of beforehand, but to whom I never knew; yet I think it not unlikely that it is still in the neighbourhood. The sword was a little curved, scimitar-like, rather thick, broad blade, and had every appearance of being the Black Prince's sword." Truly a most remarkable story. This historic blade, which may have hewn down the French ranks at Poitiers, is disposed of by an itinerant crockery vender to an antiquarian saddler; on his death is, or is not, "sold at a raffle" and--vanishes! [Illustration: WEST GATE.] These arms that hang over the prince's tomb are all that are left of two distinct suits, one for war, and one for use in the joust and the ceremonials of peace, which were, according to directions given in the will, carried in the funeral procession through the West Gate and along the High Street to the cathedral. The pieces which remain all belong to the suit worn in actual warfare. The centre of the chapel looks curiously blank, being left so by the thoroughness with which all trace of Becket's shrine was removed by the reforming zeal and insatiable rapacity of Henry VIII. and his minions. The effect of the bare stone pavement presents an impressive contrast to the vanished glories of the shrine blazing with gold and jewels, as we read of it. (For a description of the shrine and its history, see Chapter I.) The exact place on which it stood is plainly shown by the marks worn in the stones by the knees of generations of pilgrims as they knelt before it, while the prior, with his white wand, pointed out the choicest of its treasures. To the west, between the altar-screen--the unhappy effect of which is painfully conspicuous from this point--and the site of the shrine, there is some very interesting mosaic pavement, containing the signs of the zodiac, and emblems of virtue and vice, an example of the _Opus Alexandrinum_, which appears in the floors of most of the Roman basilicas. A similar piece of mosaic work may be seen round the shrine of Edward the Confessor at Westminster. Above the eastern end of the shrine a gilded crescent was fixed in the roof, which still remains; the origin and meaning of this emblem have been disputed with considerable heat, and many ingenious conjectures have been framed to account for its presence here. One theory regards it as an allusion to the tradition according to which Becket's mother was a Saracen. But this legend is believed to be comparatively modern, and, as Mr. George Austin points out, "even if the legend of Becket's mother had obtained credence at that early period, it may be observed that in the painted windows around no reference is made to the subject, though evidently capable of so much pictorial effect." Another solution would connect the crescent with the worship of the Virgin Mary, who is often pictured as standing on the moon (comp. Rev. xii. 1). Supporters of this theory lay stress on the fact that the Trinity Chapel at Canterbury occupies the extreme east end of the church, which is