“Why, Sir, I don’t know, I am sure; I don’t know the value of such things. Tim Crabb said it might be worth its weight in gold for aught he knew; but I leave it, Sir, to your generosity.” “It is well you do not leave it to mine,” said Mr. Simpson, “for I should make a low reckoning of it.” The sum Willoughton offered accorded with his own estimation of so curious a relick, rather than with the expectation of his host, who heard it with exclamations of thankfulness; while Mr. Simpson expressed not merely surprise but reprehension, and the vulgar proverb of “Fools and their money—” was nearly audible on his lips. “What other books did you find in the same place?” asked Willoughton. “Ah! bless you, Sir,” replied the ancient villager, “I wish I had a score of them.” “Well you may, my friend, if they would fetch you such a price as this!” was the ready remark of Mr. Simpson. “It is his honour’s own generosity, Sir, and I suppose he thinks the book worth the money, or he would not give it.” “Come, Harry,” continued Simpson, “here has been folly enough for once; let us be gone.” “You are sure you have no other book like this?” inquired Willoughton. “There is another or two, that do still hold together, I think,” said the old man; “They have got no pictures; but then they have the same kind of letters, that cannot be understood.”—He went for them. “You will tempt the man to steal the parish-register, and offer it to you as a curious relick,” said Mr. Simpson; “and indeed it will deserve your money better than this.” The old man returned with a small quarto, printed in black letter and bound in real boards, which had been guarded at the corners with brass; the marks of clasps remained on it and those of a lozenge in the centre of each board. “Though this is of later date, much later date, than the manuscript,” said Willoughton, “I see it is one of the earliest books that came from the press in England. It appears also by its contents, to have been intended to assist the purposes of the monks of that dark age.” “A Boke of Sprites!” exclaimed Simpson, with a shout of exultation: “a boke of sprites, with the signs they may be known by, and divers rules to keep you from harm: the like was never known before!” “Excellent! excellent!” said Willoughton; “and here is another black-letter volume. Well, friend, without looking further, what shall I give you for them?” “This is past endurance!” said Mr. Simpson; “my patience is out!” “O Sir! I will give you these into the bargain,” said the old man, smiling; an offer which Willoughton would not accept, who paid the old man what he thought they were worth. Mr. Simpson, then taking his friend by the arm, desired his host to direct them to the chaise. “I must see the ruin by moonlight,” said Willoughton; “but I will not detain you many minutes.” “No, no; you will see the towers of Warwick by moonlight; which will be much finer.”