iller. The archangel St. Michael afterwards appeared to some
hermits on its rocks, and this gave the mount its religious character
and name. Milton has written of it in _Lycidas_:

"Or whether thou to our moist views denied,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vision of the guarded mount
Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold."

It was always a strongly-defended place, and became a Benedictine
monastery--at first as an offshoot of the greater abbey of St. Michael
in Normandy, which in situation it resembles, and afterwards as an
independent establishment. It was a stronghold as well as a religious
house, however, and was notorious as the "back-door of rebellion,"
frequently besieged. The crowning square tower is that of the monastic
church, and St. Michael's Chair is on the battlements--a stone beacon
which is of great importance to all newly-married couples in that
region, for it bestows the ascendency on the husband or wife who first
sits in it. It is of this chair Southey's ballad about the adventurous
Rebecca was written; and he tells that just as she was installed.

"Merrily, merrily rang the bells,
And out Rebecca was thrown."

The family of St. Aubyn hold the mount, and they have recently
thoroughly restored the buildings, adding some fine apartments. It is
accessible only when the receding tide leaves bare the natural causeway
that connects the island with the shore.

PENZANCE AND THE LAND'S END.

[Illustration: OLD MARKET, PENZANCE.]

[Illustration: THE LAND'S END.]

This whole peninsula is filled with hut-villages, cromlechs, and other
prehistoric remains of its ancient people, but we have not the space to
devote to their description, however agreeable it might be. Hill-castles
and caves are also frequent, each with its traditions. The chief town is
Penzance, or the "Holy Headland," jutting out into Mount's Bay, where
once was a chapel dedicated to St. Anthony, who with St. Michael kept
guard over this favored region. Here is another prosperous seat of the
pilchard-fishery, and among its people the favorite toast is to the
three Cornish products, "tin, fish, and copper." Once, they tell us,
seventy-five millions of these fish were caught in a single day. They
rise in small shoals from the depths of the sea, then unite into larger
ones, and finally, about the end of July, combine in a mighty host, led
by the "Pilchard King" and most powerful of the tribe. The l