basin, and thence down the steep steps to the limpet-covered rocks beneath, where the boat waited to take them to the land of their desire. Here, too, we left the shelter of the land, hoisted sail, and pushed out into the racing tide which bore us swiftly south.
With wind and tiller keeping our course westerly, and the tide drifting us rapidly south, we swirled and tossed through the white-capped waves, cheered by the minute and vivid descriptions of our two boatmen of the exact spots in the race where their various relatives were drowned. Diseases may be rare at Bardsey, accidents seem to be frequent. However, this time all went well, and very skilfully our seamen reached the island exactly opposite the one landing-place, where a narrow strip of beach is sheltered by an opening in the rocks just wide enough for a Bardsey boat. The island is divided into two portions by a narrow neck of land, but a few yards across at its narrowest part; here, when the wild west wind or a strong south-easter is blowing, great seas dash over and make the connecting road impassable. At the south end is the lighthouse, at no great height above the sea; the main island is north of the isthmus, and a good road, the only one in the island, connects the two portions. At the northern end, under the shelter of "the Mountain," a rugged upland, is the crumbling ruin of St. Mary's Abbey, on the site of Cadfan's monastery. On the road are the farms, about a dozen in all, good substantial buildings, walled around, built about forty years ago or more by Lord Newborough.
Around the four walls of ancient masonry, all that remains of the Abbey, are the graves of the former inhabitants of Bardsey. and in their midst, beneath a stately marble cross, rests the "old lord" who did so much for the island. Hard by is another cross, in memory of the 20,000 saints who lie beneath the turf, for it was, as
