"The sixth glass! In that sits Satan himself--a well-dressed, conversable, lively, fascinating little man--who never contradicts you, allows that you are always in the right--in fact, seems quite to adopt all your opinions. He comes with a lantern to convey you home to his own habitation. There is an old legend about a saint who was to choose one of the seven mortal sins, and he chose, as he thought, the least--drunkenness; but in that state he perpetrated all the other six sins. The human nature and the devilish nature mingle. This is the sixth glass; and after that all the germs of evil thrive in us, every one of them spreading with a rapidity and vigour that cause them to be like the mustard-seed in the Bible, 'which, indeed, is the least of all seeds; but when it is grown it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree.' Most of them have nothing before them but to be cast into the furnace, and be smelted there.
"This is the story of the glasses," said Olé, the watchman of the church tower; "and it applies both to those who use blacking, and to those who use only grease."
Such was the result of the second visit to Olé. More may be forthcoming at some future time.
_Anne Lisbeth; or, The Apparition of the Beach._
Anne Lisbeth was like milk and blood, young and happy, lovely to look at; her teeth were so dazzlingly white, her eyes were so clear; her foot was light in the dance, and her head was still lighter. What did all this lead to? To no good. "The vile creature!" "She was not pretty!"
She was placed with the grave-digger's wife, and from thence she went to the count's splendid country-seat, where she lived in handsome rooms, and was dressed in silks and fineries; not a breath of wind was to blow on her; no one dared to say a rough word to her, nothing was to be done to annoy her; for she nursed the count's son and heir, who was as carefully tended as a prince, and as beautiful as an angel. How she loved that child! Her own child was away from her--he was in the grave-digger's house, where there was more hunger than plenty, and where often there was no one at home. The poor deserted child cried, but what nobody hears nobody cares about. He cried himself to sleep, and in sleep one feels neither hungry nor thirsty: sleep is, therefore, a great blessing. In the course of time Anne Lisbeth's child shot up. Ill weeds grow apace, it is said: and this poor weed grew, and seemed a member of the family, who were paid for keeping him. Anne Lisbeth was quite free of him. She was a village fine lady, had everything of the best, and wore a smart bonnet whenever she went out. But she never went to the grave-digger's; it was so far from where she lived, and she had nothing to do there. The child was under their charge; _he_ who paid its board could well afford it, and the child would be taken very good care of.