It is curious that Mr. Kingsley, when writing _Westward Ho!_ should have overlooked Tonacombe, and laid some of his scenes at Chapel in the same parish, where there never was an old house nor were any traditions. Probably he did not know of the existence of this charming old mansion. The minstrel’s gallery was divided off from the hall, and converted into a bedroom; but Mr. Hawker pointed out its original destination to the owner, and he at once threw down the lath-and-plaster partition, and restored the hall to its original proportions.[16] The hall was also flat-ceiled across; but the vicar of Morwenstow discovered the oaken roof above the ceiling, and persuaded Mr. Martyn to expose it to view. A narrow slit in the wall from the bedroom of the lady of the house allowed her to command a view of her lord at his carousals, and listen to his sallies. Morwenstow Church stands on the steep slope of a hill. My Saxon shrine! the only ground Wherein this weary heart hath rest; What years the birds of God have found Along thy walls their sacred nest. The storm, the blast, the tempest shock, Have beat upon those walls in vain: She stands! a daughter of the rock, The changeless God’s eternal fane. Firm was their faith, the ancient bands, The wise of heart in wood and stone, Who reared with stern and trusty hands These dark grey towers of days unknown. They filled these aisles with many a thought; They bade each nook some truth reveal; The pillared arch its legend brought; A doctrine came with roof and wall. Huge, mighty, massive, hard and strong, Were the choice stones they lifted then; The vision of their hope was long,— They knew their God, those faithful men. They pitched no tent for change or death, No home to last man’s shadowy day: There, there, the everlasting breath Would breathe whole centuries away.