[Dark Saint Alaick]

"Mein Gott!" said the Angel of the Odd, apparently much softened at my distress; "mein
Gott, te man is eder ferry dronk or ferry zorry. You mos not trink it so strong--you mos
put te water in te wine. Here, trink dis, like a good veller, and don't gry now--don't!"
Hereupon the Angel of the Odd replenished my goblet (which was about a third full of
port) with a colorless fluid that he poured from one of his hand-bottles. I observed that
these bottles had labels about their necks, and that these labels were inscribed
"Kirschenwässer."
The considerate kindness of the Angel mollified me in no little measure; and, aided by
the water with which he diluted my port more than once, I at length regained sufficient
temper to listen to his very extraordinary discourse. I cannot pretend to recount all that he
told me, but I gleaned from what he said that he was a genius who presided over the
contretemps of mankind, and whose business it was to bring about the odd accidents
which are continually astonishing the skeptic.