I went to see the church. The inside was very rude and plain - a
rough table covered with a faded cloth served for an altar - on the
right-hand side was a venerable-looking chest.
"What is there in that box?" said I to the old sexton who attended
me.
"The treasure of the church, sir," he replied in a feeble quaking
voice.
"Dear me!" said I, "what does the treasure consist of?"
"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 dilapidated coffer.
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