The evidence upon this point is clear and convincing, having been gathered from the most authentic of all sources, namely: stories told around the evening fire, tradition, and above all from eye-witnesses of the phenomena always attendant upon buried treasure. The facts in the case are as follows:

About the middle of the last century there appeared in Paxtang a certain Quaker who took up his abode in a small log house, in the locality just mentioned, to which was attached by way of farm a few acres of land, mostly forest. As to his personality, the Quaker was past middle life when he came, of giant stature, and manners most affable, little given to conversation, but a skillful asker of questions. His name has not come down to us, for the reason that his ordinary and indeed only designation in the neighborhood was “Old Shad Belly,” or “Old Shad” for short. To his vocation of tiller of the soil he added the profession of veterinary surgeon and occasionally made excursions about the country on an old gray mare, over whose back was slung a pair of saddle-bags, in which were the nostrums and tools of his profession. Why this disciple of the peace-loving Fox should have chosen the very camp, as it were, of the turbulent “Paxtang Boys” in which to sojourn, was as much a mystery then as it is now – for “yea and amen” were considerably below par, west of the Conewago hills. Whatever may have been his motive, whether spy or missionary, he was popularly supposed to be rich, from the fact that the scanty income derived from his visible means of support was thought to be altogether inadequate to sustain his manner of life. Opinion was divided as to the source of his supply. The Scotch-Irish settlers maintained, that being a Quaker, he was, as a matter of course, an emissary of the devil, or what was the same thing of the Government at Philadelphia. But the more moderate German sages shrewdly guess that “Old Shad” had buried his money in the ground for safe keeping. This surmise was greatly strengthened when at last the old man died, leaving no evidences of wealth above ground and confirmation was complete when shortly afterwards signs and wonders, which could not be explained by the philosophy of the schools, began to be manifested. The chink of coin was heard at night in the vicinity of the house, lights of a lurid character flitted hither and thither in the surrounding woods filling the air with the fumes of brimstone, strange and ferocious animals with rattling chains on their necks abounded, birds of night with flaming eyes and fearful aspect perched on the limbs of neighboring trees croaking hoarsely, and woe betide the belated wight whose road lay through this region, unless, indeed, he was the fortunate possessor of some talisman of which the powers of darkness stood in awe; and even then it behooved him to move along with caution and circumspection, as many stories of hair-breadth escapes can testify. These manifestations had been going on without change or interruption for the space of about two years, when an addition, in the person of “Old Shad” himself appeared. Like all who bury money, and thus defraud mankind of its use, he has been condemned to “walk o’nights,” and will doubtless continue his weary tramp until his treasure shall be unearthed and allowed to flow on in its proper channels. It is said that during the early years of his ghostly career, the Quaker seemed rather pleased than otherwise with his position, and stalked about with a placid and self-satisfied air, taking great delight in frightening horses, especially when they became unmanageable and threw their riders, when he would rush up and peer with his lusterless eyes and grin horribly into the very face of the fallen horseman. But his chief amusement was at the expense of money diggers, whose discomfiture he seemed to enjoy hugely, his hollow laugh on those occasions sounding in volume like a fog horn above the clanking of chains and the croaking of the birds of night.

But as time wore on, these enjoyments seem to pall, and of late years weariness and disgust are strongly depicted in the countenance of the old money hider. His old neighbors, the “Paxtang Boys,” against whom he may have held a grudge, have long since passed away, his very house has disappeared and change is written upon all its surroundings, and the poor old ghost, like the wandering Jew, seems to long for the time when he can quietly pull off his boots and retire to rest.