THE
SPECTRE BARBER.
MANY years ago there lived in the good town of Bremen, a rich merchant, named Melchior, who was wont to stroke his chin and smile scornfully whenever he heard the parson read in the gospel of the rich man, whom, in comparison with himself, he regarded as a mere pedlar. In those rude times there prevailed a species of luxury as well as at present, though the people then looked more than their descendants to things of solid worth, and Melchior was so wealthy, that he had the floor of his banquetting room paved with dollars. Although the fellow citizens and friends of our merchant were much displeased at this piece of ambitious display, as they called it, yet it was, in reality, meant more as a mercantile speculation, than a
