[21] The chancel has been restored by Lord Clinton. The old altar ornaments used by Mr. Hawker are preserved in the vestry. [22] See note on p. 6. Two new lancet windows have since been placed in the chancel, one by Mrs. Waddon Martyn, of Tonacombe, in memory of her husband, the other by friends of the Rev. J. Tagert, to commemorate the restoration of the church during his vicariate. A larger memorial window has also been placed by the Martyn family at the east end of the north aisle. [23] This appears to be an error, as the date on the pillar (in Roman figures) is 1564. (See Appendix A.) [24] See Appendix A_b_. [25] Compare the apportionment of the regions among the four great knights, Lancelot, Perceval, Tristan, and Galahad, in “The Quest of the Sangraal.” “Let us arise And cleave the earth like rivers; like the streams That win from Paradise their immortal name: To the four winds of God, casting the lot....” The mystic attributes of the four regions are told in lines of incomparable grandeur. [26] More about this village is to be found in the article “Holacombe.” [27] This dislike is disappearing. When I was at Welcombe recently a grave was being dug on the northern side of the church. The grave-digger said he had been christened and married by Mr. Hawker: “one of the best passons,” he added, “us ever had.”--ED. [28] See p. 62. [29] These initials are still to be seen at Stanbury, now a farmhouse. The scene of Mr. Baring-Gould’s novel “The Gaverocks” is partly laid there. [30] Richard Cann, who died February 15, 1842. Compare Hawker’s head-note to the poem in “Cornish Ballads,” where it is called “The Dirge.” [31] It may be said that the first editions of some of Hawker’s poems are on the grave-stones in Morwenstow churchyard. Other verses of this kind are those “On the Grave of a Child,” and some of the prose inscriptions bear traces of the same authorship. THE FIRST CORNISH MOLE[32] A MORALITY FROM THE ROCKY LAND A lonely life for the dark and silent mole! Day is to her night. She glides along her narrow vaults, unconscious of the glad and glorious scenes of earth and air and sea. She was born, as it were, in a grave; and in one long, living sepulchre she dwells and dies. Is not existence to her a kind of doom? Wherefore is she thus a dark, sad exile from the blessed light of day? Hearken!