t notable saints. The Holy Well is a fresh-water
spring on the north side of the beach; it is in a cave, accessible at
low water, and is reached by a flight of rough steps. Its water was
once supposed to be highly medicinal--in fact, miraculous. It is true
that there is some mineral solution in the water, but this is not of
medicinal value. The well or spring is in a kind of grotto at the head
of rugged steps in the rock; and its water drips into a series of
natural basins, beautiful with the loveliest colouring--quite a fairy
grotto, worthy of being a sea-nymph's bathing-place. Our faith in
miraculous cures may be slight enough at this present time, but so
long as the human eye can appreciate loveliness this spot must ever
have its delicate satisfying charm, all the more striking in contrast
to the long, weary stretches of sand-dune.

The beauty of the spot abides, but the old-world faith in the waters
has well-nigh departed--gone with many another quaint credulity. The
change cannot be better emphasised than by a quotation from another
writer, who described the same scene several centuries since. The
Cornish historian Hals writes: "In this parish is that famous spring
of water called Holywell (so named, the inhabitants say, for that the
virtues of this water was first discovered on All-hallows Day). The
same stands in a dark cavern of the sea-cliff rocks, beneath full
sea-mark on spring tides, from the top of which cavern fall down or
distil continually drops of water from the white, blue, red, and green
veins of those rocks.... The virtues of this water are very great. It
is incredible what numbers in summer season frequent this place and
waters from counties far distant." It is said that, even within the
nineteenth century, the crowd that used to assemble here, especially
those bringing rickety and crippled children, was so large that the
scene resembled a fair. But now it is curiosity that brings the
visitor, or the attraction of a lonely, beautiful scene; Cornish
mothers seek other remedies for their delicate children; only perhaps
a few of the elder folk fondly nurse a memory and a belief in the
powers of St. Cubert's Well. Yet the spring flows on, heedless of its
neglect as it was heedless of its worship; it is only the false, the
fantastic, the deceptive that have passed--the truth, the loveliness
remain.

About two and a half miles from the well, across the sand-downs and
commons, is the little church-town o