of Awang Lôtong-the Monkey Prince which is a bastard, local version of the Ramayana-until the cocks were crowing to a yellow dawn. He travelled with me on one occasion for a fortnight and I had the whole of this folktale written down from his dictation. When completed it covered sixty pages of foolscap of fine Arabic manuscript, which com- presses a great many words into a surprising small space; yet Leh, who could neither read ner write, knew every line of it by heart and could be turned on at any point, invariably continuing the story in precisely the same words. He had learned it from an old man in Kelantan, who in his day was reputed to be the last surviving bard to whom the whole of the tale was known. It was one of the most plain- spoken pieces of literature ever committed to writing, abounded with archaic phraseology, and the corrupt Hinduism to be traced in it lent it a very special interest. In due course, I sent the manuscript with a translation and elaborate notes to the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society by which learned body the whole thing was presently lost with the usual promptitude and despatch.
It was always a marvel to me that Leh escaped having some angry man's knife driven into his body during his wanderings through Pahang, for the Malays of that state were accustomed to discourage too sue- cessful lovers by little attentions of the kind, and Leh was adored by the women both high and low, throughout the length and breadth of the country, Whether he owed his survival to cunning or to sheer
