for the worthy landlord of the Lamb, he very shrewdly remarked that the proof of the pudding was in the eating; that, let them dispute as much as they pleased, the question, after all, was, had any one been on this pilgrimage, and had he returned with the treasures? Then, addressing the old man,—
“Well, friend! let us hear whether, after all, you visited this cavern, and found what the spirit promised? or did the mischievous goblin only deceive you?”
“Indeed,” replied honest Martin, “I cannot accuse him of deceiving me, since I never took even so much as a single step to seek out the cavern or its treasures. First, I had too much regard for my safety to expose myself to the danger of dealing with a spirit; and, besides, I have never been able to find the spring-root. I know not where it grows, at what time of the year, or what hour of the day, it should be gathered, though I have questioned many persons conversant with every kind of plant.” Here a shepherd, well advanced in years, broke in, and addressing himself to the narrator of the story, said,—
“Neighbour Martin, your secret, I fear, is now somewhat out of date. But if you had had your wits about you some forty years ago, you certainly had not missed procuring the spring-root. I can myself inform you by what means the plant may be obtained. The easiest way is to call in the service of a black woodpecker. Watch one in the spring season, when it makes its nest in a hollow tree, and then, when it flies out to seek food for its young ones, drive a wedge of wood into the hole, whence it has taken its flight. “When it returns, and perceives that the access to its nest is cut off, it will fly round the tree and scream; it will then suddenly direct its flight towards the west. You must take care to be provided beforehand with a scarlet mantle, which conceal under your garment, and wait until the bird returns with the spring-root in its mouth. No sooner will the bird touch the wooden plug with this wondrous plant, than it will immediately fly out, as a cork does from one of mine host’s barrels. Lose no time then, but instantly spread the mantle under the tree. Terrified at the sight, supposing it to be fire, the woodpecker will let fall the root. Having obtained possession of the precious plant, bind it carefully to a piece of christ-thorn, otherwise it will certainly be lost whenever you lay it out of your hand.”
Apart from the social circle of auditors, with no other companion than the cat, one solitary individual had occupied the landlord’s leathern chair, and during the whole evening had observed so strict a silence, that he might rather have seemed a brother of a Carthusian monastery, than the inmate of an inn on a holiday night. This was Master Peter Block, once cook to a worshipful magistrate—an honourable employment long since abandoned—and who now occupied a much more private station; for, during the last ten years, Peter had but too quickly descended the step-ladder;
