Above the screen he set up in late years a large cross painted blue with five gold stars on it, the cross of the heavens in the southern hemisphere. Near the pulpit he erected a curious piece of wood-carving, gilt and coloured, which he brought with him from Tamerton. It represents a castle attacked by a dragon with two heads. From the mouth of a beardless face issues a dove, which is represented flying towards the castle. This, he said, was an allegory. The castle is the Church assailed by Satan, the old dragon, through his twofold power, temporal and spiritual. But the Holy Spirit proceeding from the Son flies to the defence of the Church. On the other side of the castle was originally a bearded head, and a dove issuing in a similar manner from it; but it has been broken away. This represented the Paraclete proceeding from the Father as from the Son.

In the churchyard of Morwenstow is a granite tomb bearing the following inscription:—

Here Liet John Maning of ...

Who Died Without Issue ...

I am Beried in

the vi Daie of Av

gvst 1601.

John Manning of Stanbury, in Morwenstow, lived in the sixteenth century. He married Christiana Kempthorne. About six weeks after their marriage the husband was gored by a bull in a field between Tonacombe and Stanbury. His young bride died of grief within the year, and was buried in this altar tomb beside him.

The bed of this ill-fated pair, with their names carved on the head-board, was found by Mr. Hawker in one of the farms in the parish. He was very anxious to get possession of it. He begged it, and when refused offered money, but to no avail: the farmer would not part with it. After trying persuasion, entreaty, and offering large sums in vain, he had recourse to another expedient.

The vicar said to the farmer: “Does it ever strike you, S——, when lying in that bed, as you do of a night, how many corpses have preceded you? There was first of all poor John Manning, all dead and bloody, in 1601, his side ripped up by a bull’s horns, just where you lie so snug of a night. Then there was his bride, Christiana, lying there, where your wife sleeps, sobbing away her life, dying of a broken heart. Just you think, John, when you lie there, of that poor lone woman, how her tears dribbled all night long over the pillow on which your wife’s head rests. And one morning, when they came to look at her, SHE WAS DEAD. That was two hundred and fifty years ago. What a lot of corpses have occupied that bed, where you and your wife lie, since then! Think of it, John, of a night, and tell your wife to do the same. I dare say the dead flesh has struck a chill into the bed, that the feel of it makes you creep all over at times at dead of night. Doesn’t it, John? Two hundred and fifty years ago! That is about five generations—five men washed and laid out, their chins tied up on your pillow, John, and their dead eyes looking up at your ceiling; and five wives dead and laid out there too, and measured for their coffins, just where your wife sleeps so warm. And then, John, consider, it’s most likely some of these farmers were married again, so we may say there were at least six or seven female corpses, let alone dead babies, in that bed. Why, John, there have been at least fourteen corpses in that bed, including John Manning bleeding to death, and Christiana weeping her life away. Think of that of a night. You will find it conducive to good.”