THE young goat had a playful mind, And never liked to be confined; The apostle, at a killing pace, Followed the goat, in a desperate chase; Over the hills and among the briers The goat runs on and never tires, While Peter, behind, on the grassy plain, Runs on, panting and sighing, in vain. All day, beneath a scorching sun, The good apostle had to run Till evening came; the goat was caught, And safely to the Master brought. Then, with a smile, to Peter said The Lord: “Well, friend, how have you sped; If such a task your powers has tried, How could you keep the world, so wide?” Then Peter, with his toil distressed, His folly, with a sigh, confessed. “No, Master! ’tis for me no play To rule one goat for one short day; It must be infinitely worse To regulate the universe.” _Hans Sachs_ (1494-1576). [Illustration] A RAID ON THE PARSON’S KITCHEN. THE commandant at Soest looked at me with approval, and said, “Tut, little huntsman, you shall be my servant, and wait upon my horses.” “Sir,” I replied, “I should prefer a master in whose service the horses wait upon me. As it is not likely I shall find such a one, I am going to be a soldier.” “Hoity-toity,” he said, “you have no more hair on your lip than a tree-frog. You are too young.” “Oh, no,” I replied, “I will venture to brave any man of eighty. The beard does not make a man, else the he-goats would be in high esteem.” He said, “If you can show courage as well as you can wag your tongue, so be it.” I answered, “The first opportunity shall furnish the proof.”