e selected a Celtic saint for his
monastery. A portion of Cadgwith is in the parish of Grade, which is
supposed to be a dedication to the Holy Creed; but here, as at
Sancreed and St. Creed, Grampound, we may be safe in believing that
there was a living personality behind the dedication, not a mere
abstraction. Churches had definite founders in Celtic days, and there
was a certain St. Credan who may be responsible for all these. But
does the ordinary visitor care much about these questions of
dedication and saint-lore? Probably not. South of Cadgwith are some of
the grand caves and rock-freaks that have a more immediate appeal, and
north of the hamlet some of the best serpentine is obtained.
Serpentine is a blend of silica and manganese, so named from its
imagined resemblance to a snake's skin; its colour varies from green
to red and brownish yellow, and is often remarkably beautiful. It has
been used with striking effect, architecturally, in Truro Cathedral;
while with regard to its use for ornaments and decoration, the visitor
has many opportunities of judging for himself.

When we remember the seas to which these shores are exposed, it is
easy to understand how the coast has been eroded into its present
contorted and cavernous condition. Massive rocky frameworks have
resisted the action of the waves, but softer measures have yielded;
the shore has been licked into hollows, basins, caves, by continuous
water-action, and the process continues unendingly. One remarkable
excavation of this kind is the Devil's Frying-pan, covering about two
acres, which the sea enters through an archway of rock at high tides;
the pit is nearly 200 feet deep. Literally, it is a cave whose roof
has fallen in. Close to this is Dollar Hugo, a cave whose roof has not
fallen nor seems likely to, with a magnificent gateway of serpentine.
The name is sometimes spelt Dolor, suggestive of grief, but its origin
is not easy to trace; Hugo seems to be a corruption of the Cornish
word _fogou_, meaning a cave. Johns, who wrote a very interesting book
about the Lizard some sixty years since, said that "of all the caves
that I have ever inspected, this wears the most perfect air of
mysteriousness and solemnity. At the entrance it is large enough to
admit a six-oared boat, but soon contracts to so small a size that a
swimmer alone could explore it. Its termination is lost in gloom, but
as far as the eye can discriminate the water is unceasingly rising and