GLASTONBURY, a small market-town of some 4000 people in the centre of the county, 6 m. S. from Wells. It has a station on the S. & D. line from Evercreech to Bridgwater. The site of Glastonbury is almost as conspicuous in a Somerset landscape as its name is in Somerset history. Its huge conical tor, crowned by a tower, rises like a gigantic sugar-loaf from the surrounding plain, and is visible to half the county. The neighbourhood is a happy hunting-ground for the antiquary, and one of the “regulation” sights for the casual tourist. No one can be said to have “done” Somerset who has not seen Glastonbury. Its associations are romantic as well as historical. Though the modern town is commonplace enough, poetry and piety, fact and fiction, have conspired to make it famous. Here was the cradle of British Christianity. In this “deep meadowed island, fair with orchard lawns”—the fabled Avalon—blossomed the flower of British chivalry in the persons of Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. It was when a Glastonbury monk that Dunstan made his vigorous onslaught on the powers of darkness. And it was this “parcel of ground,” already consecrated by the bones of St Patrick, King Edgar, and St David, which became the favourite burying-place of mediaeval saints and heroes. The legend which accounted for its early pre-eminence is even in these sceptical days worth retelling, for from its popularity the future importance of the abbey sprang. Joseph of Arimathaea was despatched by St Philip along with eleven companions “to carry the tidings of the blessed Gospel” to the shores of remote Britain. Providential winds wafted them across the waters of the Severn Sea, and at length the wayworn travellers landed at Glastonbury, then an island. As their leader,


