imagine, petrified with astonishment. The general conclusion was that the sentinels had been bribed, and that seven or eight regiments of the garrison had been employed in this horrid destruction of their artillery. Mr. Drinkwater, in his account of this famous siege, mentions the enemy sustaining a great loss by a fire which happened in their camp, but never knew the cause. How should he? I never divulged it before (though I alone saved Gibraltar by this night's business), not even to General Elliot. The Count d'Artois and all his attendants ran away in their fright, and never stopped on the road till they reached Paris, which they did in about a fortnight. This dreadful conflagration had such an effect upon them that they were incapable of taking the least refreshment for three months after, but, chameleon-like, lived upon air.

If any gentleman says he doubts the truth of this story, I will fine him a gallon of brandy, and make him drink it at one draft.-" Adventures of Baron Münchausen."

Gottfried Bürger

The Wives of Weinsberg

WHICH way to Weinsberg? Neighbor, say! 'Tis sure a famous city;

It must have cradled, in its day,
Full many a maid of noble clay,

And matrons wise and witty;
And if ever marriage should happen to me,
A Weinsberg dame my wife shall be.

King Conrad once, historians say,
Fell out with this good city;
So down he came, one luckless day,
Horse, foot, dragoons, in stern array,

And cannon, more's the pity!
Around the walls the artillery roared,
And bursting bombs their fury poured.

But naught the little town could scare;
Then, red with indignation,

He bade the herald straight repair
Up to the gates, and thunder there
The following proclamation:
"Rascals! when I your town do take,
No living thing shall save its neck!"

Now, when the herald's trumpet sent
These tidings through the city,
To every house a death-knell went;
Such murder-cries the hot air rent

Might move the stones to pity.
Then bread grew dear, and good advice
Could not be had for any price.

Then "Wo is me!" "Oh, misery!"
What shrieks of lamentation!

And "Kyrie Eleison!" cried
The pastors, and the flock replied,

"Lord, save us from starvation!"

"Oh, wo is me, poor Corydon! My neck-my neck! I'm gone! I'm gone!"

Yet oft, when counsel, deed, and prayer
Had all proved unavailing,
When hope hung trembling on a hair,
How oft has woman's wit been there-

A refuge never failing;
For woman's wit and papal fraud
Of olden time were famed abroad.

A youthful dame-praised be her name!

Last night had seen her plighted, And whether in waking hour or dream, Conceived a rare and novel scheme, Which all the town delighted; Which you, if you think otherwise, Have leave to laugh at and despise.

At midnight hour, when culverin

And gun and bomb were sleeping, Before the camp, with mournful mien, The loveliest embassy were seen,

All kneeling low and weeping. So sweetly, plaintively they prayed, But no reply save this was made:

"The women have free leave to go,

Each with her choicest treasure; But let the knaves, their husbands, know That unto them the king will show

The weight of his displeasure." With these sad terms the lovely train Stole weeping from the camp again.

But when the morning gilt the sky,

What happened? Give attention.
The city gates wide open fly,
And all the wives came trudging by,

Each bearing-need I mention?Her own dear husband on her back, All snugly seated in a sack!

Full many a sprig of court, the joke
Not relishing, protested,

And urged the king; but Conrad spoke: "A monarch's word must not be broke!"

And there the matter rested. "Bravo!" he cried. "Ha-ha! Bravo! Our lady guessed it would be so."

He pardoned all, and gave a ball,

That night, at royal quarters.
The fiddles squeaked, the trumpets blew,
And up and down the dancers flew,

Court sprigs with city daughters.
The mayor's wife-oh, rarest sight!-
Danced with the shoemaker that night!

Ah, where is Weinsberg, sir, I pray?
'Tis sure a famous city;

It must have cradled, in its day,
Full many a maid of noble clay,

And matrons wise and witty;
And if ever marriage should happen to me,
A Weinsberg dame my wife shall be.

-"Ballads."