ece of magic-work for which I sold my soul more
than three hundred years ago. God of my Fathers!--hand it over to me!"

And he made at his nephew to take it from him; but Benjie pushed him
back, crying, "Go to the Deuce, you old idiot! It was I who found the
file, not you!"

To which Manasseh responded, in fury: "Viper! Worm-eaten fruit of my
race!--Here with that file! All the Demons of Hell be upon you,
accursed thief!"

Manasseh clutched hold of the Baron, with a torrent of Hebrew curses,
and foaming and gnashing his teeth, he exerted all the strength at his
command to wrest the file from him. But Benjie fought for it as a
lioness does for her cubs, till at length Manasseh was worn out; on
which his nephew seized him by the shoulders and threw him out of the
door, with such force that all his limbs cracked again. Then, coming
back like a flash of lightning, he shoved a small table into a corner,
and sitting down there, opposite to the Clerk of the Privy Chancery,
took a handful of ducats from his pocket, and set to work to file away
at them as hard as he could.

"Now," said the Goldsmith, "we have seen the last of that terrible
Manasseh. He is off our hands, for good and all. People say he is a
second Ahasuerus, and has been going spooking about since the year
1572. That was the year in which he was put to death for diabolical
practices and sorcery, under the name of Lippolt, the Jew-coiner. But
the Devil saved his body from death at the price of his immortal soul.
Many folk who understand those things say they have seen him in Berlin
in a good many forms; so that, if all tales are true, there are a good
number of Lippolts at the present time about. However, I, who have a
certain amount of experience in those mysterious matters, can assure
you that I have given him his quietus."

It would weary you very needlessly, dear reader, were I to waste words
in telling you what you know quite well; namely, that Edmund Lehsen
chose the ivory casket, inscribed--

"Who chooseth me doth gain his dreamed-of bliss,"

and found in it a beautiful portrait of Albertine, with the lines--

"Yes--thou hast it--read thy chance
In thy darling's loving glance.
What has past returns no more--
Earthly fate so willeth this.
All the joy which lies _before_
Gather from thy sweetheart's kiss."

And Edmund, like Bassanio, followed the counsel