and studded with iron nails, so as to be a fit receptacle
in which the wealth of one century might be hoarded up for the wants
of another.

Peter Goldthwaite was inserting a key into the lock.

"Oh, Tabitha," cried he, with tremulous rapture, "how shall I endure
the effulgence? The gold!--the bright, bright gold! Methinks I can
remember my last glance at it just as the iron-plated lid fell down.
And ever since, being seventy years, it has been blazing in secret and
gathering its splendor against this glorious moment. It will flash
upon us like the noonday sun."

"Then shade your eyes, Mr. Peter!" said Tabitha, with somewhat less
patience than usual. "But, for mercy's sake, do turn the key!"

And with a strong effort of both hands Peter did force the rusty key
through the intricacies of the rusty lock. Mr. Brown, in the mean
time, had drawn near and thrust his eager visage between those of the
other two at the instant that Peter threw up the lid. No sudden blaze
illuminated the kitchen.

"What's here?" exclaimed Tabitha, adjusting her spectacles and holding
the lamp over the open chest. "Old Peter Goldthwaite's hoard of old
rags!"

"Pretty much so, Tabby," said Mr. Brown, lifting a handful of the
treasure.

Oh what a ghost of dead and buried wealth had Peter Goldthwaite raised
to scare himself out of his scanty wits withal! Here was the semblance
of an incalculable sum, enough to purchase the whole town and build
every street anew, but which, vast as it was, no sane man would have
given a solid sixpence for. What, then, in sober earnest, were the
delusive treasures of the chest? Why, here were old provincial bills
of credit and treasury notes and bills of land-banks, and all other
bubbles of the sort, from the first issue--above a century and a half
ago--down nearly to the Revolution. Bills of a thousand pounds were
intermixed with parchment pennies, and worth no more than they.

"And this, then, is old Peter Goldthwaite's treasure!" said John
Brown. "Your namesake, Peter, was something like yourself; and when
the provincial currency had depreciated fifty or seventy-five per
cent, he bought it up in expectation of a rise. I have heard my
grandfather say that old Peter gave his father a mortgage of this very
house and land to raise cash for his silly project. But the currency
kept sinking till nobody would take it as a gift, and there was old
Peter Goldthwaite, like Peter the second, with thousands in his
stron