The cobbler fancied he beheld all the wealth which the earth had produced in the past century for the use of mankind. Returning home, he buried his money and his happiness at the same time, No more singing, he lost his voice, the moment he acquired that which is the source of so much grief. Sleep quitted his dwelling, and cares, suspicions, and false alarms took its place, all day, his eye wandered in the direction of the treasure, and at night, if some stray cat made a noise, the cat was robbing him. At length the poor man ran to the house of his rich neighbor, "Give my back." said he, "sleep and my voice, and take your hundred crowns."