The following account will make us better acquainted with these fellows, and their mode of intercourse. It carries us to the right bank of the Oder in Silesia, a corner of Germany where "_Krippenreiterei_" was particularly bad. There, according to an old popular jest, the devil burst the sack when he endeavoured to carry off in the air a number of "_Krippenreiters_," and thus emptied out the whole rubbish on this district. The following description is taken from the narrative entitled "The Nobleman," written a few years before his death, by Paul Winckler, a Silesian, political agent and councillor at Breslau of the great Elector; he died 1686. The narrative was first published after his death in two editions, and finally at Nueremberg, 1697-8. There is no great skill or invention in it, but it is the more useful here on that account. Winckler was a well-educated man of the world, and an eminent jurist, and his numerous travels and alliances, and accurate knowledge of the condition of the German landed proprietors, made him particularly capable of forming a sound judgment. He possessed also qualities which are not rarely found in a Silesian; he knew how to accommodate himself easily to the world, was a cheerful companion, impartial in judgment, and a lively narrator. His being a member of the "_Fruchtbringende_," or literary society, probably contributed to keep alive his interest in German literature, and encouraged him to modest attempts at authorship. But he was too sensible a man not to regard with contempt the purist pedantry with which the associates of his society endeavoured to raise the German poetry. "They sit behind the kitchen of Parnassus, and satisfy themselves with the odour of the roast." He was about fifty when he wrote his narrative, confined to his room by the gout. His object was to point out by a portraiture, what a right sort of nobleman ought to be; for it had been his fate, throughout his whole life, to live in business relations and personal intercourse with the nobles of different provinces. His wife was a descendant of the poet Von Logau, and he himself was nephew of Andreas Gryphius. His own experience undoubtedly gave him a peculiarly sharp eye for the absurdities of the privileged classes, but he was the true son of his time, and preserved at heart a deep respect for genuine nobility. His narrative, therefore, is not by any means a satire, though it has indeed been called so, and the delineations here imparted give a peculiar impression of being accurate portraits. That which has been a hindrance to modern narrators who have a moral tendency, has indeed been the case with him. He has clearly depicted what the nobles ought not to be; but his good characters fail in sharp outline and colouring, nay, they become tedious, because he brings forward their education and principles in lengthy conversations. His narratives may be compared with the tale Simplicissimus, but in creative power, fancy,