“What’s all dis yar new ’posal, Mas’r Bart, ’bout buried treasures, an tings? ’Pears to me youn all goin mad, an rushin head fo’most into de jaws ob ’structium. Better look out, I say. Dars no knowin whar dis yar’s goin to end. Dem dar pirates’ ghosts keep alius a flyin an a flittin roun de place whar dey bury de treasure, and it ‘ll take more’n you boys to tar dat ar plunder out of deir keepin. Dis yar scursion ’bout dis yar bay ain’t goin to end in no good. Dar ain’t a succumstance dat kin favor you; eberyting’s clean agin you; an if you fine’ de hole whar de treasure’s buried, it’ll only bring roonatium an ’structium.” “Solomon,” said Bart, “my aged, venerable, and revered friend, I am deeply pained at this exhibition of superstition in one who ought to have a soul above ghosts. A man like you, Solomon, who has real evils to suffer, who is afflicted by such real calamities as rheumatism, and what you call ‘broomatism,’ ought to have a soul above ghosts. Isn’t it enough for you to live in perpetual terror about the reappearance of that Gorgon who calls you husband, and beats you over the head with a poker, that you must take the trouble to get up a new set of afflictions, and trot out your superstitious fancies.” “Mas’r Bart,” said Solomon, earnestly, “look heah; dis yar ain’t no common ’currence. Dar’s death an roonatium afore us all. You’re goin to ’sturb de ’pose ob de dead--an de worst sort ob dead. Dem’s de sort dat won’t stand no nonsense. I’ve had ’nough ob money-holes, an diggin in em, for my time. De ghost ob a dead pirate ain’t to be laughed at. Dey’ll hab vengeance--sure’s you’re born. Dar’s no sort ob use in temptin fate. Sure’s you go down into dat ar money-hole, so sure you hab down on your shoulders de ghosts ob all de pirates dat eber was hung, an dem dat was unhung, too. So, Mas’r Bart, don’t you go foolin round here dis yar way. I’se a ole man, Mas’r Bart, an I’se seen much ob de world, an I ’vise you to clar out, an not temp de ghosts ob de pirates in dis yar fashium.” Solomon’s warning was sincere, and was spoken with the utmost earnestness; but Bart was quite inaccessible to sincerity and earnestness. He laughed at Solomon’s fears, reminded him of his foolish behavior on former occasions, brought to his memory the time when he had fled from the braying of an ass, and the other occasion when he had fled from the hoot of an owl. But, though Solomon could not help owning that he had acted on those occasions with shameful cowardice and folly, yet the consciousness of this could not lessen in the slightest degree the superstitious terrors that now filled his breast; and so, as Bart found him incorrigible, he had to give up the effort to calm his mind.