near it he observed with wonder the crowds on the road, and thought, "I
shall certainly not be able to know myself among so many people if I
have not something about me that the others have not." So he tied a
pumpkin to his right leg and, thus decorated, entered the town. A young
wag, perceiving the simpleton, made friends with him, and induced him to
spend the night at his house. While he was asleep, the joker removed the
pumpkin from his leg and tied it to his own, and then lay down again. In
the morning, when the poor fellow awoke and found the pumpkin on his
companion's leg, he called to him, "Hey! get up, for I am perplexed in
my mind. Who am I, and who are you? If I am myself, why is the pumpkin
on your leg? And if you are yourself, why is the pumpkin not on my leg?"

Modern counterparts of the following jest are not far to seek: Quoth a
man to a pedant, "The slave I bought of you has died." Rejoined the
other, "By the gods, I do assure you that he never once played me such a
trick while I had him." The old Greek pedant is transformed into an
Irishman, in our collections of facetiæ, who applied to a farmer for
work. "I'll have nothing to do with you," said the farmer, "for the last
five Irishmen I had all died on my hands." Quoth Pat, "Sure, sir, I can
bring you characters from half a dozen gentlemen I've worked for that I
never did such a thing." And the jest is thus told in an old translation
of _Les Contes Facetieux de Sieur Gaulard_: "Speaking of one of his
Horses which broake his Neck at the descent of a Rock, he said, Truly it
was one of the handsomest and best Curtails in all the Country; he neuer
shewed me such a trick before in all his life."[1]

Equally familiar is the jest of the pedant who was looking out for a
place to prepare a tomb for himself, and on a friend indicating what he
thought to be a suitable spot, "Very true," said the pedant, "but it is
unhealthy." And we have the prototype of a modern "Irish" story in the