Prominent in our view rises the gray limestone tower, whose rugged, time-worn walls rise solidly to the corbelled battlements. These have louvred windows to the bell-chamber, and a quaint metal weather-vane atop; to right and left range the lichen-clad roofs and walls of the main structure; while a lofty and massive porch stands boldly out, enclosing a rambling stairway that leads to the tower. The foreground is occupied by crumbling headstones, wreathed in ivy and decked with flowering creepers; and a shapely churchyard cross rises beside our pathway. Nor does the interior of the church prove a whit less interesting. Here a group of graceful arches, with attached limestone shafts, gives access from the nave to the north aisle; whence a skew arch, having detached pillars with capitals, opens into the chancel. The latter is flanked by similar arches enclosing pretty, traceried windows. The great south porch has a narrow doorway at some height in the side wall, giving access to a much-worn, straggling flight of steps. Scrambling up these we find ourselves in the tower, which, after the manner of the country, is massively constructed; having grim vaulted chambers with many openings, like pigeon-holes, pierced in the solid walls. Here are also the bells, erected by John Rudhale, A.D. 1809. The font, though plain, is well proportioned and of early date. This curious old church is the head of the important parish and hundred of Castle Martin. The district is noted for its breed of black, long-horned cattle; and in bygone days could boast its own troop of gallant yeomanry, who shared with the Fishguard Fencibles the distinction of repelling the notorious French 'invasion' of Pembrokeshire, a century ago. Leaving the quiet village to the care of an aged crone and a group of children playing with a lame magpie, we get under way again, and make for the crossways on the ridge. At this point the Ordnance map raises expectations of something of a 'castle,' which proves, however, to be nothing more than a prehistoric earthwork with mounds of circular form. Then onward again, passing Moor Farm, where once stood a goodly mansion, of which scarce a stone has been spared. Now we keep a straight course towards Warren, with the skylarks making music overhead; while the voice of that 'interesting scamp,' the cuckoo, echoes from the woods down Brownslade way. [Illustration: A WAYSIDE WELL.] Shortly before reaching Warren village the country lane widens out, with a corner of sedgy greensward under the hedgerow. Here stands a curious old wayside well, domed over with a sort of rude canopy, whose mossy stones, fringed with hartstongue fern, are reflected in the clear water; indeed, from the frequent recurrence of springs and draw-wells, it would seem that St. Decumanus, their patron, was held in high esteem in these parts.