ous of ascertaining, if among other valuable works, you had any by the learned Arne Saknussemm."
"Arne Saknussemm!" cried the Professor of Reykjawik;" you speak of one of the most distinguished scholars of the sixteenth century, of the great naturalist, the great alchemist, the great traveler."
"Exactly so."
"One of the most distinguished men connected with Icelandic science and literature."
"As you say, sir———"
"A man illustrious above all."
"Yes, sir, all this is true, but his works?"
"We have none of them."
"Not in Iceland?"
"There are none in Iceland or elsewhere," answered the other, sadly.
"Why so?"
"Because Arne Saknussemm was persecuted for heresy, and in 1573 his works were publicly burnt at Copenhagen by the hands of the common hangman."
"Very good! capital!" murmured my uncle, to the great astonishment of the worthy Icelander.
"You said, sir———"
"Yes, yes, all is clear, I see the link in the chain; everything is explained, and I now understand why Arne Saknussemm, put out of court, forced to hide his magnificent discoveries, was compelled to conceal beneath the veil of an incomprehensible cryptograph, the secret———"
"What secret?"
"A secret—which," stammered my uncle.
"Have you discovered some wonderful manuscript?"
"No, no, I was carried away by my enthusiasm. A mere supposition."
"Very good, sir. But, really, to turn to another subject, I hope you will not leave our island without examining into its mineralogical riches."
"Well, the fact is, I am rather late. So many learned men have been here before me."
"Yes, yes, but there is still much to be done," cried M. Fridriksson.
"You think so," said my uncle, his eyes twinkling with hidden satisfaction.
