ight of their trembling old beards, would have melted hearts far
harder than those which beat in the breasts of the monks of
Oyster-le-Main. But above all, these pilgrims brought with them as
convincing proofs of their journey a collection of relics and
talismans (such as are to be met with only in Eastern countries) of
great wonder and virtue. With singular generosity, which they
explained had been taught them by the Arabs, they presented many of
these treasures to the delighted inmates of the Monastery, who
hastened to their respective cells,--this one reverently cherishing a
tuft of hair from the tail of one of Daniel's lions; another handling
with deep fervour a strip of the coat of many colours once worn by the
excellent Joseph. But the most extraordinary relic among them all was
the skin of a huge lizard beast, the like of which none in England had
ever seen. This, the Pilgrims told their hosts, was no less a thing
than a crocodile from the Nile, the renowned river of Moses. It had
been pressed upon them, as they were departing from the City of
Damascus, by a friend, a blameless chiropodist, whose name was Omar
Khayyam. He it was who eked out a pious groat by tending the feet of
all outward and inward bound pilgrims. Seated at the entrance of his
humble booth, with the foot of some holy man in his lap, he would
speak words of kindness and wisdom as he reduced the inflammation. One
of his quaintest sayings was, "If the Pope has bid thee wear hair next
thy bare skin, my son, why, clap a wig over thy shaven scalp." So the
monks in proper pity and kindness, when they had shut the great gates
as night came down, made their pilgrim guests welcome to bide at
Oyster-le-Main as long as they pleased. The solemn bell for retiring
rolled forth in the darkness with a single deep clang, and the sound
went far and wide over the neighbouring district. Those peasants who
were still awake in their scattered cottages, crossed themselves as
they thought, "The holy men at Oyster-le-Main are just now going to
their rest."

And thus the world outside grew still, and the thick walls of the
Monastery loomed up against the stars.

Deep in the midnight, many a choking cry rang fearfully through the
stony halls, but came not to the outer air; and the waning moon shone
faintly down upon the enclosure of the garden, where worked a band of
silent grave-diggers, clad in black armour, and with blood-red hands.
The good country folk, who came at