But the favourite and most cherished traditions are those relating to hidden treasure. The writer well recollects one to which his attention was attracted in his childhood. Mr. ——, inhabiting one of those fine old mansions in Newport, which had been built fifty years before, by an English gentleman of fortune, where taste and caprice had been indulged to the extreme, and where closets, and beaufets, and cellars, and pantries, appeared to meet one at every turn, was engaged late one winter’s night writing in his study, when he found it necessary to replenish his fire with fuel. The servants having retired, he took a candle and went himself to the cellar to procure it, and as he passed the vault called the “wine cellar,” his attention was attracted by a light streaming through the key-hole of the door. He stopped a moment and called out supposing that some of the family were in the apartment—but instantly the light vanished. He stepped up to the door and endeavoured to open it, but found to his surprise that it was fastened,—a thing that was unusual as the door constantly stood ajar. Calling out again, “who’s there?” without receiving any answer, he placed his foot against the door, and forced it open, when a sight met his eyes, which for a moment chained him to the spot. In the centre of the cellar in a deep grave which had been already dug, and leaning upon his spade, was a brawny negro, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, and the sweat trickling down his glistening black visage, while on the pile of earth made from the excavation, stood another negro, a drawn sword in one hand, a lantern with the light just extinguished in the other, and an open bible with two hazle rods across it, lying at his feet—these swart labourers the moment that the door was thrown open, making the most earnest signs for silence. As soon as Mr. —— could command his voice, he demanded the meaning of what he saw and what they were about. They both simultaneously then declared that the charm was broken by his voice. One of the worthies, who was the groom of the family, had dreamed five nights in succession, that old Mr. E—— the builder of the house, had buried a bootful (!) of gold in that cellar—and on comparing notes with his brother dreamer, he found that his visions also pointed to treasure in the old house, and they had proceeded secundem artem to its attainment, both vehemently declaring that they intended to give part of the treasure to Mr. ——. Of course, the door being opened, the strange negro was required to add the darkness of his visage to that of night, while the groom was on pain of instant dismission, together with the threat of the ridicule of the whole town, directed to fill up the grave, and thereafter to let the buried treasure sleep where its owner had seen fit to deposit it. NEW WORKS, AND =New Editions of Established Books,= PUBLISHED BY _D. APPLETON & CO._ =NEW-YORK.= BURNET’S HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION.