now lies in the little churchyard of the town, is so distressing that any
repetition of such tragedies would tend to cast a shade over the glories of
the mount.

You may buy among the numerous photographs and pictures for sale in the
trinket shops, coloured post-cards which show flaming sunsets behind the
abbey, but nothing that I have yet seen does the smallest justice to the
reality. Standing on the causeway and looking up to the great height of the
tower that crowns the highest point, the gilded St Michael with his
outspread wings seems almost ready to soar away into the immensity of the
canopy of heaven. Through the traceried windows of the chancel of the
church, the evening light on the opposite side of the rock glows through
the green glass, for from this position the upper windows are opposite to
one another and the light passes right through the building. The great mass
of curiously simple yet most striking structures that girdle the summit of
the rock and form the platform beneath the church, though built at
different times, have joined in one consenescence and now present the
appearance of one of those cities that dwell in the imagination when
reading of "many tower'd Camelot" or the turreted walls of fairyland. Down
below these great and inaccessible buildings comes an almost perpendicular
drop of rocks, bare except for stray patches of grass or isolated bushes
that have taken root in crevices. Then between this and the fortified wall,
with its circular bastions, encircling the base of the rock, the roofs of
the little town are huddled in picturesque confusion. The necessity of
accommodating the modern pilgrims has unfortunately led to the erection of
one or two houses that in some measure jar with their mediaeval
surroundings. Another unwelcome note is struck by the needlessly aggressive
board on the museum which has already been mentioned. However, when a
sunset is glowing behind the mount, these modern intrusions are subdued
into insignificance, and there is nothing left to disturb the harmony of