ayle
Vicarage, says: "I have often seen the train stop while people got out
and gathered blackberries. But it is lovely country down around
Egloshayle and Wadebridge, just as pretty and quiet as can be." Mr.
Arthur Norway also has a very tender regard for the district, for a
similar reason, and he has given some weird stories of local
superstition. But it cannot be claimed that Wadebridge is on the
coast, and we must retreat seaward.

[Illustration: WADEBRIDGE.

_Photo by Alex. Old._]

Readers of Baring-Gould's stirring novel, _The Roar of the Sea_, are
sure to look eagerly for St. Enodoc's Church. It lies among the
sand-dunes on the eastern bank of the estuary, and is now protected
from the sands that once practically buried it by the growth of
rush-grass and tamarisk hedges; even now it lies low within a deep
trench, and we can easily picture its condition in days when the
parson used to enter through the roof to perform service, so as to
keep his tithes. Built in 1430, it was the successor of an earlier
cell of the saint's. Its slightly crooked spire of slate is the sole
landmark to guide a visitor. In the graveyard is a curious collection
of stoups and water-bowls. It is about forty years now since the
church was excavated from the sands that rose to its roof and restored
to usefulness. Those familiar with Mr. Baring-Gould's book will
remember that he places the home of Cruel Coppinger in this district,
with his house at Pentire Glaze; but we shall find the true home of
Coppinger further northward, near Morwenstow. Just within Hayle Bay is
the little village of Polzeath, which in time may become a popular
watering-place; it has a wonderful charm of position, and enough sand
to satisfy anybody. The fine headland of Pentire reaches beyond, with
its off-lying islet of Newland. Mr. Norway thinks that the stretch of
coast visible from Pentire is the finest in all Cornwall, and he
speaks with authority. On the west the view extends to Trevose, and
embraces the whole of the beautiful Padstow harbour, together with an
unlimited ocean of marvellous ever-changing colours. "On the east the
prospect seems almost boundless. Port Isaac Bay lies just below,
sweeping far back into the land, half hidden by the Eastern Horn of
Pentire. Across the bay Tintagel lies directly opposite, eight miles
away over the sea, every crevice and gully of its riven island clearly
marked in the translucent air; and beyond it the eye follows leagu