And how gorgeously had she got herself up, the old lady from the Rhine! In her youth she must have been a comely lass, for even now, although the fresh colours of girlhood had left her cheeks, although time had painted some little wrinkles about her brow and her mouth, two centuries could not efface the noble features of her fine face. Her eyebrows had turned grey, and a couple of unseemly grey hairs had sprouted upon her pointed chin, but the hair brushed smoothly over her forehead was brown as nuts, and only intermingled here and there with a little silvery grey. Upon her head she wore a black velvet cap, fitting closely above her ears; then she had on a jerkin of finest black cloth, and the bodice of red velvet showing beneath was fastened with silver hooks and chains. About her throat she wore a broad necklace of glittering garnets, fastened to which was a gold medal; an ample skirt of brown cloth fell about her portly figure, and a little white apron trimmed with white lace added a coquettish touch. On one side there was a large pocket of leather, on the other a bunch of tremendous keys--in short, she was as respectable-looking a dame as ever walked across the street of Cologne or Mayence in 1618. And behind Dame Rose came six shouting fellows, swinging their three-cornered hats, with their wigs on awry, attired in broad-tailed coats and long embroidered vests. With ceremonious courtesy did Bacchus lead his lady to the head of the table, accompanied by the jubilations of his companions. She bowed with becoming gravity, and sat down. At her side the wooden Bacchus took a seat, after Balthasar, the kellermeister, had put a big cushion under him, for he had else seemed pitifully small and low. The others also sat down, and then I saw that they were the twelve Apostles from the Rhine, who at other times lie sleeping in the Apostles’ cellar in Bremen. “So here we are, altogether once more, we young people of 1700,” said Peter, after the tumult had somewhat subsided. “Your health, Dame Rose! You don’t look a day older; you’re as comely and stately as you were fifty years ago. Your health, and your sweetheart’s, Bacchus.” “My humble thanks to you, esteemed Apostle,” answered Dame Rose, bowing her appreciation. “Are you as much of a tease as ever? I don’t know of no sweetheart, and you mustn’t say such things to put out a modest lass!” She cast down her eyes as she said it, and emptied a tremendous bumper. “Love,” said Bacchus, looking tenderly out of his little eyes, and taking her hand; “Love, don’t put on airs. You know that my heart has inclined to you for two thousand autumns, and that I love you to-day before all others; a fiery kiss upon thy rosy lips shall prove it.” [Illustration: “HE TOOK HIS TRIBUTE WITH INTEREST.”] He leaned tenderly towards her. “If only all the young folks were not about,” she whispered shamefacedly. But under the shouts and laughter of the twelve the wine-god took his tribute with interest.