It left no marker, no plaque, no depression in the earth that a curious visitor might stumble upon and wonder about. What is known comes from a single reference in the historical record, enough to confirm that the well existed and that it carried two quite different identities across its working life.

Daly, writing in 1957, notes that the well on the Lissenfield House grounds was reputed to be a holy well, one of the countless springs across Ireland that acquired devotional significance over centuries, typically associated with a local saint and visited for their believed curative or spiritual properties. At some point the same well was repurposed as a spa well, a shift that reflects a broader eighteenth and nineteenth century fashion among the Irish and British middle classes for mineral waters and their supposed health benefits. The move from holy well to spa well was not unusual; many such springs were quietly secularised and rebranded to suit the tastes and language of a more medically minded era, with the ritual giving way to the therapeutic, though the underlying belief in the water's special qualities often persisted in both cases.

There is nothing to see here now, which is itself a kind of point. The Lissenfield House estate has long since been absorbed into the city, and no visible trace of the well survives above ground. For anyone interested in the archaeology of belief or the social history of water in urban Ireland, the absence is almost as instructive as a physical remain would be. The well's dual career, devotional and fashionable, compressed into a single sentence of a 1957 publication, is the only evidence that it was ever there at all.