which he is merrily dividing among the many. If he now chance to have some ancient grudge against thee, he pushes away the dish to the right, so that thou gettest not the smallest bit of tail, and therewith canst not carp at all. For, alas! thou art just the thirteenth at table, which is always an unlucky thing when thou sittest at the left hand of the carver, and the dish goes around to the right. And to get no carp is a great evil—perhaps, next to the loss of the national cockade, the greatest of all. The Philistine, who has prepared this evil, now mocks thee with a heavy grin, offering thee the laurel leaves which lie in the brown sauce. Alas! what avail laurels, if you have no carp with them; and the Philistine twinkles his eyes and snickers, and whispers, "Fine weather to-day!"
Ah! dear soul, it may even happen to thee that thou wilt, at last, come to lie in some churchyard next to that same Philistine, and when, on the Day of Judgment, thou hearest the trumpet sound, and sayest to thy neighbour, "Good friend, be so kind as to reach me your hand, if you please, and help me to stand up; my left leg is asleep with this damned long lying still!"—then thou wilt suddenly remember the well-known Philistine laugh, and wilt hear the mocking tones of "Fine weather to-day!"
