But the watchful eye of the barrow-builder saw other derelict fossils besides Micrasters and their allies. Man of the Neolithic and Bronze Ages, though deficient in the artistic skill of his Palaeolithic predecessor, exhibited some selective taste even in matters of daily life. Often one lights upon an implement which has been made from a particular substance chosen for its natural beauty. Thus, one perforated hammer is of a green colour; another, of gneissose rock, is banded alternately black and white; a third, from a Wiltshire barrow, contains a mass of fossil serpulae (worm-tubes). Sir John Evans, who records the last-named example, leaves it an open question whether superstition or love of beauty determined the choice[760]. While, as already suggested, the detached fossil was probably regarded as a charm, the section of such a fossil, visible on the surface of a polished celt, or the delicately moulded impression of a shell on a flint flake, was carefully left untouched, mainly for artistic reasons. One occasionally sees an axe in which a fossil remains intact, yet the tool was meant for everyday use. Scrapers, too, are often deftly fashioned from portions of a banded flint, and many arrow-heads chipped from agate or chalcedony speak of beauty as well as utility. In the course of time such objects may indeed have appealed to their owners as talismans.

Endowed, then, with acute vision which was trained to a high degree along certain lines, and gifted with the first glimmerings of artistic taste, prehistoric man learned to appreciate any conspicuous and attractive-looking fossil. That very common chalk fossil, which seems to have settled down finally to the name of Porosphaera globularis, and which is by general consent now regarded as a sponge, was a special favourite with men of the Barrow period. This small, spherical fossil, unfortunately nameless among common folk, occurs somewhat plentifully as a flint “pebble” in drift gravels which have originally been eroded from the chalk. Sometimes the Porosphaera has a natural perforation, corresponding with one of its diameters, and thus the searcher could obtain a ready-made bead. By stringing together these fossils, a necklace was formed, and of these necklaces, the “threads” of which have perished, the number of flint “beads” found in the barrows supply convincing testimony. The salient fact is that, in several recorded instances,

the fossils were found in groups; thus precluding natural agencies as a cause of their occurrence. In ordinary circumstances, the fossils would be isolated and scattered throughout the gravels somewhat sparingly. Moreover, Mr James Wyatt, who examined over 200 specimens of Porosphaera, believed, from markings which were visible when sections were cut, that in several cases the hole had been artificially enlarged with a drill[761] (Fig. 60). To enumerate barrows which have yielded this particular fossil would be wearisome, but another globular fossil, the beautifully ornamented echinoderm known as Cidaris, deserves a note. Evans records his having seen specimens of this fossil bored so as to form part of a Saxon necklace, and, in other cases, to serve as spindle-whorls[762].

Among the other grave-mound fossils, those of cephalopods find a place. A considerable number of belemnites lay in a “large” [i.e. British or pre-Saxon] Dorsetshire barrow opened in the eighteenth century by Colonel Drax. Douglas, who saw the specimens, figures one of them in his Nenia Britannica[763]. Canon Greenwell found a portion of an ammonite lying beside a skeleton in one of the Yorkshire mounds[764]. It is well to remember that a black ammonite, of which the species is not stated, is associated with the religious ceremonies of the Brahmans, being regarded by the devout as the embodiment of Vishnu[765]. Some of the larger fish teeth, occurring as fossils, also come in our list. In a tumulus described by Dr Henry Woodward, the sides of the grave were lined with the teeth of Lepidotus (= Sphaerodus) gigas, a Mesozoic fish allied to the “bony pike” of North American lakes and rivers. In one case a locket-like arrangement was noticed, a kind of keyhole having been cut in the tooth[766]. I record this evidence, but not having seen the specimens referred to, cannot express an opinion on the individual example, and will merely say that the artificial nature of the hole is antecedently probable. But it is only right to add that doubt has been cast on the necessity of invoking human skill to explain certain of these orifices. Some species of boring mollusc may possibly have been the real agent. One recalls the controversy respecting the perforated sharks’ teeth of the Crag formation. To explain this feature, Mr H. A. Burrows suggested that the cavities originally represented hollows for the passage of blood-vessels, and that the perforations had been completed by subsequent friction and solution. It remains to be noted that the first collectors of fossil fish teeth lived in Palaeolithic times, since specimens, associated with flint flakes, were found at the celebrated “Palaeolithic floor” at Stoke Newington[767]. Similarly, fossil and “recent” shells, perforated for suspension, have been found in the Palaeolithic caves of France and Belgium[768]. A limestone cavern, opened by M. Dupont in the latter country in 1860, yielded a collection of fossil molluscan shells, including Cerithium, which must have been brought a distance of 40-50 miles. Accompanying the fossils were a piece of fluor spar and other curiosities, so that it has been suggested, with reason, as well as mirth, that here was a primitive museum[769]. British barrows have furnished specimens of the joints of encrinites (“sea-lilies”), known in folk-lore as “St Cuthbert’s beads[770].” In one case the specimen had actually been bored for stringing[771]. It is probable, indeed, that from the earliest ages men have never ceased to collect these beautiful little “beads.”

Land-and sea-shells, not usually so hard as the fossil species, have also been assiduously collected by early man for funeral gifts. It has been asserted that nearly every barrow on the Chalk Downs contains land-shells[772]. Limpet shells have been found under the megaliths of Cornwall and Brittany[773]. Saxon graves in Kent frequently yield, not only native land-and sea-shells, but also exotic cowries, which must have come from the East[774]. Necklaces made of the curious little shell, known from its shape as the “elephant’s tusk” (Dentalium), are recorded from barrows, and there is also a note of the discovery of the “Venus’s ear” (Haliotis)[775]. The catalogue might be extended, but it is already long enough to illustrate the topic under discussion.

Mention must be made of a parallel custom which was observed in Lapland in both ancient and modern times. Old Lappish graves opened near Varanger Fiord contained, besides our familiar quartz and flint, numbers of sea-urchins, presumably, though it is not explicitly so stated, belonging to recent species[776]. More interesting were the snail-shells, known by the Laplanders as Hundsjael, or “dog-souls,” and mussel-shells, or “cow-souls.” It seems that the natives, down to a comparatively recent period, treasured fossils and queerly-shaped stones as fetishes. Nordvi, who opened the graves, conjectured that the shells were substitutes for living dogs and cows, these animals being too precious for sacrifice[777]. This explanation is plausible as an explanation of this particular case. The natives of Ceylon, however, employed shells of a certain species for funeral purposes[778], and altogether the custom is too widely known to be explicable on narrow grounds. To round off these examples, we may note the strange cases reported from Frampton church, near Boston, in Lincolnshire. Several stone coffins, discovered in this church, were found to be filled with sand, together with the shells of cockles and other molluscans. The shells had evidently been placed in the receptacles by design, and as the bones had not perished, the speculation was put forward that the purpose of the shells was to preserve the skeleton[779]. This solution of the puzzle does not appear to be allowable, but the circumstances are certainly peculiar. The fact that the coffins were filled with material leads us to suspect that they had been tampered with at some unknown period[780]. Alternatively, we may suppose that the maritime folk of Frampton were especially given over to the belief in shells, and carried the principle to extremes. For the graves of sailors and fishermen are eminently marked out for shell decoration, though, it is true, these ornaments are now placed above ground. Frequently one reads of the practice being observed when a sailor dies in a strange land.

Our list of grave ornaments is by no means exhausted. Brooches and pins, armlets and bracelets, trinkets of gold or silver, perforated boars’ tusks and crescents of wolves’ teeth, are among the relics known to the barrow-digger. Oftentimes, the decorative and the useful objects lie side by side. We have already noticed Pliny’s allusion to mirrors. A valuable commentary is afforded by the old Swedish custom of depositing a looking-glass in the coffin of an unmarried woman[781]. Instances of the discovery of golden ornaments abound in archaeological handbooks. We look around for an instance of survival, and meet with a startling example of recent date. The incident took place at the funeral of Lord Palmerston in Westminster Abbey, in 1865, and is thus described by Mr Moncure D. Conway: “The rain fell heavily, the wind howled about the old walls, and in that darkness the body was lowered—gold rings along with dust falling on the coffin[782].” This story is of the provoking kind which makes the reader put questions, but Mr Conway, alas, has now also passed beyond the reach of inquiries, and we must be content with the definite statement, inherently probable, and made in all honesty. Perhaps light may come from a study of the practice of presenting rings at funerals to the mourners,—a custom frequently alluded to by John Evelyn in his Diary. Were these funeral gifts ever thrown into the grave as votive offerings?

With the foregoing incident we may compare the evidence given in the Victoria History of Cornwall, tending to show that the practice of burying rings, coins, and other articles, was common in Cornwall during the Mediaeval period and lasted until the latter part of the sixteenth century. Still more singular is the persistence of the practice of laying combs along with the other mortuary furniture. Wooden combs are not unusually found in settlements of the Bronze Age[783], and examples in bone are of common occurrence on Early Iron Age sites. It is believed, however, that some of these combs were employed, not for arranging the hair, but for pressing home the weft in the manufacture of fabrics[784]. But when we approach the Saxon period, we find the ordinary comb installed as a recognized grave gift. Contemporary burials on the Continent, in North France, in Luxembourg, in Belgium, tell the same story[785]. The Saxon combs, incised with lines and circles, were laid in the graves both of men and women. Turning to our Hydriotaphia, and reading once more of Browne’s discovery, in his beloved Norfolk, of “nippers” and “combs handsomely wrought[786],” we are tempted to pursue the matter. The sequel is curious: combs, in later history, appear to have been reserved for burials of members of the priestly order. The beginnings of the practice are seen as early as the days of St Cuthbert, on whose breast was found, when his body was disinterred in Durham Cathedral, a plain simple Saxon comb of ivory[787]. Later records are numerous, and it has been conjectured that the combs were those which had been used at the first tonsure of the novice[788]. The comb played an important part in Mediaeval ritual, as related by Dr Daniel Rock. These objects were of ivory, elaborately carved, and studded with gems. At the High Mass, the hair of the celebrant was combed by someone appointed for that purpose, this coadjutor varying according to the rank of his superior[789]. Mr Romilly Allen, in discussing the changes in the methods of sepulture brought about by the spread of Christianity, asserts that no objects were placed in the grave with the Christian dead[790]. This pronouncement, even when made by such a high authority, must not be accepted literally. Apart from the comb, ecclesiastics had other special articles buried with them. Mr Allen himself notices the striking exception of burying a crozier in the coffin of a bishop[791]. The chalice and paten were also commonly deposited with priests. Specimens of these articles, with a pair of scissors, were found in the coffin of St Cuthbert. Dr Rock tells us, too, that small wooden crosses, gilded with metal, were placed in the coffin, and on the breast of the corpse was a parchment scroll, inscribed with the Absolution. Again, while on the one hand, Professor Tylor has shown that the early Christians of Rome and Greece retained the heathen custom of placing in the tomb articles of toilet and children’s playthings[792]; on the other, records prove that in our own country there has always been a secret longing to place gifts in the grave. The truth seems to be that, down to our own day, there has existed among the more ignorant classes an undercurrent of belief, essentially pagan in its origin, usually driven under by the external pressure of orthodoxy and public opinion, but so strong and permanent, that it often reaches the surface, to the surprise of the more intelligent folk. But the heathen belief has been present all the time, and need not greatly astonish us, since the most advanced materialist is frequently a victim of trivial superstitions which are scouted by scientific men as absurd and baseless.

The fourth group of articles with which we have to deal, comprising objects partly useful and partly symbolical or commemorative, will not detain us long. The sole reason for considering this miscellaneous group separately is its diversified character—the objects do not so readily fall into classes. One or two modern examples will illustrate the kind of collection sometimes met with. While this chapter was being written, the daily newspaper supplied an account of the burial of a gipsy woman and her son at Tiverton. All the woman’s jewellery was deposited in her coffin, and, by the side of her son, the mourners laid his watch and chain. All the other personal effects were burned. A short time previously the same journal had recorded the funeral of an old mountain hermit at Carnarvon. The dead man was buried in his ordinary clothes, and with him were placed his pipe, his tobacco pouch and walking-stick. Only a whim, exclaims the careless reader, but the fancy was not bred for the first time in the brain of that old recluse. Other folk, not unobservant, recognize that such a miscellany of votive offerings is evidence of an older condition of culture, and that the variety of objects proves only the decay of tradition, with a consequent confusion of ideas. To some degree this is true, but the ethnologist and the archaeologist can decipher the meaning otherwise, and can show that primitive peoples love to offer a wealth of objects. First, the student of ethnology notices similar customs prevailing in many countries. The practice was well known to the ancients, and the translator of Ovid has thus rendered the idea:

Salt, by the way, was formerly strewn on graves in the North of England. Sir William Turner tells how the grave of an aboriginal Australian savage, who was buried only a little over sixty years ago, contained a varied assortment of articles, not all of quite the same age. The list included a large piece of flint and the handle of a pocket-knife—probably fire agents—a clay pipe, an iron spoon, and the remains of a rusted pannikin[793]. In Bengal, modern graves have revealed such diverse objects as rice, tinfoil coins, pipes, paper houses, and models of boats[794]. Thus the custom under notice, though of isolated occurrence in Britain, has its correlative in other lands. But even in Britain, one hears whisperings of weird customs. A lock of wool used to be placed in the coffins of Wiltshire shepherds. The traditional explanation was that shepherds are often unavoidably absent from church, and the wool was a guarantee that the nature of the man’s calling would not be overlooked at the great assize. But elsewhere we read of the desire to inter some tool or vessel typical of the occupation of the deceased person; and with this habit we might connect the practice, common in Scotland and the North of England, of carving tools and implements on gravestones.

The archaeologist advances to inspect examples of early tombs rich in funeral relics. He pauses a moment to remark the abundance of objects sometimes found in Saxon graves: swords and buckets, rivets and nails, weighing scales and bunches of keys, drinking-cups, brooches, buttons, and many other articles[795]. The Romans, too, besides entombing coins and jewellery, added such objects as sandals, glass vessels, and amphorae[796] (Fig. 61). The taste for accumulating grave-gifts can be observed in the earlier Barrow period. A Bronze Age barrow at Aldbourne, Wiltshire, supplies perhaps the most noteworthy example. This grave contained an exceptional number of articles. Besides the “incense-cup,” with its characteristic ornament, the excavators found, among the burnt bones, a small bronze knife and two bronze awls, each tool bearing signs of having passed through the funeral fire. Beads were also discovered, wrought from such different materials as glass-paste, amber, and lignite, and one from the stem of an encrinite. The list further included a large flat ring and a pendant ornament of lignite, a conical button made of shale, a small polished pebble of haematite, and the cast of a cardium shell, presumably in a fossil condition. The flint flakes, the arrow-heads and shards, the bones, tusks, and teeth of animals, which complete the list[797], seem unimpressive by the side of such a collection. Here then, in very early times, we see the system of funeral gifts highly developed. The abundance of objects displayed in the Aldbourne barrow may indicate the burial of someone whose importance was pre-eminent, but in other cases, where the number, rather than the value, of the gifts is noticeable, there seems to have been a desire to supply the deceased person with all things conveniently obtainable. Food, weapons, and charms, ornaments and luxuries were thus provided. Our modern representative relics of this cultural stage furnish a list, meagre by comparison, but still significant by reason of its eclectic character. The same idea, materialized in somewhat different forms, impelled the man of old and the man of yesterday. Belief in a future state, at times modified by fear and faint in its expression, at others amounting to a profound conviction, has tinctured almost all of our funeral ceremonies. Savage and sage, for some thousands of years past, seem to have acted towards the dead in accordance with the word of our English philosopher: “It is the heaviest stone that melancholy can throw at a man to tell him he is at the end of his nature[798].”

We have yet to review, very briefly, three or four interesting subjects which fall within the scope of this already lengthy chapter. The Burial Service of the Anglican Church provides for earth to be cast on the coffin “by some standing by,” while the priest pronounces the solemn words, “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” This combination of phrases has been traced to a similar passage in the Sarum Manual, a passage founded in turn, it is supposed, on several Biblical expressions[799]. A little doubt, however, hangs over the ultimate origin of the words of the Commendation, though the precise form of the phrases may be due to Scriptural influence. The idea underlying the words, and its mode of operation, are alike ancient. For my part, I think that the expression plainly points to a time when cremation and inhumation were both familiar to the community; that is to say, some equivalent words were used when the early Christians of Britain had begun to combat, not altogether with success, the system of burning the body. If the words “earth to earth” and “dust to dust” stood alone, it might fairly be argued that the compilers of the earliest Services believed literally in the creation of man from the dust. But the phrase “ashes to ashes” forbids that interpretation. It has, so far as may be known, never been taught that man originally came from ashes, though, figuratively, in moments of contrition, he has declared himself to be “but dust and ashes.” The collocation of the phrases seems to betray a compromise between modes of burial. Parenthetically, we note that the Roman practice, as described by Horace, was to cast earth three times upon the body[800]. Until this was done, the spirit could not enter Elysium. It is probable that a like custom goes back to the Barrow period. Canon Greenwell supposes that, at a barrow funeral, each of the tribesmen carried his portion of earth, probably in a basket[801]. This conjecture receives support from the conduct of certain South African tribes, the members of which share the task of scooping together the material for the burial-mound, using however, for that purpose, the hands alone. The same procedure is followed by Lascars when burying a comrade in a strange land[802].

Let us examine a little further this co-operation of the mourners, as testified by actual survival. As already stated, the rubric directs that the earth shall be cast upon the body “by some standing by,” while the priest repeats the collect or “Commendation.” In practice, the sexton usually throws in the earth, although I feel certain that I have more than once seen the officiating clergyman perform this office. The rubric, as we know it, was formulated in the year 1552. Prior to that date, the soil was cast upon the corpse by the priest[803]. We may take it that this was the more common practice in Mediaeval times. The ceremony was also rendered symbolical in some districts by strewing the earth in the form of a cross[804]. Again, as in the Ritual of Brixen, the priest scattered the earth three times with a shovel[805]. In the Greek rite, too, the lot fell to the priest[806]. Among the Jews, each relative of the dead person threw earth on the coffin[807], and there are records of a like observance in Christian communities[808]. The daily newspapers occasionally report instances of the practice in our own day. Taking these isolated examples, and comparing them with the custom, once common in rural England, of five or six persons assisting the sexton to fill up the grave[809], we can outline a simple hypothesis. The early Christians probably followed their heathen contemporaries in allowing the interment to be a common labour. Afterwards, the throwing in of handfuls of earth—and perhaps of ashes also (cf. p. 290 supra, concerning charcoal)—was a rite in which many took part, the antiphonal service being chanted during the act. In the later Mediaeval period the priest seems largely to have usurped the office. The Reformation allotted the function once more to the mourners in general, at least nominally, and on rare occasions the right is still exercised. The original meaning is forgotten, and symbolism is evoked to explain the practice. And just as some writers are content to see, in the ashes, merely a symbol of penitence and humiliation, as illustrated in the old Ash Wednesday observances, so other authorities, with what appears to be a short view, deem the earth simply typical of man’s reputed origin and mortality: Hodie mihi, cras tibi. It seems more in accord with facts to recognize the bit of soil thrown into the grave as a vestigial proof of the continuity of habit, weakened to some degree because the ceremony, instead of being generally shared by the mourners, is performed vicariously by the sexton.

The next survival to claim our attention is illustrated by the Lancashire custom, in vogue not further back than the year 1888, of sending a small sheaf of wheat to be distributed, at the time of the funeral, to the relatives of the deceased person[810]. At once the words of the Burial Service, and the Scriptural allusion to the “corn of wheat,” come to mind[811]. The ancient Christians considered wheat to be a symbol of the resurrection of the body, and this idea is exemplified on a gem described by De Montfaucon. The ear of wheat, carved in wood or stone, seems to perpetuate an old pagan belief. The custom, in varied forms, is as widespread as it is time-honoured. At a modern Greek funeral two men were observed carrying each a dish of parboiled wheat to be deposited over the corpse[812]. General Pitt-Rivers quotes Professor Pearson to the effect that the burning of corn on graves was forbidden by the Church in Saxon times[813]. This ban implies that the practice had its roots in pagan soil, so that all that the Christians did was to change the underlying principle. General Pitt-Rivers himself found ears of corn mixed with the sand near a Romano-British grave which contained a skeleton, and he also recorded the finding of charred wheat in contiguity with skeletons belonging probably to the Roman period[814]. Closely connected with these observances is the practice of placing corn and other articles of food on the grave. Instances are multitudinous. In the recesses of the Pamirs, corn, berries, and flowers are the offerings[815]; the Spaniards deposit bread and wine on the anniversary of death; the Bulgarians hold a special Feast of the Dead on Palm Sunday, and eat the remains of the funeral offerings[816]. The subject is, indeed, wide and complicated. At the back of the attenuated ceremony of to-day lies the primitive belief in the life of the dead, with the consequent feasts and sacrifices. The inquiry, upon which we cannot now enter, soon leads us into an investigation of the corn-gods and “gods of cultivation,” which are associated with the religions of primitive folk. For a discussion of these matters, the reader is referred to the exhaustive works of Professor Frazer and Mr Grant Allen.

With respect to the burial feasts of the prehistoric period, the line of descent might be easily traced. The funeral suppers given by the Greeks and Romans to the relatives of a dead person are frequently referred to by classical authors. Similar feasts are mentioned by our English writers from the time of Robert de Brunne (fl. A.D. 1288-1338) onwards[817]. Huge repasts—shall we not say orgies?—continued in fashion until the eighteenth century at least. Brand relates that, at the funeral of a Highland lord in 1725, not fewer than 100 black cattle and 300 sheep were slain “for the entertainment of the company[818].” Nowadays the feast has dwindled, in most localities, to a glass of wine and a biscuit. But there have been some amazing exceptions. Canon Atkinson, in the earlier years of his incumbency at Danby-in-Cleveland, about the middle of the nineteenth century, found that the “funeral bak’d meats” were held in high esteem. On the death of a villager of importance, invitations were sent out “not merely by the score, but by the hundred. I have myself counted,” he says, “more than three hundred seated in the church on at least four, if not five, different occasions. And the rule is, and, still more, was, that the preponderating majority of these ‘went to the burial’ at the house where the corpse lay, beginning at ten o’clock and continuing to drop in, according to convenience or distance to be traversed, throughout the morning and afternoon till it became time to ‘lift the body’ and make a start for the church. And all these were fed—entertained, rather—at the house of mourning, if it chanced to be that of one of the principal inhabitants.” All day long there were relays of visitors, from a dozen up to a score, smoking and drinking at the house[819]. During the latter part of the entertainment glasses of wine were handed round, with crisp cakes, colloquially known as “averils” or “averil bread[820].” Canon Atkinson traced this word thus: averil, avril, then by transposition, arvil or arvel (= heir-ale). This “heir-ale,” or succession-ale, thus stands for the feast at which the heirs drank themselves into their father’s land. It is interesting to note that this etymology is supported by the highest authorities—for example, by the New Oxford Dictionary.

Whilst insisting on the continuity of custom and folk-memory, as proved by survivals, it would be very unwise to ignore the changes which have been gradually taking place since the Barrow period. Looking, for the moment, at extreme cases, the actual result appears to reveal a wide gap, and for the sake of contrast, I will quote Mr Grant Allen’s fanciful description of the burial of a chieftain in a long barrow on Ogbury Downs, Wiltshire. The passage is long and somewhat ornate, but, because it is probably correct in most of the details, and helps us to “visualize the past,” it shall be given in full. “I saw them bear aloft, with beating of breasts and loud gesticulations, the bent corpse of their dead chieftain: I saw the terrified and fainting wives haled along by thongs of raw oxhide, and the weeping prisoners driven passively like sheep to the slaughter: I saw the fearful orgy of massacre and rapine around the open tumulus, the wild priest shattering with his gleaming tomahawk the skulls of his victims, the fire of gorse and low brushwood prepared to roast them, the heads and feet flung carelessly on the top of the yet uncovered stone chamber, the awful dance of blood-stained cannibals around the mangled remains of men and oxen, and, finally, the long task of heaping up above the stone hut of the dead king the earthen mound that was never again to be opened to the light of day till, ten thousand years later, we modern Britons invaded with our prying, sacrilegious mattock the sacred privacy of the cannibal ghost[821].”

A curious side-question is raised by this mention of funeral feasts—the difficulty sometimes felt in accounting for the abundance of teeth, human and non-human, in ancient graves. Granted, that the heads of animals might be thrown into the grave as uneatable, or, perchance, as having accredited virtues, and granted, again, that teeth are among the most durable portions of a skeleton, the facts are occasionally puzzling. Baron de Baye suggests that the heads of sacrificial animals—he is referring to the Saxon period—were fixed on large stakes as offerings to the gods, and that, as the heads decayed, the teeth became detached, and were scattered over the ground, to be accidentally mixed with the soil when a fresh burial took place[822]. The explanation may be partially true, but one thinks that a simpler solution is at hand, in the successive interments and sacrifices which would be associated with one grave. This would lead to inevitable mingling of bones and teeth, and if, as is probable, the skeletons of the dead were often kept some time before they were buried, the confusion would be increased. This would account for the numbers of human teeth found in the Late-Celtic cemetery at Harlyn Bay, not corresponding to the skeletons with which they were associated. In one cist there were twenty-three teeth which did not belong to that particular interment[823]. Though putting forward the prosaic explanation of unintentional mixture, I think that there is another phase of the question—the superstitious. Among primitive folk there is commonly a belief in the efficacy of human bones as talismans. The atlas and axis bones of the neck have been preserved for this purpose, and the skull especially has been treasured and worshipped[824]. It is very probable that pieces of human skulls which had, either in life or after death, undergone the operation of trepanning, were kept as mascots. And, remembering the part played by teeth in folk-lore and superstition, one is compelled to retain an open mind on the subject of teeth found in ancient graves. Messrs Spencer and Gillen have described, in a vivid manner, the ceremony of knocking out the teeth, as performed by some of the tribes of Central Australia. The operation is accompanied by the drinking of blood as an act of fealty, the displaced teeth being pounded, laid on a scrap of meat, and eaten by a specified relative[825]. Again, in Cornwall, the very county, as it happens, in which Harlyn Bay is situated, teeth were formerly stolen from the coffins under the floors of churches and sold as charms against disease[826]. According to the Devonshire superstition, a tooth bitten out of a churchyard skull will ward off toothache, and the Shropshire peasant has a similar legend[827]. All over England we hear of the fancy for preserving or ceremonially burning teeth which have been extracted. Somersetshire women would hide the teeth in their hair[828], but more usually, the teeth, like the parings of the nails and locks of hair, are burnt, lest they should fall into the hands of an enemy who, by “sympathetic magic,” might injure the whole body of the owner[829]. The most suggestive evidence, however, comes from Yorkshire, Derbyshire, and Cornwall. In those counties all the teeth shed during a person’s lifetime were saved and placed in his coffin, being “required at the Resurrection.” Authentic instances are on record[830].

We have now surveyed, however inadequately, our modes of burial, the forms of the graves, the gifts deposited with the dead, and funeral feasts, and incidentally we have noticed a number of superstitions. We may fittingly terminate the discussion by glancing at the closing ceremony of a modern funeral—the placing of flowers on the grave. The practice has its aesthetic as well as its religious side, and represents the refinement of ideas which are really very ancient. Even in the time of Durandus, the funeral evergreens were deemed to be symbolical only[831]. The rite of strewing graves with flowers was symbolical, too, among the Romans. Yet this kindly ceremony belongs, in the first place, to the pre-Christian age[832], and we are bound to believe that the original objects scattered over the dead were neither evergreens nor flowers. Perhaps these prototypes were the flints and shards of which we have spoken. These “forgotten things, long cast behind,” have reappeared, in a more attractive guise, and, consecrated by time, have secured a firm hold in the sentiments of European nations.

CHAPTER VIII

THE FOLK-LORE OF THE CARDINAL POINTS

Certain patent facts would appeal even to the elementary minds of the Stone Age men. These folk saw the sun rise daily in the East, traverse the sky by way of the South, and finally set at evening in the West. Birth and brightness were followed by ascendancy and power; the descent led to disappearance and darkness. There was the dawn, followed by warm beams which dispersed both gloom and vapour. The blue South yielded the heat of noonday, at which time the sunbeams were genial, even in the depth of winter. But when the dying sun had withdrawn for the day, primitive men would experience discomfort and uneasy forebodings. This disappearance of the great luminary, the lord and giver of life, was a permanent mystery; the rebirth next morning was even more perplexing. At a later period, the men of China and North America, of Greece and Rome, evolved curious explanations of these phenomena, but at first only the physical effects of the sun’s apparent movements would concern the barbaric mind.

Very early in the growth of ideas man would learn that the position of the sun was a good index of direction. It has been mooted whether the most ancient method of denoting direction, that is, “orientation” in its wider sense, was not to describe the speaker’s surroundings, or to indicate natural features known to him and his fellows[833]. Thus, a hunter might speak of a place by reference to some prominent rock or tree; his direction might, in the same way, be told in terms of the prevailing winds. One is nevertheless driven to believe that simple observations of the sun’s position would be made almost as soon as man began to take notice of any natural features or occurrences whatever; in either case, any slight priority of method is of such trivial account as to be negligible.

Seeing that the East and West points are much more clearly marked than the North and South, one would naturally expect that the ancients found those points more convenient as standards. To make accurate use of the North-to-South direction, one would either need to have an approximate method of determining time by the length of shadows, or to know how to find the Pole Star or the Great Bear by night. The modern schoolboy is occasionally taught to reckon his position by facing the East, and long ago Canon Isaac Taylor suggested that some of the early Aryan peoples similarly took the East as their standard[834]. According to this authority, the place-name Deccan is connected with the Latin dexter, the right hand, that is, the right hand as the observer faces the East. On this view, Deccan would be the right-hand, or South country. As an analogy, Taylor cites the Arabic word yemin, which means both right-hand and South (whence el-Yemen for Southern Arabia)[835]. These ideas have received considerable modern support. The Welsh name for South, dehau, like the Old Irish dess (Mod. Irish, deas) means also right-hand[836]. Hence we get Deheu-dir, the South land, for South Wales, and the Brit-Latin adjectives, dextralis, Southern; sinistralis, Northern. So, too, the Continental names, Texel and Teisterbant, are supposed to mean places lying towards the South[837]. Similarly, with the Eskimos, the words used for North and South correspond with those used for the sides of the body[838]. Other languages might be cited to show like peculiarities, but it will be sufficient here to note a few curious instances of folk-memory illustrative of the root idea.

The Jewish rabbis taught that man was born with his face towards the East; hence the right and left hand directions were respectively indicative of good and evil[839]. We infer this from the New Testament parable, wherein the sheep are set on the right hand and the goats on the left. Our words dexterous and sinister have a groundwork of the old belief to support them; the latter word, at least, is not exclusively concerned with physical awkwardness or ineptitude. The superstition concerning the left-hand colours the current meaning. A difficulty, however, arises when we discover that the Roman augurs deemed the left side indicative of good-luck. How can the two ideas be reconciled? Schrader conjectures that the East, and not the North side, was intended as the equivalent of the left hand, the supposition being that the soothsayer faced the South in his divination. Seyffert states this as a fact, adding that, in ancient Greece, augurs looked towards the North[840]. The Greek usage seems to be reflected in Homer’s frequent employment of δεξιός, in the sense of favourable, or boding good, with respect to the flight of birds and other omens. It would appear that the Latin poets (e.g. Virgil and Livy) copied the Greek idea and mode of expression, using the cognate word dexter to denote skilful or fortunate. This theory implies that the restricted meaning of dexter is borrowed, and is not directly derived from Roman augury. Moreover, since the Roman diviner faced the South, dexter could not be applied to that point of the compass. To this extent, then, the attempt to connect the word with Deccan and similar place-names breaks down. The main conclusion, nevertheless, is little affected, namely, that words of this character were often employed to distinguish the Cardinal Points. The pitfall to be avoided is the assumption that superstitions and beliefs everywhere take precisely the same form of expression. Professor Skeat traces a connection, for example, between the Malay word kidal (= South), and kidul (= left-handed)[841]. This relationship would suggest that the standard point for observation was the West, not the East. In Greece and Rome, as we have seen, the North and South respectively were so chosen.

In some districts, where the distinctive names of the four Cardinal Points have been fully accepted, the reverse principle is seen at work: the peasant, instead of using the terms “right hand” and “left hand” to signify East and West, applies the compass points to indicate position with respect to the body. Thus, in some parts of Scotland, one still hears such expressions as “the East trouser pocket[842].” And Miss C. F. Gordon-Cumming tells of an old Highland woman who inquired at the post-office whether the envelope should be stamped in the East or the West corner[843].

A little detail respecting the folk-lore of the Cardinal Points may not be unacceptable. Taking first the East, we find that this quarter, besides serving as the point of determination for certain races whose speech was of the Aryan stock, was the reputed home of deities. We have seen that folk of many climes turned to the East in prayer. That portion of the firmament was symbolical of hope, and purity, and fulness of life. Milton speaks of