“You shall see, sir,” said he, and drawing a large key out of his pocket he unlocked the chest and taking out a cup of silver he put it into my hand saying:—“This is the treasure of the church, sir!”
I looked at the cup. It was tolerably large and of very chaste workmanship. Graven upon it were the following words:—
“Poculum Eclesie De LXXN Dewy Brefy 1574.”
“Do you always keep this cup in that chest?” said I.
“Yes, sir! we have kept it there since the cup was given to us by de godly Queen Elizabeth.”
I said nothing, but I thought to myself:—“I wonder how long a cup like this would have been safe in a crazy chest in a country church in England.”
I kissed the sacred relic of old times with reverence and returned it to the old sexton.
“What became of the horns of Hu Gadarn’s bull?” said I after he had locked the cup again in its delapidated coffer.
“They did dwindle away, sir, till they came to nothing.”
“Did you ever see any part of them?” said I.