subterranean vault, into which had been poured, as was supposed, the
ill-gotten gain of all the pirates, from Captain Kidd down to the last
outlaw of the ocean. Twenty-seven years the sound of the hammer and the
drill and the thud of blasting-powder echoed through the leafy forests,
and then all was hushed.

Hiram Marble died in his lonely residence at Dungeon Rock, November 10,
1868, aged sixty-five. He was widely known for his perseverence in the
work in which he was engaged. Sixteen years he labored without a
realization of his ardent hopes. He remained a Spiritualist to the last,
and those of a like faith were invited to the funeral services which
took place on the day following his death.

"His faith has not been without works, nor his courage barren of
results, and centuries hence, if his name and identity should be lost,
the strange labor may be referred to some recluse Cyclops who had
strayed hither from mystic lands."

"Edwin Marble, who succeeded his father in the strange search for
treasure, died January 16, 1880, aged forty-eight years. He was buried
near the foot of the rock on the southwestern slope, it having been his
express desire to be interred near the scene of his hopeful, though
fruitless, labors."

The broken rock, which they removed solely with their own hands, makes
quite a mountain of itself.

We decided to enter the place where so many years of fruitless toil had
been spent. A wooden gate on rusty hinges opened and we passed in, and
the gate closed behind us.