enchanted dogs, he went rambling through the world. He
roamed and rambled here, there, and everywhere until, at last, he came
to Clear-Water, which he found all in mourning for the supposed death
of Canneloro. And scarcely was he come to the court, when every one,
thinking, from the likeness he bore him, that it was Canneloro,
hastened to tell Fenicia the good news, who ran leaping down the
stairs, and embracing Fonzo cried, "My husband! my heart! where have
you been all this time?"

Fonzo immediately perceived that Canneloro had come to this country and
had left it again; so he resolved to examine the matter adroitly, to
learn from the Princess's discourse where his brother might be found.
And, hearing her say that he had put himself in great danger by that
accursed hunting, especially if the cruel ogre should meet him, he at
once concluded that Canneloro must be there.

The next morning, as soon as the Sun had gone forth to give the gilded
frills to the Sky, he jumped out of bed, and neither the prayers of
Fenicia, nor the commands of the King could keep him back, but he would
go to the chase. So, mounting his horse, he went with the enchanted
dogs to the wood, where the same thing befell him that had befallen
Canneloro; and, entering the cave, he saw his brother's arms and dogs
and horse fast bound, by which he became assured of the nature of the
snare. Then the doe told him in like manner to tie his arms, dogs, and
horse, but he instantly set them upon her and they tore her to pieces.
And as he was looking about for some traces of his brother, he heard
his voice down in the pit; so, lifting up the stone, he drew out
Canneloro, with all the others whom the ogre had buried alive to
fatten. Then embracing each other with great joy, the twin-brothers
went home, where Fenicia, seeing them so much alike, did not know which
to choose for her husband, until Canneloro took off his cap and she saw
the mark of the old wound and recognised him. Fonzo stayed there a
month, taking his pleasure, and then wished to return to his own
country, and Canneloro wrote by him to his mother, bidding her lay
aside her enmity and come and visit him and partake of his greatness,
which she did. But from that time forward, he never would hear of dogs
or of hunting, recollecting the saying--

"Unhappy is he who corrects himself at his own cost."

X

PARSLEY

This is one of the stories which that good soul, my uncle's grandmother
(who