more beautiful associations will gather round the sunset than those in which Malvern plays its part, the rocky skyline standing up sharp and clear against the ever-changing brilliance.  As we recall the scene the dazzling effulgence fades into a glow, the glow diminishes almost imperceptibly into twilight, and, as we watch, a line of twinkling lights becomes visible beneath the hill, and one by one the stars appear in the deepening sky.

Northward there are no striking elevations, the ground sloping gradually upward by the Lench Hills and the Ridge Way towards the great central tableland; but opposite Malvern, continuing the horizon to the north of Meon, can be seen, when the air is clear, beyond the flat Stour valley, the outline of Edgehill, recalling as we gaze the years of civil strife, full of terror and bloodshed, yet round which Time has thrown his mantle of romance.

So far we have been able to dwell on the broad features of the country which it takes many ages to change or modify.  From the earliest times we can record the settlers on this chosen spot must have looked out on the same hills and the same broad valley with its overarching sky.  But then, instead of the “crown of gold” of which Drayton sings, or the silver sheen which in springtime now glorifies the gardens, the face of the country was, we are told, one vast thicket of brushwood and forest trees.  In Blakenhurst, meaning black forest, the name of the hundred in which the town is situated, we have an indication of the former character of this region.  Only here and there was a clearing with a few huts giving shelter to a scanty population of herdsmen and hunters.  In those shadowy times the river was broad and shallow, unconfined to one course, here swift and clear, there sluggish and thick, feeding creeks and marshes by the way, and overgrown with rushes and water weeds; of no use probably as a water-way but prolific in fish and fowl.

During historic times the vale has been hallowed by many events, and is sacred to many memories:  there is hardly an acre which does not bear evidence of the doings of our forefathers through the long ages of which we have knowledge.  The site of the town was apparently unoccupied by the Romans though their thoroughfares run not far distant, and their camps are numerous on the neighbouring hills.  Not until Saxon times do we hear of this fertile peninsula being inhabited, and then we are told by the chroniclers of a village called Homme near this spot, the home of only a few peasants.  Like many other towns and cities, in England, Evesham is said to have had a monastic origin, and for a long succession of years it is to the monastery alone that she owes her existence and celebrity.  The monastic foundation dates from about A.D. 702, and from this time until the Conquest we know little of the fortunes of the place.  Access would have been difficult in those days to so retired a spot protected on three sides by a broad river, and though doubtless there was a ford passable on horseback when the water was not in flood, yet until the building of the bridge it must have been isolated indeed.  More than once we are told of ravages of the Danes.  We know they penetrated far into the country, and Evesham did not escape their vigilance.