The October Sunday with which I fill up this Dog-Post-Day was, even at nine and a half o'clock in the morning, such a glad, glistening day in St. Luna, that the whole Parsonage thought of the Court-Physician.--"Ah, he ought to come to the concert this evening!" The _virtuoso_ Stamitz was to give one in Le Baut's garden.--"O, better earlier, even to dinner!"--"And to my forenoon sermon, if he will not come to the children's catechizing." Eymann, as he said this, had, more than anything else, his newly dressed peruke in his head, which Herr Meuseler had to-day placed _on_ it. This clever peruke-maker visited those of his diocesans (the parsons) who wore no hair of their own, often and with greater benefit to their heads than the Superintendent himself, that _Commander of the Faithful_, to whom most chaplains said, Your Excellency! If he could only have weaned himself from singing, lying, and drinking too much,--the _friseur_,--most of the clergy would have ordered their toupees--those artistic cock's-combs--of him; but as it was, they did not. As the Chaplain loved to make the _confitures_ of Fate, among which false hair is to be reckoned, bitter in some way, and to give them, as it were, an infusion of hops, he naturally sought to embitter to-day's peruke (for whose false curls he gave, in place of payment, genuine hair cut off from his people's heads) by the misgivings which he conjured up about the long staying away of Victor. He bethought himself: "We must have affronted him in some way,--he does not even write,--he has, perhaps, fallen out with my son,--something has occurred,--and then, too; the old Lord no longer gives us a side-glance,--our rats, also, had a hand (or a foot) in helping drive him away."