refused to share his porridge with him (an almost unheard-of thing in native manners), alleging that, in the interval, ‘many strangers’ had arrived, and eaten up all the cooked food in the village, so that there was barely enough for himself. The Hare then retired, stripped off his skin, tied _maseche_ rattles to his legs, and came and danced at the door of the hut where the Elephant was eating. The latter, thinking that he was a _chirombo_, fled and left him to finish the porridge. Subsequently, he was induced, by a stratagem not detailed in my version, to strip off his own skin, which the Hare hid while his back was turned. ‘And he said, “Who has taken my skin?” and since he was without a skin, he died of the heat.’