E

THE HIDDEN TREASURE.

RE the climbing moon had overtopped the dark crown of larch-trees on the crag, while the Lake yet lay in deep shadow, a couple of men crept cautiously one night out of the woods on the lower side, and bent stealthy steps to the foot of the giant chestnut-tree. Arriving early that morning with a cart at Wycombe, they had rested at the little village inn, telling the landlord, as they took their mug of ale and rasher of pork in the sanded kitchen, that they were in the service of the Parliament, and had been ordered to await the arrival of the rest of a forage-train, engaged in collecting corn in the northern basin of the Thames. When the autumn dusk fell, they carried mattock, spade, and lantern into the woods, and stole to the place where the gold lay buried. It was Averil and Jones, disguised as carters, and laden, besides their digging implements, with bags to carry off the spoil.

So exactly did they ascertain the spot by careful measurement, that they had not been digging for more than ten minutes, when the spade struck with a dull sound upon the lid of the coffer. Clearing away the earth, they lifted it out, staggering beneath the load, and laid it on the dead leaves at the root of the tree --an oblong box of dark oakwood, ribbed and bound with brazen hasps, eaten green with rust. A few blows splintered the lid, and wrenched it from the hinges, disclosing a mass of coin of every kind then seen in English purses-angels and rials of Elizabeth's time; sovereigns, rose-rials, and spur-rials of James the First; golden rounds and Oxford crowns of Charles; and, sprinkled here and there, siege-pieces of silver, strange in shape and rude in manufacture, such as the Newark lozenge, and those oblong, battered bits of thin and ragged plate, afterwards called Scarborough half-crowns, issued in times of desperation, when the royal mint was nowhere, and a few tankards and salvers of his loyal Cavaliers formed all the bullion at the King's disposal.

Without pausing to feast their eyes on the spoil, the diggers commenced hastily to stow chinking handfuls in their canvas bags. Suddenly a slight sound, like the

snapping of a dead twig, struck upon Averil's ear, as he stooped over the box. Starting upright at the noise, he listened with parted lips and bated breath. 'Twas only a deer attracted by the glimmer of the lamp, he thought; when another and a sharper snap came from among the trees, followed by the distinct rustle of boughs and withered leaves. And then from different parts of the encircling wood dusky figures came rushing towards the chestnut by the Lake.

Averil's instant thought was treachery on the part of his accomplice, for he could imagine no other living sharer in the secret of the buried gold.

"Traitor, thou hast played me false; but die, dog; not a rial shall be thine!" Shouting these words in a voice thick with rage, he drew from a secret pocket of his vest a clumsy pistol-then called a dag—and pointed it at Jones's head. The trigger clicked-the furrowed wheel of steel revolved, showering sparks upon the priming from the smitten firestone in the lock-the charge exploded. But, instead of driving out the heavy ball, it blew stock and barrel into a thousand flying splinters of brass and walnut-wood. The wheel of the lock struck Averil's temple and sank into his brain. He fell dead across the open coffer, while drops from his cloven skull oozed in among the coins, gilding them with a redness not their own.

Jones escaped a bullet from the dag only to meet immediate death by a rope slung from one of the chestnut's sturdiest boughs. For he was a noted thief and bravo; and justice in the times of the Civil War was short, sharp, and stern.

The coffer, with its costly load, seized in the name of the Parliament, was transferred without delay to the nearest stronghold of the cause.

Dr. Collier.