88 
Near the small town of Carnac, there is an eminence, 
partly natural, and partly artificial, which forms a huge long 
barrow. On the platform of its truncated summit stands a 
chapel, dedicated to St. Michael, and from this elevation an 
extensive view is obtained. Looking northwards you see 
vast heaths covering a slightly undulating country, fir 
plantations, and, here and there, small villages nestling 
among elm-trees. Turning to the west you catch a glimpse 
of the peninsula of Quiberon, celebrated for the ill-fated 
expedition of the emigrant royalists in 1795, which termi- 
nated in the atrocious murder of the prisoners. To the 
south are the blue waves of the Atlantic, with the islands of 
Belle-Ile, Houat, and Haedic resting on the horizon; and 
eastwards the eye travels across the peninsula of Locmariaker, 
rich in stone monuments of gigantic size, and perceives the 
great tumuli of Mane-er-H’roek, the Tumiac, and of the 
island of Gavr’ Inis in the enclosed little sea or Morbihan. 
Not far from the base of the north slope of the tumulus 
which now bears the name of Mount St. Michael, stand two 
of the three groups of lines which I propose to describe, 
stretching from left to right across the landscape, — the great 
army of stones, “ silent witnesses of thousands of extinct 
generations,” regarding which neither tradition nor history 
has preserved the slightest record. Although composed of 
hard granite, many of these stones have been gnawed by 
time, and too successfully assailed by the strong and 
destructive hand of man. 
If you descend into the plain, and bend your steps to the 
village of Menec, which lies on the left hand, you find that 
several of the farm-houses and cottages, with their thrashing 
yards and gardens, are enclosed in a circle of upright stones, 
which is 277 feet in its largest diameter. This circle forms 
the western termination of a group of eleven lines of menhirs 
or pillars ; and if you walk -eastwards you at length arrive 
