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and how he was able to foretel the weather with such accuracy. "Sire," replied the man, "I never went to school in my life, and can neither write nor read; but I keep in my service an excellent astrologer, who never deceives me."

"Who is he? what is his name?" asked the monarch, in astonishment.

"Please your majesty," answered the peasant, "it is my ass. Whenever a storm is at hand, he droops his ears forward and hangs down his head, goes more slowly than usual, and rubs himself against the walls. He did so yesterday, and from these signs I was enabled to warn your majesty of the approaching storm."

This adventure tended somewhat to enlighten the understanding of the king in regard to astrologers. He saw that even an ass knew more than they, and began to be ashamed of them. He bestowed a royal largess on the ass-driver for his unsolicited prediction, and dismissed from his service those whose duty it was to forewarn him of accidents.

One of these persons only contrived to preserve the good graces of the sovereign. He prophesied that a favourite mistress of the king's would die within a week. She did actually expire within the specified time. From a love of the marvellous, the narrators have not deemed