in the cask, they left it standing in the road, while they went in to refresh themselves with a draught. No sooner did Kibitz find himself alone than he began to consider how he might best avail of those few precious moments, in order to regain his freedom. At almost the very same instant, he heard a flock of sheep pass by; upon which he began to cry out, “I will not be chosen burgomaster. I am determined not to be a burgomaster.” The shepherd astonished at his exclamation, went up to the cask and questioned him as to the cause of his being there. “Friend,” replied Kibitz, “according to an ancient and singular custom of our town, whoever is chosen burgomaster, is borne in procession by the inhabitants of our town, in this cask. I am appointed to this honour; but am by no means ambitious of it.”—“How!” exclaimed the shepherd with astonishment, “are you in earnest, when you say that you do not wish for the honour? I would then that it were some other person’s good-luck to be chosen burgomaster.” “Well
