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Legends of Rubezahl.
on the coach-box, slept not; for why?—All the stories about Rubezahl that he had formerly listened to with so much avidity, recurred in detail to his mind, now that he was in the very scene of their occurrence, and with such effect that he would have given his little finger had he never heard them. He now regretted the garret in which he slept at Breslau; for never ghost or goblin ascended thither. He incessantly cast timid, anxious glances all around him; his eye wandered round and round every point of the compass; and whenever it fell upon any object that appeared at all suspicious his flesh crept, a cold perspiration inundated his forehead, and his hair stood on end. Every now and then he would ask the postillion if the road was safe; and though each time the rough fellow replied, with oaths, that it was as safe as a street in a town, still John was not a bit the easier.
By-and-bye, all of a sudden, the postillion pulled up his horses, muttered something between his teeth, and then went on again; in a minute or two he stopped and muttered something again; then went on a little bit, and once more stopped. This he repeated several times. John, who shut his eyes at the commencement of these proceedings, at last opened them by a desperate effort, and looking forward, almost fell from his seat with fright, when he saw on the road, a stone’s throw in advance of the carriage, a tall, big
