be seen, has no other object than to obtain space for, and to
support, the floor of the church itself. My drawing was taken from
about the level of the top of the archway through which the
building is entered. There comes in at this point a third small
staircase from behind; ascending this, one finds one's self in the
window above the door, from the balcony of which there is a
marvellous panorama. I took advantage of the window to measure the
thickness of the walls, and found them a little over seven feet
thick and built of massive granite blocks. The stones on the
inside are so sharp and clean cut that they look as if they were
not more than fifty years old. On the outside, the granite, hard
as it is, is much weathered, which, indeed, considering the exposed
situation, is hardly to be wondered at.

Here again how the wind must howl and whistle, and how the snow
must beat in winter! No one who has not seen snow falling during a
time when the thermometer is about at zero can know how searching a
thing it is. How softly would it not lie upon the skulls and
shoulders of the skeletons. Fancy a dull dark January afternoon's
twilight upon this staircase, after a heavy snow, when the soft
fleece clings to the walls, having drifted in through many an
opening. Or fancy a brilliant winter's moonlight, with the moon
falling upon the skeletons after snow. And then let there be a
burst of music from an organ in the church above (I am sorry to say
they have only a harmonium; I wish some one would give them a fine
organ). I should like the following for example:- {13}

[At this point in the book a music score is given]

How this would sound upon these stairs, if they would leave the