"It was clear as the sun this was no angel, but a devil, who, as St. Paul says, had transformed himself into an angel of light; for, first, the hellish emissary had called him a bloodhound. Now, what blood had he ever shed, except the blood of accursed witches? and this, as a just ruler, he had done upon the express command of God Himself (Ex. xxii. 18), where it is written:—'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.' No one, therefore, from heaven or upon earth, could blame him for fulfilling the commands of God, yet the spirit had blamed him. Ergo, he was not an angel, but a devil. Next, the knave twice called me a drunkard. Here clearly he showed himself no angel, but, as the Lord Jesus named him, the 'father of lies;' for tell me, friends, was I drunk to-day? If I do take a sleeping draught after the fatigues of the day—tell me, what does that matter to this impudent devil? So I say with that Mecklenburgh nobleman in Dobberan:—

'Away, away, thou devil, from me,
I care not a single hair for thee;
In spite of the devil, a noble man
Should drain to the last his drinking-can.
I'll sup with the Lord and the saints the first,
While thou, poor devil, must ever thirst.
I'll drain the mead from the flowing bowl,
While the devil is sitting in hellish dole;
Therefore, away, thou devil, from me,
I care not a single hair for thee.

[Footnote: This inscription is still to be seen upon a tombstone
in Dobberan.]

And doth not Martinus Lutherus say—

'Who loves not wine, women, and song,
Remains a fool his whole life long'?

Marry, the grievous devil may wait long enough before he makes me a fool. I am too sharp for the stuff with which he humbugs you, my wise chattering magister!"

But the magister began to demonstrate how unlikely it was that Satan would give advice how to subdue himself; "For how then could his kingdom stand?" as the Lord said (Luke xi.). So the Duke listened, and grew thoughtful—at last exclaimed, "Well, come, we'll settle that over the wine-cup; and to spite the knave, we'll keep up the carouse till morning; the night is already half spent, and I have some glorious Muscadel in the cellar."

My Jobst, however, will not remain; and Diliana asks, "What his
Grace will do about Wolde?"

This set his Grace again upon abusing the spirit—"Ay, truly, he must have been a devil—Master Beelzebub himself, and no good angel—for had he not bid him twice to hold his tongue when he began to ask about his old illustrious race, and what should be done to preserve it from utter destruction? The magister might go to the devil himself now, with all his magic; he saw clearly through the whole business."

So a great strife arose between them, which ended in the Duke permitting the blessed maiden to press the wound in her arm, in order to communicate, by means of the magnetic alphabet, with the knight, who at that moment was keeping watch with his good sword in the chapel of Marienfliess. Everything, however, must be performed before the eyes of the Duke, else he would not believe it; so the young maiden, blushing for shame, pressed the wound on her arm; and after a brief space, cried out with wonder—"In truth I feel the pressure now of itself." Whereupon, at the command of the magister, she threw up her wide sleeve (for she still wore the magic robe), and placed the little box with the magnet on her arm, directing the magnetic needle, with a fine stick, to the letters, thus:—