Many other interesting features will reward a diligent search; and the visitor who is curious in such matters will notice that the chancel arch has evidently been cut through from the earlier nave. The south doorway, abandoned in favour of the more sheltered north porch, affords a convenient niche for the font: while odd corners here and there conceal old tombstones, inscribed with quaint epitaphs or half-obliterated armorial scutcheons.
In passing through the churchyard, we examine a dilapidated cross, remarkable for a circular hole in the base supposed to have been used as a receptacle for contributions to the priest from his flock. Near the adjacent stile stands an ancient, upright stone inscribed with curious, illegible characters.
At the little foot-bridge spanning the stream, we halt to enjoy a pleasant retrospect of the time-honoured church, set amidst embowering trees, with a handful of lowly cottages scattered prettily around.
Thence we push on by a footpath across the upland meadows; climbing stone stiles, set in the turfy walls which do duty here as hedgerows. Gradually we ascend to the wind-swept plateau at Newton; and if the ascent is easily won, it is none the less worth winning; for it affords an ample outlook over land and sea, with the village of Castle Martin upon the rise of the opposite hill.
Our track now becomes somewhat obscure, so we call in to inquire the way at the neighbouring blacksmith's shop; when a soot-begrimed son of Vulcan, casting aside his hammer, good-naturedly pioneers us along an intricate by-way, and points out the bearings for crossing the marshy valley. A wild enough place is this in winter-time, as our guide can testify; where the very hayricks have to be lashed secure to weather the fierce sou'-westers, which, under their steady impact, bend the trees into strange, distorted forms.
Descending the rough braeside, we now make for a conspicuous old ash-tree, and thenceforward thread our way amidst the dykes and marshy levels of Castle Martin Corse.
The tall steeple of Warren church, showing clear against the sky ahead, makes a serviceable landmark, until we strike the grassy track that leads across the marsh. Arrayed in sombre hues of russet red, rich browns and olive greens, the level strath is dotted with groups of horses and the black cattle for which the locality is famed, grazing knee-deep amidst waving sedges and lush green water-plants.
As we advance, the lapwings (those lovers of lonely, unfrequented places), wheel and circle overhead, uttering their peculiarly plaintive pipe as they scan the unwelcome intruders. And now a hollow lane receives us, and keeps us company until, after passing a two-three humble tenements, we turn aside into the well-tended graveyard; and so to the parish church of St. Michael, which stands in a little elbow of the hill overlooking the scattered dwellings of the hamlet.
