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 gel might have found me often enough, and told me to my face; yet he never troubled himself about me. Do you think, if he did, that I should now, in old age, be going a begging.” Frank here bestowed the last piece of silver upon his lame friend, saying, “Go, old father! go, and drink my health in a pint of good rhenish: thy conversation has put me into a good humour. Come here again, every day. I hope we shall meet at the bridge again.” It was long since the old cripple had reaped such a day’s harvest: he blessed his kind benefactor from his soul; limped into a tavern, and enjoyed himself most gloriously; while Frank, flushed with fresh hope, hastened home to his narrow street.

The next day, he prepared his delving materials, though not the same as are generally employed by treasure-seekers. He had no forms of conjuration, no osier twig, enchanted girdle, nor hieroglyphics of any kind. Neither were they requisite, while the three chief implements,—a pick-axe, a spade, and the subterraneous treasure itself, were close at hand. Thus armed, Frank set out towards sunset, and concealed his implements near the spot, under a hedge. He had too much reliance on his ghost-barber’s honour, to doubt the existence of the treasure; and he waited for the moonshine with no little impatience. No sooner did he mark her silvery horns through the bushes, than Frank began his la-