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Mermaids sing badly, and someone had to tell them. I sailed to the rocks near Corfu with a music stand and a stern look. We worked on breathing and pitch. After a year they could hold a note. Now ships crash there only on purpose, just to catch the show.

Flames froze on my candles during that bitter year in Courland. I snapped them off like carrots and sold them by the dozen. Buyers thawed them on the stove at home. Many a dark cottage was lit that way, and I bought a new sled with the money.

Dragons make good stoves if you treat them fairly. One in the Carpathians gave me a warm winter in return for a bag of coal and a kind word. I roasted chestnuts on its nose. In spring it flew off, and my heating bills have been terrible since.

Rainbows make poor bridges, as I learned in Ireland. I rode up one side with a full pack and a goat. The red was firm, the blue was slick, and the violet gave way at once. We landed in a bog. The goat has been a strange color ever since.

Hiccups shook me so hard in Madrid that a wall came down. Doctors ran in and out with leeches.