W

HILE striving to unravel the mystery which clung to the Doctor's house I came across many old legends and traditions of the former inhabitants of our little village, none of which interested me more than the story of a singular man who made his appearance in the community during the first half of the present century.

"There's a power of queer people," said Aunt Debby," who have been nursed back to health and who have died in that house, first and last. I don't suppose any of 'em, or all of 'em together, was as queer as Professor Sarcophagus."

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Sarcophagus! what a name! Who was he, Aunt Debby?"

"His right name was Coffin, but he used such big words, principally Greek and Latin, that the scholars at the academy gave him the nickname, and it suited him so well that it stuck. He heard it one day, and instead of being mad, I really believe he was tickled. He was monstrous fond of anything high-sounding and classical. I remember the autumn he came to teach at the academy. The principal had more'n his hands full, and Dr. Pillsbury he came to see him, and said that he had a patient boarding with him, a Mr. Coffin, a young minister, and that it would do him good to have some occupation part of the time. Our principal was only too glad of the chance, and engaged him to take the classes in Greek and Latin. The classes were arranged to recite on alternate days in rather a queer way: one week the recitations would come Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and the next week they would be on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday morning; but he was a clever teacher, and if we only recited every other day, he gave us enough to study for a week with ten days in it. We liked him, though, for he was as gentle and soft-spoken as he was queer. We used to wonder what he did on his off days; he was never seen then on the street, and by talking the matter over amongst ourselves at noonings we managed to make quite a mystery of it. I remember that Lutitia Flavilla Babcock took on specially about it. Lutitia Flavilla was a favorite with Professor Sarcophagus. Her name attracted him the very first time he put it down on his class roll. He said that Flavilla was a Latin word, and that it was in somebody's diary."

"Dies ira, you mean, Aunt Debby." "Well, mebby so. Her father was a master-hand at giving his children names. Lutitia Flavilla was my particular friend; she was as pretty a creetur as you ever see, with fady blue eyes, and hair that was so light it was near about white. Well, she was appointed a committee of investigation to find out what the Professor was doing on the odd days.

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"I'll go to-morrow,' says Flavilla, quiet like, but with her eyes shining sharp, like two steel carving-knives-'I'll go tomorrow, and ask him to help me with my Latin lesson.'

"Dr. Pillsbury won't let you in,' says Experience Barnes. 'He don't encourage the towns-people calling on his patients.'

"'I'll wait,' says Flavilla, 'till I see the Doctor rolling off in his chaise to visit his country patients. Mrs. Pillsbury won't hinder me.'

"Mrs. Pillsbury was stone-deaf, but she could make out a little of what was said by watching the motion of your lips; the mischief of it was she most generally made it out wrong.

"When Flavilla said she was going to call on the Professor, I made up my mind that I would go with her, but I was doubtful enough of what kind of a reception we would get from Mrs. Pillsbury. She came to the door, however, as smiling as a basket of chips. Flavilla mustered up courage, and says she, 'We have come to see Professor Sarcophagus.' You see, she was that flustered that she never thought this was a nickname, and she'd ought to have asked for Professor Coffin. Mrs. Pillsbury she studied a spell, and then there came a look across her face as if she understood.

“Oh,' says she, 'you want to see that German lady that has the liver-complaint. She's up in the south chamber, but the poor thing isn't able to make hair flowers now. It will do her good, though, to see company. Go right upstairs."

"We went up the broad staircase as she insisted, but when we reached the first landing we stopped, and Flavilla says, What shall we do?'

"Go right ahead,' says I. 'We'll find him, never fear.'

"Well, we went knocking around at all the doors, and finally we came to that lit

tle entry, and Flavilla pushed me ahead. I rapped, and the Professor called out, 'Open the wicket.' I opened the little window in the door, and there we saw him sitting at a little table, writing away like mad, but with a heavy chain fastened to a leather belt which strapped his arms to his body, and made his movements sort of awkward. As quick as he saw me he sent his inkstand flying right at my face with one hand, and his sandbox with the other. I tumbled right over Flavilla, who was behind me, down the stairs, out of the garden, and down the lane pretty lively, I can tell you."

Aunt Debby chuckled away to herself at the retrospect of her own fugacious figure, and it was a long time before I could bring her back to the thread of the story. It seemed that Flavilla had been more courageous, had approached the door, and asked the Professor's help with her Latin lesson. "Read the sentence," was the reply; and Flavilla read. It was that part of Virgil's Æneid which describes Priam sending away his son Polydorus.

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"Polydorus went across the gulf, read Flavilla, 'pondere auri.' What does that mean?"

"By the equilibrium of his ears," replied the Professor, promptly.

"I do not exactly understand," stammered Flavilla, who knew perfectly well that the words meant "with a weight of gold.",

"Why, you see," replied the Professor, blandly, "Polydorus was blessed with ears of extraordinary dimensions. By gently vibrating them, as birds do their wings, he was enabled to mount into the air and to fly across the Egean."

Flavilla turned away, blinding tears falling upon her Virgil: her Professor had lost his wits. As she left the house she met Dr. Pillsbury, who had just returned. He led the weeping girl into his office, and she told him her errand and its result.

"You have discovered the Professor's secret," replied the Doctor, kindly. "Mr. Coffin is afflicted with intermittent insanity. On alternate days he is perfectly well, but the next twenty-four hours he is as you see him."

harmless, spending his time in writing out translations of Greek and Latin authors, but he carries no thread of consciousness from one day to the other. If I could make him pursue the same train of thought on successive days, I would have hope of his recovery. As it is, he leads two distinct and separate existences. He can not remember as a translator that he has ever taught; as your professor he does not concern himself in the least about translating the ancient authors. Do not reveal his condition to the other pupils, but come again if you care to do so. If he can be brought to recognize you as one of his scholars there will be a point gained."

Flavilla pondered the matter over as she joined her friend. "We must never lisp a word of this to the others," she said.

"No," replied Debby; "we'll pretend he helped us with our translation, and that we didn't see anything queer about him."

At the recitation the next morning it might have been observed that Debby took the seat nearest the door, ready to beat a hasty retreat in case of any manifestation of insanity. Flavilla, however, placed herself in the front row directly before the Professor. She had shrewdly guessed what part of the lesson would come to the one occupying that chair, and had chosen it for that reason. Her lines were the ones referring to Polydorus. "He came across the gulf," she read, in clear, confident tones, "by the equilibrium of his ears."

The class screamed with laughter. The Professor looked at her in mild bewilderment.

"What idea do you get from such an absurd rendering as that?" he asked.

"I thought," replied Flavilla, using his own explanation, "that Polydorus had such large ears that he flapped them, and so flew across.

Debby stared until her eyes nearly started from their sockets. What could Flavilla mean? Was she too going crazy? The troubled look in the Professor's face deepened.

"Manifestly incorrect," he said at last, and then he gave the true translation.

Flavilla remained after the other scholars had left, and Debby heard her ask the Professor if she might sometimes come to

"It is very doubtful. Even should the malady leave him for a time, it would be liable to return again. He is generally

tainly," he replied, smiling upon her benignly. If Flavilla had intended this as an experiment to ascertain whether any memory of the occurrences of the previous

ure.

This was Friday; the next Sabbath the Professor appeared at church. Their regular Bible-class teacher was absent, and Flavilla whispered to Debby, "I am going to ask him to teach our class."

He complied graciously, and taking a small Greek Testament from his pocket, gave them his own version of the lesson, complaining bitterly of the obscurities and inelegancies of King James's translation. "In a word," he said-and when the Professor prefaced his remarks in this way the girls knew that an unusually verbose sentence would follow-"in a word, by its interpolations, omissions, mistranslations, factious perversions, pernicious obscurities, terms of technical cant and mummery, and numerous other fallacies of various descriptions, this accepted version has become in the aggregate one of the most infamously successful examples of theological legerdemain ever practiced for so long a period upon such an enlightened and extensive portion of mankind."

The girls looked at one another aghast, some of them at the Professor's boldness in assailing the Scriptures, and others, who trusted his words, struck with sudden fear lest the Bread of Life had indeed been poisoned in the breaking.

"Why," suggested Flavilla, with that audacity of which only very timid people are capable in a nervous reaction produced by intense excitement-"why, if the present translation is so unworthy, do you not prepare a version of your own which shall correct these errors?"

"There is no demand for such a book," he replied; and yet"-and as he spoke an expression akin to that of inspiration illumined his countenance-"it would be a life task worthy of the greatest mind."

That night the Professor and Flavilla wandered down to the old burying-ground. It was the favorite walk on Sabbath evenings.

He opened his Greek Testament again, and began to discuss the feasibility of translating the Gospel in an improved form. He gave examples of the antiquated expressions of the accepted version, and showed how he would have improved upon it. Some of these changes would not have been accepted as improvements by most of us. They consisted chiefly in the substitution of grandiloquent terms and involved sentences for the simplicity

"What could be more uncouth," asked the Professor, "than the phraseology of the following verses? 'For this is he that was spoken of by the prophet Esaias, saying, The voice of one crying in the wilderness. . . .And the same John had his raiment of camel's hair, and a leathern girdle about his loins.' I should render it: 'Now this is he who was thus alluded to by the prophet Isaiah, A voice of one exclaiming in solitary regions. . . . And this John was clad in a vestment of camel's hair, and wore a girdle of leather encircling his waist.""

To Flavilla this had the ring of real eloquence. She saw, too, that he was deeply interested. If only the scheme of translating the Testament could take such a hold upon his mind as to form the lacking bridge over the fearful chasm which separated his days of sanity! Suddenly she took a hazardous resolution.

"If I could help you, Professor, as amanuensis in this great work, I would be so happy!" and she looked up at him with a tender pleading which the Professor had it not in his heart to resist.

"You can help me," he replied, "by simply writing down as I dictate. Shall we begin to-night?"

"Yes," replied Flavilla; "come home with me, and we will set right to work."

The village clock struck eleven as they entered the house. Mr. and Mrs. Babcock had retired an hour before; three of the daughters had also gone to their rooms. Only Philinda Evelina still lingered at the front gate with a rustic adorer. Flavilla lit the great whale-oil lamp in the best room, brought goose-quills, blue foolscap, and ink, and sat down patiently to her task. The Professor ran his fingers through his hair, and walked the floor, dictating to her from time to time.

"A register of the lineage of Jesus Christ, the descendant of Abraham and of David."

Flavilla wrote on. For a time the consciousness of the presence of the burly young farmer at the gate was a consolation, but after a little while Philinda Evelina tiptoed into the house, and casting one curious glance at the two so busily engaged in the keeping-room, passed on up the staircase. Flavilla heard her moving about above her head for a few moments; then the clock struck the half-hour, and all was still. She was alone with a man who in half an hour would be trans

formed to a maniac. Would it not be best to suggest now that they defer their work for another time? But no: her courageous little soul rejected the temptation. She must tide over the midnight hour, and see that he entered upon his day of darkness with the same controlling impulse governing his mind. She had put her hand to the plough, and she would not turn back. As the minutes crept near to twelve the childish face assumed the ashy color of her hair, and she listened with painful intensity for the first stroke of the clock. It came, and her heart stood still; her eyes were fixed upon the Professor with absolute terror-not alarm for her personal safety, but solicitude for him. There was no change; he went on with his translation. The wording was, perhaps, more bombastic and incoherent, but the bridge held, and the chasm was passed. She wrote on and on, not daring to stop, a glad triumph making her oblivious of weariness, until at last she heard the rumble of wheels that stopped in front of the house.

The moment after, Dr. Pillsbury opened the door, immediately after ringing, and stood before them, regarding both the Professor and Flavilla with intense anxiety.

The Professor had chosen to disregard the regular order, and was now dictating from Luke's Gospel. He looked up pleasantly at the Doctor and went on with his translation.

"And the inhabitants went out to see what had transpired, and found the man from whom the demons had gone reclining at the feet of Jesus, clad and composed, and they were in dismay. Then those who saw it informed them how the demoniac was restored. Moreover, the man from whom the fiends had been expelled besought Jesus that he might accompany him. But Jesus dismissed him, saying, Return to your house, and relate how much God has done for you."

"Amen!" said the Doctor, softly. "Gloria tibi, Domine."

Flavilla explained their occupation, and the Doctor listened, approving. "But you hardly realize, Professor Coffin, how late we are keeping this young lady up. Perhaps she will come to my house to-morrow morning, and you can then proceed with your important scheme."

The Professor suffered himself to be led away with perfect docility; but scarcely had they left the room when Flavilla's overstrung courage gave way, and she

sank upon her knees in a nervous paroxysm.

The Doctor welcomed Flavilla the next morning with almost paternal tenderness. "You have cured my patient, child," he said, gravely. "Professor Coffin woke this morning to all appearances sane, and animated by a desire to push forward the work in which you have interested him. I will call him down, and you can write here in my office."

As the days went by, the improvement in the Professor's mental condition became settled and perfected. He was enabled to give daily lessons at the academy, the suspicions which had been excited at one time gradually disappeared, and he took an honored and trusted place in the community. For a year Flavilla went every afternoon to the Doctor's house to write upon the new translation.

No one was surprised when the Professor married the gentle girl, and took her to live in a tiny white cottage beside the academy.

"They had a poor setting out," my aunt Debby said, "for the Professor wa'n't noways forehanded."

One

Their front room was his study. side of the room was covered with bookshelves, which held the Professor's library and a choice collection of novels, the gift of Flavilla's father. They would have had little else with which to begin their housekeeping had it not been for the kindness of Dr. Pillsbury and his good wife.

"And did they live ever afterward in peace and happiness, Aunt Debby?"

"Yes, as long as they could rightly be said to live at all. People used to say they set more store by one another than any other couple that had lived in town since Dr. Pillsbury's father and mother. But you see Flavilla wa'n't of the strongest. All of those Babcock girls reminded me of taller candles-just about that shade of complexion, and they'd hold out just as long under a briling sun. Flavilla she had her own work to do, and I've seen her chopping kindling and drawing water.

"I used to say to her, 'Why don't the Professor do the chores?'

"And she'd answer back, 'He would if I was to ask him; but as soon as he gets through hearing his classes at the academy he is so eager to get to his translation that I couldn't bear to hinder him, so I hurry as fast as I can to get everything

done, and be ready to write for him as soon as we are through dinner.'

Says I, 'Flavilla, you are killing your self, and the Professor won't consider that a kindness.'

"But she just smiled patient like, and didn't do noways different. They finished translating the Testament, and then the misery of it was to get it printed. There wouldn't no publisher take hold of it. The worldly said there wa'n't any call for anything so pious, when Testaments could be bought anywhere for a shilling, let alone the lot that people were always too glad to give away. The godly said that it was flat blasphemy, a touching of the ark of the Lord as Uzzah did at Nachon's threshing floor; and they look ed for a Providence to happen to the Professor.

"He began to get low-sperrited, and it used to make my heart ache to see the way Flavilla looked. She had a little hack of a cough, and her cheeks were hollow; but her eyes grew bigger and bigger, and there came two straight wrinkles in her forehead between. Dr. Pillsbury said to me one day, when I asked him if he hadn't better give her some medicine: 'I'm afraid no physic of mine would do her any good. That is the way Ophelia looked when Hamlet began to treat her unkindly. It is the coming of a trouble which will prove greater than she can bear.'

"The land's sakes, Doctor,' says I, 'you don't mean that Flavilla's going crazy, or that the Professor treats her unkindly?'

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'No,' says he, 'I don't mean one nor t'other; she's bothered about the Professor, that's all.'

"It's all on account of that pesky Testament,' says I. 'Can't nothing be done?' "I am going to try,' says he. 'The Plain Dealer advertises a font of worn type for sale. I shall buy it and present it to the Professor. Printing his own book will keep his mind occupied.'

"The Doctor was as good as his word, and the Professor he puttered away with the type, making himself a press that was really ingenious, and getting along better'n you'd 'a thought. Flavilla she went without proper clothes and took in sewing to buy the paper; and last of all she served an apprenticeship at the book-bindery to learn how to sew and bind the books. This was in the winter and spring; and she just took her death sloppin' to and from the bindery.

"When summer came she was down sick. But the book was printed. When I went to see her, there they were piled up in the front room in stacks, hundreds of them, and the Professor he was bustling about as chipper and happy as could be. Walk right in and see Flavilla,' says he. 'She's not very well this morning. It's a pity, for it puts back the binding.' I went into Flavilla's room, and there she was propped up in bed, with a wooden frame before her, sewing away at the books. 'Vacation begins at the academy next week,' says she, and the Professor wants a couple of dozen of the books to take with him. He is going to be his own agent, and will make a pedestrian tour around the country selling them. I shall try to sell some too when I get better. He charges three dollars a copy for them. If we sell them all we shall make quite a fortune.'

"Yes,' says the Professor, coming in just then; 'I shall take Flavilla off for a sea-voyage. We are going to the Mediterranean, to follow Paul's voyages, and help me write an account of the missionary tours of the great apostle.'

"Flavilla looked up at him as sweetly and gratefully as if she believed it all, but I could have eat him."

Rebellious tears stood in Aunt Debby's eyes. "Yes, my dear, she died; she'd took on herself a harder task than she was equal to. Dr. Pillsbury was with her; he said she was only anxious about the Professor. 'You mustn't mind about me, dear,' she said; 'but just go on selling the Testaments until you have enough money to go abroad.'

"Mrs. Pillsbury laid her out. She was as pretty a corpse as I ever see-all the worry gone out of the face, and her hands clasping one of the Testaments to her breast. The Professor he put it there, and he worked all Sunday to bind it in crape. After she died it seemed as if he tried to do as she told him. He set out tramp

ing round with the books, but most gen'rally people banged the door in his face before he had time to explain what he'd got.

"Dr. Pillsbury found him one morning sitting on her grave. He'd been there all night, and he was jabbering Greek out of his Testament. He thought she was there, and that they had just decided to begin the translation. He was as crazy as a loon, and he never recovered."