running patterns of foliage, while vivid paintings of the sun and stars gave colour and animation to the cold stone. Little wonder that the gorgeous Abbey in all its loveliness and noble proportions was deemed a fitting resting-place for kings and saints. Claiming St. Joseph as its founder, it was almost in natural sequence that it should make claim to be the shrine of the last and greatest of the Christian kings, the Arthur whom Geoffrey of Monmouth had made renowned--“the most king and knight of the world, and most loved of the fellowship of noble knights, and by turn they were all upholden.” It was to Glastonbury that the “Bishop of Canterbury” fled, and took his goods, and “lived in poverty and in holy prayers” when the war with Mordred broke out. To this hermit came Sir Bedivere, and found him by a tomb new-graven. “Sir,” said Sir Bedivere, “what man is there interred that ye pray so fast for?” “Fair son,” said the hermit, “I wot not verily, but by deeming. But this night, at midnight, here came a number of ladies, and brought hither a dead corpse, and prayed me to bury him; and here they offered an hundred tapers, and gave me an hundred besants.” “Alas,” said Sir Bedivere, “that was my lord King Arthur, that here lieth buried in this chapel!” Then Sir Bedivere swooned, and when he awoke prayed that he might abide there henceforth and live with fasting and prayers. “Far from hence will I never go,” said he, “by my will, but all the days of my life to pray for my lord Arthur.”