ression. You pass copices of firs and beautiful woods,
although in saying beautiful it is in a limited sense, for one seldom finds
the really rich woodlands that are so priceless an ornament to many Surrey
and Kentish lanes. The road is shaded by tall trees when it begins to
descend into the steep rocky gorge of the Cance with its tumbling
waterfalls that are a charming feature of this approach to Mortain. High
upon the rocks on the left appears an enormous gilded statue of the Virgin,
in the grounds of the Abbaye Blanche. Going downwards among the broken
sunlight and shadows on the road, Mortain appears, picturesquely perched on
a great rocky steep, and in the opening of the valley a blue haze suggests
the great expanse of level country towards the south. The big parish church
of the town was built originally in 1082 by that Robert of Mortain, who, it
will be remembered, was one of the first of the Normans to receive from the
victorious William a grant of land in England. The great tower which stands
almost detached on the south-west side is remarkable for its enormously
tall slit windows, for they run nearly from the ground to the saddle-back
roof. The interior of this church is somewhat unusual, the nave and chancel
being structurally one, and the aisles are separated by twenty-four
circular grey pillars with Corinthian capitals. The plain surfaces of the
walls and vaulting are absolutely clean white, picked out with fine black
lines to represent stone-work--a scarcely successful treatment of such an
interior! On either side of the High Altar stand two great statues
representing St Guillaume and St Evroult.

To those who wish to "do" all the sights of Mortain there is the Chapel of
St Michael, which stands high up on the margin of a great rocky hill, but
the building having been reconstructed about fifty years ago, the chief
attraction to the place is the view, which in tolerably clear weather,
includes Mont St Michel towards which we are making our way.

A perfectly straight and fairly level stretch of road brings you to St
Hilaire-du-Harcout. On the road one passes two or three large country
houses with their solemn and perfectly straight avenues leading directly up
to them at right angles from the road. The white jalousies seem always
closed, the grass on the lawns seems never cut, and the whole
establishments have a pathetically deserted appearance to the passer-by. A
feature of this part of the country can scarce