worked their will on him. Thereon Robert was terrified and cried
out, and wakened his wife, who took advantage of his fears, and
compelled him to make restitution to the brethren.

After this vision, Robert gave himself up to pampering the monastery
and performing other good works. He it was who built a bridge over
the Isis, and he restored the many ruined parish churches in Oxford--
churches which, perhaps, he and his men had helped to ruin. The
tower of St. Michael's, in "the Corn," is said to be of his building;
perhaps he only "restored" it, for it is in the true primitive style-
-gaunt, unadorned, with round-headed windows, good for shooting from
with the bow. St. Michael's was not only a church, but a watchtower
of the city wall; and here the old northgate, called Bocardo, spanned
the street. The rooms above the gate were used till within quite
recent times, and the poor inmates used to let down a greasy old hat
from the window in front of the passers-by, and cry, "Pity the
Bocardo birds":


"Pigons qui sont en 1'essoine,
Enserrez soubz trappe voliere,"


as a famous Paris student, Francois Villon, would have called them.
Of Bocardo no trace remains, but St. Michael's is likely to last as
long as any edifice in Oxford. Our illustrations represent it as it
was in the last century. The houses huddle up to the church, and
hide the lines of the tower. Now it stands out clear, less
picturesque than it was in the time of Bocardo prison. Within the
last two years the windows have been cleared, and the curious and