on either side and flaps in the wind as he walks, it gives him an ostrich-like effect at a distance, and what I conceive to be a seraphic one nearer to. At all events, it is the nearest mundane attempt at angelic representation. What is even more saintly, it is quite without vainglorious intent, being simply a combination waterproof-coat and linen-duster. It is also, very conveniently, both a carpet and a bed.
Quite as inseparable a part of the pilgrim is his staff. This is sometimes round, sometimes octagonal, and is branded with the name of the peak, and stamped in red with the sign of the shrine at the place where the ascent is supposed to begin. The imprint further takes pains to state whether the pilgrim came in by the front door or by the back one, mountains usually having both entrances, the original path being considered the front approach. The staves are counterstamped again at the summit; the holy seals effectually silencing all skepticism on the pilgrim's return, and permitting his imagination freer play in the domestic circle.
Somewhere about his person each man carries a kerosene-looking tin can in which
