_Myself_. Yes.

"That church is situate in a hole at the head of a deep dell."

_Myself_. But what has that to do with this man?

"This," replied Mr. Eli; "we cannot, up the town, hear the church chimes, though we are not two hundred yards from them."

_Myself_. But the man does not carry your church bells on his knee.

"Oh, dear me, no; but this man walks round the town just before divine service, and the ringing of his bell warns the people that it is time for them to go to church."

_Myself_. A singular invention, certainly. Pity they built the church in such an outlandish place.

_Mr. Eli_. Oh, don't say so. The church was built there by direction.

It is close to the well of St. Winifred, the healing waters of which, as you are aware, are celebrated far and near.

_Myself_. Then the tales you and others tell about the efficacy of the waters of the fountain are really true?

"Yes, of course, they are perfectly true. When all is said and written about the waters, we can truly say that the half is not told."

_Myself_. I should like to possess a true and authentic history of the place.

"Doubtless," replied Mr. Eli, "you would. Its history has yet to be written."

_Myself_. There is, then, evidence, Mr. Eli, that people who have bathed in its waters have been made whole?

"Yes; plenty of evidence," replied Mr. Eli; "and if you will now accompany me to the well, I'll show you some of the many witnesses."

When we entered the building, my friend conducted me to a spot where we had a good view of the interior. He pointed with his finger to the roof, at the same time remarking, "Up there, look up there, for there is the evidence, the witnesses, to which I referred."

_Myself_. Do you mean those barrows, hand carts, crutches, and staves, and other things too numerous to mention, fastened to the ceiling?

"Of course I do. Are they not irresistible witnesses to the healing power of these waters?"

_Myself_. I really fail to see your point, Mr. Eli. Pray explain yourself more fully.

"People come here," said my friend, "from all parts of the world. Some come on wheel-barrows, some on crutches, some by the aid of walking-sticks; they bathe in these healing waters, like they did when our Lord was upon earth, and are cleansed. They leave here new men and women, and having no further need of either crutch or barrow, leave them behind as witnesses to the power of this wonderful fountain."

_Myself_. You have greatly excited my curiosity, Mr. Eli. Pray furnish me with some information respecting the history of this place.

"You are heartily welcome to the facts and traditions I have been fortunate enough to succeed in collecting, which can be briefly told.

They are as follows:-

"Once upon a time, that is, about twelve hundred and twenty-five years ago, this Treffynnon was a royal city, and then the king's palace was within its precincts. The then reigning sovereign was Allen the First, and his dominion extended over the whole of the hundred of Coleshill, from the royal mines of which he derived a princely income. The king had a son of the name of Cradocus, a name which has led old writers to conclude that his mother was a daughter of some Roman, who, preferring this country to his own, and having espoused a British lady, settled down here.

"At the time of which I speak, there resided in Holywell a potent lord of the Trewith, who married Lady Wento, an only sister of Saint Beuno, descendants of an ancient and ill.u.s.trious Montgomeryshire family. The only issue of this marriage was a daughter, a beautiful and lovely maiden, who was as pure as she was beautiful, whose name was Winifred.

"When she had grown up to be a young lady, her uncle, Saint Beuno, who resided at Clynnog, in Carnarvonshire, came on one occasion to this royal town to pay a friendly visit to his family. During his stay he obtained a grant of land from Lord Trewith, his brother-in-law, upon which he erected a church. Now the altar of that church was close by yon bubbling fountain."

_Myself_. Have you historical proofs of this, Mr. Eli? I asked.

"You will see by-and-by the evidence upon which I rely."

_Myself_. Pray proceed; your narrative is deeply interesting.

"After the erection of the church," Mr. Eli continued, "Saint Beuno took under his charge his niece Winifred, who vowed to remain a virgin, and to devote her life to works of charity, mercy, and religion.

"On a lovely Sunday evening, on the 22nd of June, the Lady Winifred left her parents' castle for the purpose of taking a walk in the cool of the day. When she attained the summit of the hill her progress was stayed by Prince Cradocus, who, being struck with her extreme beauty, at once made a proposal of marriage.

"'Prince,' replied Lady Winifred, 'I can form no earthly ties. I have already vowed my life and wealth to the work of my Saviour.'

"'But, n.o.ble and beautiful lady, I have sworn you shall be mine, and nothing shall prevent the fulfilment of my oath.'

"'Your offer, ill.u.s.trious prince, comes too late; my vow is irrevocable.'

"'Pray, Lady Winifred, don't say that. Your hand I am resolved to possess, and you shall share with me the throne of my ancestors.'

"'For earthly thrones, prince, I care not; my treasures are not here but above.'

"'If you persist, n.o.ble lady, in your refusal, I am resolved to effect my object by force.'

"'You dare not do that, prince. You must not further molest me. Stand by, for I would proceed on my way.'

"Cradocus was vexed at being thus robbed of his prey, and getting into a fearful pa.s.sion, took his sword from its sheath, and there and then,-oh, horror of horrors! cut off the head of the virgin. For his guilty act, vengeance from on high soon overtook him. On the spot where he committed the crime, he fell down a dead man, and the earth opening, swallowed his impious corpse. {260} There is, however, a tradition, that Cradocus's master, the devil, carried off his body to the dismal regions of despair.

"Now about the well. I've told you, that it was on the hillside above here where Cradocus committed the foul deed. It appears that when the head was severed from the body it commenced to roll down the steep hill by which we descended, and stopped when it reached the altar, before which a number of devout people were kneeling. The very moment the head stopped there came up this fountain, the waters of which possess the same miraculous power as did those waters of the pool of Bethesda referred to in the Gospel of St. John.

"It appears Saint Beuno was the officiating priest at the altar when this sad event took place. Recognising the head as that of his beloved niece, he took it up, and ran with it to where the mangled body lay, to which he rejoined it. To the astonishment of all present, the head at once united itself to the body, the place of separation being only marked by a white ring or line, which extended round the neck. From that hour she was called Saint Winifred, and was always after regarded as a holy person, a special vessel chosen by Christ to do His work. After this event she lived fifteen years, and gained universal fame by her deeds of love and charity. Well, though more than twelve hundred years have come and gone since then, this fountain is as powerful to-day as it was then in healing and in curing diseases. Hundreds, aye, thousands, have blessed the day on which they bathed in this Iachad Ffynnon-healing fountain. Now, my story is done."

_Myself_. And a most interesting tale it is, Mr. Eli, for which I thank you very much. There is one more circ.u.mstance I wish to be informed of in order to have a complete history of the sainted lady.

"To what do you refer?" asked Mr. Eli.

_Myself_. I presume the lady died here.

"Oh yes; she died in her father's mansion."

_Myself_. In that case, I presume, her sepulchre is in your churchyard?

"Not so, my friend," replied Mr. Eli.

_Myself_. Then she was not buried here?

"No, she was not interred here, and for this reason. Her uncle, Saint Beuno, died on the 21st of April, 660, and his remains were interred in the Abbey Church of Bardsey Island. On his death, Saint Winifred retired to Gwytheriu, and placed herself under the protection of St. Elerius, who at that time was living in devotional seclusion in that sequestered mountain village. At that time there was there a convent of nuns under the superintendence of Theonia. Saint Winifred a.s.sumed the veil, and on the death of Theonia became the abbess. On her death, the remains were removed from Treffynnon to Gwytheriu, and interred near the graves of St.

Cybi and St. Sannan. After a lapse of five hundred years from the date of her death, the bones of St. Winifred were removed with great pomp to the church of St. Peter and St. Paul, Shrewsbury. The wooden chest in which the remains were preserved is still kept. The translation of the saint's remains took place in the reign of King Stephen."

_Myself_. It's a pity that no monument to her memory has been erected here. Don't you think so, Mr. Eli?

"I cannot share your opinion, my friend. This well and its wonderful cures are monuments which will live when Parian marble shall crumble into dust. But there is another monument. Observe," said Mr. Eli, "the sweet scented moss which grows there by the well-side, the _Jungermannia esplenoides_ of Linnaeus. On each anniversary of the decollation of Saint Winifred, this moss, and the stones of the fountain, a.s.sume the colour of blood. This annual change in the tint of the moss is an immortal monument of the dear departed saint, as if it said:-