“Why, really,” said he, “this outlandish wig has passed through my hands before; it belonged to that young French dandy.... And,” he added, continuing his investigations, “here are the high boots of poor postilion Cramner, who was killed by his horses, and--What the devil does this mean?--the full black suit of Professor Syngramtax, that learned old fogy, who drowned himself not long ago! Who can this new-comer be that comes here clad in the cast-off apparel of all my ancient acquaintance?” He examined the face of the dead by the light of his lamp, but in vain; the features, already decomposed, had lost their original shape and color. He felt in the pockets, and drew out some scraps of parchment soaked with water and stained with mud; he wiped them carefully on his leather apron, and succeeded in deciphering on one of them these disconnected and half-effaced phrases: “Rudbeck, Saxon the grammarian. Arngrimmsson, bishop of Holum.--There are but two counties in Norway, Larvig and Jarlsberg, and but one barony.--Silver mines exist only at Kongsberg; loadstone and asbestos, at Sund-Moer; amethyst, at Guldbrandsdal; chalcedony, agate, and jasper, at the Färöe Islands.--At Noukahiva, in time of famine, men eat their wives and children.--Thormodr Torfusson; Isleif, bishop of Scalholt, first historian of Iceland.--Mercury played at chess with the Moon, and won the seventy-second part of a day.--Maëlstrom, whirlpool.--_Hirundo, hirudo_.--Cicero, chick pea; glory.--The learned Frode.--Odin consulted the head of Mimer, the wise.--(Mahomet and his dove, Sertorius and his hind.)--The more the soil--the less gypsum it contains--” “I can scarcely believe my eyes!” he cried, dropping the parchment; “it is the writing of my old master, Benignus Spiagudry!” Then, examining the corpse afresh, he recognized the long lean hands, the scanty hair, and the whole build of the unfortunate man. “They were not so much out of the way, after all,” thought he, shaking his head, “who charged him with sacrilege and necromancy. The Devil carried him off to drown him in Lake Sparbo. What poor fools we mortals be! Who would ever have thought that Dr. Spiagudry, after taking so many people to board in his hostelry of the dead, would come here at last from afar to be cared for himself!” The little Lapp philosopher lifted the body, to remove it to one of his six granite beds, when he found that something heavy was fastened about the unhappy Spiagudry’s neck by a leather cord. “Probably the stone with which the Devil pitched him into the lake,” he muttered. He was mistaken; it was a small iron box, upon which, on examining it closely, after wiping it carefully, he discovered a large shield-shaped padlock. “Of course there is some deviltry in this box,” said he; “the man was a sacrilegious sorcerer. I will hand it over to the bishop; it may contain an evil spirit.”