The little hobgoblin with ridiculous pomposity then strode out of the house. Alf looked after him with his hand over his forehead, and said, 'sometimes, though in my native city, it appears to me as if I were in a residence of madmen, where all the fools go at large. Who was that strange man?' 'John Tuiskoshirer,' answered Eliza, reprovingly, 'an impoverished goldsmith; but a great man since the spirit has come upon him. Often, already, has he edified the public by his elevated discourses and divine prophecies; and, next to our great Matthias and Johannes, he is now the first prophet in Munster.' 'Good God! what a multitude of prophets,' sighed Alf; and by this time Eliza had led him into the room. Behind a table illuminated with wax tapers and decorated as for a festival, sat the fair Clara. Her loose golden locks flowed down over her white gala dress. Her right arm supported her pale, sad face, and bright tears were falling from her eyes upon her white bosom. 'Do you not bid me welcome, lovely little Clara?' Alf kindly asked of the sorrowing girl. 'Do you celebrate our victory with such bitter tears?' Clara lifted up her eyes toward the youth with gentle sorrow. 'Be not angry with me for it, dear Alf,' she begged in a soft, subdued tone; 'every drop of blood shed in this unhappy war of opinion, falls envenomed upon my heart. Never shall I lose the remembrance of my poor uncle. He also was butchered for the new faith, of which I do not yet rightly understand whether it is the genuine worship of God, or a hellish sacrifice.' 'Leave the foolish girl!' cried Eliza, handing a goblet to Alf. 'Her spirit is not yet born again to the light. She still lies bound in the chains of darkness. She is not able to offer every feeling joyfully upon the altar of the holy God.'