dom
from episcopal control; but we find the Bishop of Exeter dedicating
the church here in 1238, of which some Norman arches, font, and stoup
survive; Athelstan's church has quite vanished. The building is about
100 feet long, and compared with the nave the chancel is almost like a
cathedral choir, thus proving its collegiate character, the stalls
still remaining. Much foolish restoration has done irreparable
damage, but the church is still beautiful in design and detail;
unhappily the screen was badly mutilated, and many bench-ends
destroyed. When Blight wrote his admirable book on the churches of
West Cornwall the Miserere seats could be raised; later, they were
very stupidly fixed down. On the floor of the tower lies the ancient
tomb of "Clarice La Femme Cheffrei De Bolleit," with an inscription in
Norman-French characters of the thirteenth century, begging visitors
to pray for her soul, and promising a ten days' pardon to those who do
so; there can be no harm in our testing the efficacy of this offer.
The tower that rises above this remarkably interesting grave is 90
feet in height, and as the church itself stands high it forms a fine
landmark. Outside there is a shaftless cross of Celtic appearance, but
not supposed to be Celtic in origin, though it certainly may have been
adapted from a Celtic original. There is another old cross outside the
churchyard gate, which may perhaps at one time have been included
within the sacred pale, as traces of burial have been found. But
churchyards were not often diminished in this manner, and the graves
must probably be otherwise accounted for. In the church is an
altar-cloth, now rarely used, worked by two maiden ladies more than
two centuries since.

St. Buryan is familiar to all visitors to the Land's End, as the cars
usually make it a halting-place. Even more famous, and perhaps more
attractive to the conventional sight-seer, is the Logan Stone of
Treryn, or Treen; but what makes this spot truly worth seeing is not
the mass of poised rock, which certainly stirs clumsily when pushed,
but the grand headland itself, on which there is a _dinas_, or old
entrenchment. The coast here has more beauties than can be named, but
this immemorial stronghold of a vanished race, on its magnificent
bluff of granite that juts from a turf-clad neck of land, is far more
glorious than any logging-stone, even though it may have been
displaced and replaced by a nephew of the poet Goldsmith. The li