"By no means. Now, to change the topic," I went on, "you are totally destitute of clothing. You do not even wear the traditional garment of fig leaves." "What avail fig leaves? There is no warmth in them." "Perhaps not--but out of delicacy." "What is that? I don't understand." There was clearly no corresponding sensation in the vibrating tympanum of his psychic nature. "Did you never wear clothes?" I inquired. "Certainly, when it was cold we wore skins, skins of the beasts we killed. But in summer what is the use of clothing? Besides, we only wore them out of doors. When we entered our homes, made of skins hitched up to the rock overhead, we threw them off. It was hot within, and we perspired freely." "What, were naked in your homes! you and your wives?" "Of course we were. Why not? It was very warm within with the fire always kept up." "Why--good gracious me!" I exclaimed, "that would never be tolerated nowadays. If you attempted to go about the country unclothed, even get out of your clothes freely at home, you would be sent to a lunatic asylum and kept there." "Humph!" He again lapsed into silence. Presently he exclaimed: "After all, I think that we were better off as we were eight thousand years ago, even without your matches, Benedictine, education, _chocolat menier_, and commercials, for then we were able to enjoy real sport--we could kill one another, we could knock old wives on the head, we could have a dozen or more squaws according to our circumstances, young and pretty, and we could career about the country or sit and enjoy a social chat at home, stark naked. We were best off as we were. There are compensations in life at every period of man. Vive la liberté!" At that moment I heard a shout--saw a flash of light. The workmen had pierced the barrier. A rush of fresh air entered. I staggered to my feet. "Oh! mon Dieu! Monsieur vit encore!" I felt dizzy. Kind hands grasped me. I was dragged forth. Brandy was poured down my throat. When I came to myself I gasped: "Fill in the hole! Fill it all up. Let H. P. lie where he is. He shall not go to the British Museum. I have had enough of prehistoric antiquities. Adieu, pour toujours la Vézère." GLÁMR The following story is found in the Gretla, an Icelandic Saga, composed in the thirteenth century, or that comes to us in the form then given to it; but it is a redaction of a Saga of much earlier date. Most of it is thoroughly historical, and its statements are corroborated by other Sagas. The following incident was introduced to account for the fact that the outlaw Grettir would run any risk rather than spend the long winter nights alone in the dark.