hand of the very evangelist?--Oh lovely parchment!' I thought--'if
eye of man might but see thee! if lips of man might kiss thee!' and
my heart swelled like the heart of a lover at the thought of such a
boon.--Now, as you know, I live in a sort of live coffin here,"
continued the little man, striking his pigeon-breast, "with a
barrel-organ of discords in it, constantly out of order in one way
or another; and hence it comes that my sleep is so imperfect, and my
dreams run more than is usual, as I believe, on in the direction of
my last waking thoughts. Well, that night, I dreamed thus: I was in
a desert. It was neither day nor night to me. I saw neither sun,
moon, nor stars. A heavy, yet half-luminous cloud hung over the
visible earth. My heart was beating fast and high, for I was
journeying towards a certain Armenian convent, where I had good
ground for hoping I should find the original manuscript of the
fourth gospel, the very handwriting of the apostle John. That the
old man did not write it himself, I never thought of that in my
dream.

"After I had walked on for a long, anything but weary time, I saw
the level horizon line before me broken by a rock, as it seemed,
rising from the plain of the desert. I knew it was the monastery. It
was many miles away, and as I journeyed on it grew and grew, until
it swelled huge as a hill against the sky. At length I came up to
the door, iron-clamped, deep-set in a low thick wall. It stood wide
open. I entered, crossed a court, reached the door of the monastery
itself, and again entered. Every door to which I came stood open,
but priest nor guide came to meet me, and I saw no man, and at
length looked for none, but used my best judgment to get deeper and
deeper into the building, for I scarce doubted that in its inmost
penetralia I should find the treasure I sought. At last I stood