was an accumulation of magnificence—­all the prepositions pressed into his service.  His wildest hopes exceeded, and almost nothing left to wish.  Blown up with the pride and importance of the moment, and some little oblivious from the potent porter—­he had paid and sallied forth, and marched a mile upon his way, full of golden fancies, a rich luxurious lord as he was—­when all on a sudden the hallucination crossed his dull pellucid mind, that he had left the store behind him!  O, pungent terror!—­O, most exquisite torture! was it clean gone, stolen, lost, lost, lost for ever?  Rushing back in an agony of fear, that made the ruddy hostess think him crazed, with his hair on end, and a face as if it had been white-washed, he flew to the tap-room, and—­almost fainted for ecstasy of joy when he found it, where he had laid it, on the settle!

Better had you lost it, Roger; better had your ecstasy been sorrow:  there is more trouble yet for you, from that bad crock of gold.  But if your lesson is not learnt, and you still think otherwise, go on a little while exultingly as now I see you, and hug the treasure to your heart—­the treasure that will bring you yet more misery.

And now the town is gained, the bank approached.  What! that big barred, guarded place, looking like a mighty mouse-trap? he didn’t half like to venture in.  At last he pushed the door ajar, and took a peep; there were muskets over the mantel-piece, ostentatiously ticketed as “Loaded!  Beware!” there were leather buckets ranged around the walls:  he did not in any degree like it:  was he to expose his treasure in this idiot fashion to all the avowed danger of fire and thieves?  However, since he had come so far, he would get some interest for his money, that he would—­so he’d just make bold to step to the counter and ask a very obsequious bald-headed gentleman, who sired him quite affably,

“How much, Master, will you be pleased to give me for my gold?”

The gentleman looked queerish, as if he did not comprehend the question, and answered, “Oh! certainly, sir—­certainly—­we do not object to give you our notes for it,” at the same time producing an extremely dirty bundle of worn-out bits of paper.

Roger stroked his chin.

“But, Master, my meaning is, not how many o’ them brown bits o’ paper you’ll sell me for my gold here,” and he exhibited a greater store than Mr. Breakem had seen at once upon his counter for a year, “but how much more gold you’ll send me back with than what I’ve brought? by way of interest, you know, or some such law:  for I don’t know much about the Funds, Master.”

“Indeed, sir,” replied the civil banker, who wished by any means to catch the clodpole’s spoil—­“you are very obliging; we shall be glad to allow you two-and-a-half per centum per annum for the deposit you are good enough to leave in our keeping.”

“Leave in your keeping, Master! no, I didn’t say that! by your leave, I’ll keep it myself!”