"How are you now?" said the landlady, pulling the councillor's sleeve. His recollection now returned, for, in the course of the conversation, he had clean forgotten all that had happened.
"Good gracious! where am I?" said he, and he grew dizzy as he thought about it.
"Let's drink claret, mead, and Bremen beer!" cried one of the guests, "and you shall join us."
Two maids came in and poured out the drink, and retired with a curtsey. The councillor felt a cold shiver run through his frame.
"What is this? What is this?" repeated he. But he was forced, willy-nilly, to drink with them, for they overpowered the good man with their kind attentions. He was in despair, and when one of them observed that he was tipsy, he never doubted the truth of the man's words, but begged them to procure him a droschka.
They now thought he was speaking Muscovitish.
He had never before been in such rough and vulgar company. "One would think the land
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JUST AS HE WAS GOING OUT, THE COMPANY PERCEIVED HIS INTENTION AND SEIZED HIM BY THE FEET.
had returned to paganism," observed he; "this is the most dreadful moment of my life." But just then, it entered his head to stoop under the table, and creep from thence to the door; which he accordingly proceeded to do, only, just as he was going out, the company perceived his intention, and seized him by the feet, when, luckily for him, the goloshes came off, and with them vanished the whole vision.
The councillor now plainly saw a lamp, and a large building behind it; everything looked familiar and handsome. It was East Street, such as we know it. He lay with his legs turned towards a door, and opposite sat the watchman asleep.
"Bless me! have I been lying here in the street, dreaming?" said he. "Yes, this is East Street. How beautifully bright and gay it looks! It is shocking to think how a glass of punch must have upset me!"
Two minutes after, he sat in a droschka, that drove him to Christianshaven. He thought of all the anxiety and misery that he had endured, and now heartily relished the happy reality of our own age, which, with all its shortcomings, is yet far superior to the one in which he had so lately found himself.
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