“Yes, yes, children,” said old Rose; “it used to be quite different from now say fifty, or one hundred, or two hundred years ago. Then they brought their wives and daughters with them to the cellar, and the handsome Bremen lasses drank Rhine-wine, or of our neighbours’ from the Moselle, and were noted far and near for their blooming cheeks, their crimson lips, and for their lovely, sparkling eyes; now they drink miserable stuff, tea and the like, which grows far away where the Chinamen live, I am told, and which in my day women drank when they had a little cough or other trouble. Rhine-wine, genuine honest Rhine-wine, doesn’t agree with them nowadays; for the land’s sake you wouldn’t believe it! They put sweet Spanish wine with it to make it taste better; they say it’s too sour.” The Apostles burst into a perfect roar of laughter, which I joined involuntarily, and Bacchus laughed so horribly that old Balthasar had to hold him. “Ah, the good old times!” cried fat Bartholomew. “Our burghers used to drink two measures, and it seemed as if they had drunk water, so sober were they; but now one goblet throws them down. They are out of practice.” There was a terrible bang that made the vault ring again, the door flew open, and upon the threshold stood a tall white figure. With measured, ringing steps, a ponderous sword within his hand, in armour but without a helmet, did this gigantic individual strut into the room. He was of stone, his face was set and without expression. Nevertheless, his stony lips parted and he said-- “God greet ye, beloved vines from the Rhine. I needs must come and visit my fair neighbour on her anniversary-day. God greet you, Dame Rose. May I sit down to your carousal?” They all turned in surprise upon the giant statue. Spinster Rose broke the silence, clapped her hands together with joy, and exclaimed-- “Goodness me! It’s stony Roland, who has stood for many centuries upon the market-place of our dear Bremen town. Oh, it is kind of you to do me the honour, sir knight; lay down your shield and sword and make yourself comfortable; won’t you sit here by my side? Gracious me, how pleased I am!” The Apostles had moved up closer and made room for their guest on a chair by the ancient maiden. He laid his shield and sword in a corner and sat down rather awkwardly upon the little chair; but alas! this had been made for respectable mortals but not for a stony giant; with a crash it broke under him, and he lay full length upon the floor. “Base generation, which fabricates such stools upon which in my day no delicate maiden could have sat without breaking through the seat!” grumbled the hero, slowly getting up. The kellermeister rolled a cask up to the table, and invited the knight to be seated. A couple of staves cracked as he sat down, but the cask stood the test. “How tastes the wine to you?” Bacchus asked the new-comer. “It must be long since last you drank any.” “It is good, by my sword! Very good! What growth is it?”