leave off, for it's washing day to-morrow, and they want the coppers filled."

So saying, he dismissed the first class to their experiments in practical philosophy, and stood eyeing Nicholas with a look half doubtful, half cunning,

ADVENTURE OF BARON MUNCHAUSEN IN A FIGHT WITH THE TURKS.

RUDOLPH ERICH RASPE. EXTRACTS.

WE had very hot work once in the van of the army, when we drove the Turks into Oczakow. My spirited steed had almost brought me into a scrape. His swiftness enabled me to be foremost in the pursuit; and, seeing the enemy fairly flying through the opposite gate, I thought it would be prudent to stop in the marketplace to order the men to rendezvous.

I stopped, gentlemen; but judge of my astonishment when in this market-place I saw not one of my hussars about me. Are they scouring the other streets, or what is become of them? They could not be far off, and must at all events soon join me. In that expectation, I walked my panting steed to a spring in the market-place, and let him drink. monly, with an eagerness not to be satisfied but natural enough, for when I looked round for my men, what should I see, gentlemen! The hind part of the poor creature croup and legs were missing as if he had been cut in two, and the water ran out as it came in,

He drank uncom

without refreshing or doing him any good. How it could have happened was quite a mystery to me, till I returned with him to the town-gate. There I saw that when I rushed in pell-mell with the flying enemy, they had dropped the portcullis (a heavy falling-door with sharp spikes at the bottom, let down suddenly to prevent the entrance of an enemy into a fortified town) unperceived by me, which had totally cut off his hind. part, that still lay quivering on the outside of the gate.

It would have been an irreparable loss, had not our furrier contrived to bring both parts together while still hot. He sewed them up with sprigs and young shoots of laurel that were at hand. The wound healed, and what could not have happened but to so glorious a horse, the sprigs took root in his body, grew up and formed a bower over me; so that afterwards I could go upon many expeditions in the shade of my own and my horse's laurels.

ADVENTURE OF BARON MUNCHAUSEN WITH HIS HORSE.

RUDOLPH ERICH RASPE. EXTRACTS.

I SET off for Rome on a journey to Russia in the midst of winter, from a just notion that frost and snow must of course mend the roads, which every traveller had described as uncommonly bad through the northern parts of Germany and Poland. I went on horseback, as the most convenient manner of travelling; I was

but lightly clothed, and of this I felt the inconvenience the more as I advanced northward.

I went on, and as I was crossing a bleak common in Poland, night and darkness overtook me. No village was to be seen. The country was covered with snow, and I was unacquainted with the road.

Tired, I alighted and fastened my. horse to something like a pointed stump of a tree, which appeared above the snow. For the sake of safety I placed my pistols under my arm, and lay down on the snow, where I slept so soundly that I did not open my eyes till broad daylight. It is not easy to conceive my astonishment to find myself in the midst of a village, lying in a churchyard; nor was my horse to be seen, but I heard him neigh somewhere above me. On looking upward, I beheld him hanging by his bridle to the weathercock of the steeple. Matters were now plain to me; the village had been covered with snow over night; a sudden change of weather had taken place; I had sunk down to the churchyard whilst asleep, gently and in the same proportion as the snow had melted away; and what in the dark I had taken to be the stump of a little tree appearing above the snow, to which I had tied my horse, proved to have been the weathercock of the steeple.

Without long consideration I took one of my pistols, shot the bridle in two, brought down the horse, and proceeded on my journey.

DON QUIXOTE AND THE WINDMILLS.

MIGUEL DE Cervantes. EXTRACTS.

As Don Quixote and Sancho Panza were riding, they perceived some thirty or forty windmills on the plain. As soon as Don Quixote spied them, he said to his squire:

"Fortune disposes our affairs better than we ourselves could have desired; look yonder, friend Sancho Panza, where you may discern somewhat more than thirty monstrous giants, with whom I intend to fight, and take away all their lives; with whose spoils we will begin to enrich ourselves; for it is lawful war, and doing God service to take so wicked a generation from off the face of the earth."

"What giants?" said Sancho Panza.

"Those you see yonder," answered his master, "with those long arms; for some of them are wont to have them of the length of almost two leagues."

"Consider, sir," answered Sancho, "that those which appear yonder are not giants, but windmills; and what seem to be arms are the sails which are whirled about by the wind and make the millstone go."

"One may easily see," answered Don Quixote, "that you are not versed in the business of adventures; they are giants, and if you are afraid, stand aside and pray, whilst I engage them in a firm and unequal combat."

So saying, he clapped spurs to his horse without minding the cries his squire sent after him. He went on, crying out aloud:

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Fly not yet, ye cowards and vile caitiffs, for it is a single knight who assaults you!"

Now the wind rose a little, and the great sails began to move, which Don Quixote perceiving, he said, "Well, though you should move more arms than Briareus, you shall pay for it."

So saying, he rushed on as fast as his horse could carry him, and attacked the first mill before him; running his lance into the sail, the wind whirled it about with so much violence that it broke the lance to shivers, dragging horse and rider after it, and tumbling them over and over on the plain in very evil plight. Sancho Panza hastened to his assistance as fast as his donkey could carry him, and when he came up to him, he found him not able to stir-so violent was the blow he had received in falling.

"God save me!" quoth Sancho; "did I not warn you to have a care of what you did, for that they were nothing but windmills?"

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Peace, friend Sancho," answered Don Quixote, “for matters of war are of all others most subject to continual mutations. Now I verily believe that the wizard who stole away my books has metamorphosed these giants into windmills on purpose to deprive me of the glory of vanquishing them; but his wicked arts will avail little against the goodness of my sword."

"God grant it!" answered Sancho Panza; and helping him to rise, he mounted him again upon his horse, who was half shoulder-slipped.