Since that time my friend Elias has found some comfort for slaying the Seigneur Kaspar, but in an original fashion. Scarcely had he taken his doctor's degree when he married Mademoiselle Eva Salomon, with the hope of having a numerous family to make up for the loss of that individual who had met with an untimely end at his hand. Four years ago I was at his wedding as best man, and already there are two fat babies making the pretty little house in Crispin street to rejoice. This was a promising commencement! Don't let me be misunderstood. I don't pretend to say that the method I prescribed for making expiation for taking away a life is better than that taught in our holy religion, which, according to the Catholic Church, consists in masses and in giving away your goods to the Church. But I do think it better than the Hindoo practice, and I think the theory of the famous scapegoat is not to be compared with that which is taught us by pure religion. A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. CHAPTER I. My worthy uncle, Bernard Hertzog, the historian and antiquary, surmounted with his grand three-cornered hat and wig, and with a long iron-shod mountain-pole firmly grasped in his hand, was coming down one evening by the Luppersberg, hailing every turn in the landscape with enthusiastic exclamations. Years had never quenched in him the love of knowledge. At sixty he was still at work upon his _History of Alsacian Antiquities_, and never allowed himself to write a complete account of a ruined and defaced monument, or any relic of former days, until he had examined it a hundred times from every point of view.