ountry that compels health and well-being.

Yet Zennor is only five and a half miles by the moorland road from St.
Ives, that picturesque little fishing town that artists and golfers know
so well. St. Ives, less than seven hours' journey from Paddington, is an
ideal centre from which to explore the coast and moorland beauties of
England's furthest west.

[Illustration: _The Mermaid of Zennor: Bench End in Zennor Church_]

[Illustration]

THE STONE MEN OF ST. CLEER

A thousand feet above sea level among the heather and bracken of
Craddock Moor, four or five miles north of Liskeard, you may find to-day
the remains of three ancient stone circles known as "The Hurlers."
Antiquaries will tell you that the Druids first erected them, but the
people of the countryside know better. From father to son, from
grandparent to child, through long centuries, the story has been handed
down of how "The Hurlers" came to be fixed in eternal stillness high up
there above the little village of St. Cleer.

Exactly how long ago it was nobody knows, but it happened in those early
days when pious saints were settling down in the remote parts of savage
Cornwall and striving to convert the wild Cornish from their pagan ways.

Then, as even to this day, the game of Hurling--a sort of primitive
Rugby football--was a popular pastime with the people. Village used to
play against village, with goals perhaps four or five miles apart. And
the good folk of St. Cleer were as fond of the game as any of their
neighbours--so fond, in fact, that they would play it on any and every
occasion, despite the admonitions of their local saint and parson, after
whom the village was named.

Again and again he would notice that his little church was empty on
Sunday mornings while the shouts and noise of a hard-fought Hurling
match drifted across the moorland in through the open church door. Again
and again he would take his flock to task for their godless ways and
their Sabbath-breaking games. But it was of little use. For a Sunday or
two they would be penitent and attend service. Then would come a fine
morning, and a challenge perhaps from the Hurlers of St. Ive or North
Hill, on the other side of the moors, and the young men would decide to
chance another lecture from the patient saint, and out they would go to
the hillside to do battle for the honour of their parish.

But even the patience of saints comes to an end at last, and good St.
Cleer saw som