Before taking final leave of individual trees, an example given by Strutt claims passing notice. Strutt cites an original charter which refers to the building of a church at Pérone, or Péronne, in Picardy, in A.D. 684. In this charter, a remarkable clause was inserted, giving instructions for the preservation of a particular yew tree. The writer adds that the tree was in existence in A.D. 1799[992]. If we could be sure that the charter referred to the identical tree which survived till the latter date, we should here have a rival to the veterans of Fortingal and Brabourne.

It has now been made clear that neither the exaggerated estimates of the earlier school of botanists, nor the under-calculations of recent writers, are quite satisfactory, and that, as of old

the middle path is safest. We next ask how the yew came to be planted in churchyards. One section of antiquaries teaches that the object was to ensure a supply of evergreens for great festivals, and to furnish, in particular, “palms” for the procession on Palm Sunday (the second Sunday in Lent). That the “yew, or palm,” served this purpose is abundantly proved by entries in churchwardens’ accounts, and by the actual evidence of living eye-witnesses. Nor is it entirely a valid objection that box, laurel, broom and willow, have been or are still used for a like purpose[993]. It is on record, too, that twigs of yew were employed by the priests for sprinkling the Holy Water, in the Asperges, before Mass[994]. This class of evidence can be extended. The Liber Festivalis, or “Directory for keeping the Festivals,” an old

black-letter volume dated 1483, states that yew is carried about on Palm Sunday, “for encheson (= cause)[995] that we have none olyve that berith greene leef algate (= always)[996].” Irish peasants were wont to carry sprays of yew in their caps during Passion Week, and to place small portions beside the crucifix at the head of the bed[997]. On St Martin’s Hill, near Marlborough, as previously noted (p. 194 supra), there is an ancient earthwork, to which, so recently as 1858, a band of villagers went in procession on Palm Sunday, carrying boughs of hazel, not of yew[998]. Although the yew was absent, the ceremony supplies an interesting link, and the connection of a Christian festival with prehistoric remains seems to indicate an early origin of the custom. Again, a well-known ecclesiastical ceremony consisted in the solemn blessing by the priest, on Palm Sunday, of branches of yew and box, which were then burnt to ashes, and these were preserved for use on the Ash Wednesday of the following year[999]. When visiting Wookey, in Somerset, during the summer of 1906, I was told that the old churchyard cross, recently restored, was known as “Yew Cross,” because it was formerly decorated with yew on Palm Sunday. It is an astonishing fact, moreover, that in the North-West Himalayas the yew is not only an object of veneration, but its twigs are carried in processions and incense is made of its timber[1000]. The enthusiastic antiquary might rashly adduce this as a proof of the Asiatic origin of the “Aryans,” let us rather suppose, without prejudicing that vexed question, that it is another instance of similarity of custom developing independently among diverse races.

Plainly, then, we have obtained at least a partial answer to our question. Further usages, of a somewhat kindred nature, suggest reasons for the presence of the tree in the churchyard. Yew branches were carried by mourners at funerals; sprigs of yew were scattered on the coffin; corpses were even rubbed with an infusion of the leaves, with a view to preservation[1001]. Dryden speaks of the “mourner yew”; in Twelfth Night the clown sings of “My shroud of white, stuck all with yew[1002]”; allusions are also found in the works of Dekker (1603), Thomas Stanley (1651), and other seventeenth century writers. The association of the yew with funerals survived until our day[1003]. Sir Thomas Browne, discussing, with sonorous eloquence, the burials of the ancient Greeks and Romans, tells us that “the funeral pyre consisted of sweet fuel, cypress, fir, larix, yew, and trees perpetually verdant,” and continues, later, “whether the planting of yew in churchyards hold not its original from ancient funeral rites, or as an emblem of resurrection, from its perpetual verdure, may also admit conjecture[1004].”

Turning to a more prosaic theory, we find it urged that yew-trees were planted in churchyards to protect the fabric from high storms and to shelter the assembling congregation before the doors were opened. The chief basis for this opinion is discoverable in the notable statute of which the date is believed to be 35 Edward I. (A.D. 1307): Ne rector prosternat arbores in cemiterio, that is, the rector must not cut down trees in the churchyard, save, as the act proceeds to specify, for the repair of the chancel[1005]. The statute was a repetition of a decree of the Synod of Exeter (A.D. 1287), which forbade the felling of churchyard trees, and expressly stated that they are often planted to prevent injury to the building during storms[1006]. A like prohibition, it is asserted, though mistakenly, had been earlier embodied in Magna Charta[1007]. It is more pertinent to the present inquiry to remark that the law is still binding. A foreign writer, whose name I cannot ascertain, is quoted as stating that the yew was planted for shade and conciones (= assemblies)[1008]. With reference to the above-mentioned decrees, it is argued that the yew would be the principal, if not the only, kind of tree which needed preservation. If, then, with Gilbert White[1009], we adopt the shelter theory as one explanation of the presence of the yew, we tacitly admit that the tree, to have been of any service, must have been planted long anterior to the date of the statutes. Was the yew, it will reasonably be asked, well adapted for a screen or shelter? On the one hand, Dr Lowe urges, as objections, the tree’s slow growth and the horizontal habit of its branches. Against this opinion we may set the more plausible view of Daines Barrington, that the thick foliage of the yew renders it better for the purpose than other trees[1010]. While not admitting that the shelter theory accounts for the original intention of the earliest planters, it seems obvious that even one yew would be effective in breaking the force of the wind from a particular quarter. Moreover, two or three trees were often grown in the churchyard. Slowness in reaching maturity would not be an absolute bar, if, indeed, the tree were not already well advanced in growth ere the church fabric was actually reared. As a matter of history, a case cited by Barrington shows that the felling of yews caused the roof of the church to suffer.

Other trees besides the yew would, without doubt, be also employed; whether this was the case in primitive times may, however, be questioned. The “rugged elm” of the Elegy would come into favour in due course. Examples of magnificent elms are to be seen at North Mimms (Herts), Iford (Sussex), East Bedfont (Middlesex), and in many Essex villages. Alfriston, in Sussex, has an immense elm, hollow with age. Somewhat later, the sycamore, as at Plumpton (Sussex), and the horse chestnut, as at Thursley (Surrey), were also utilized. This brings us probably to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, though the precise dates are usually not ascertainable. Cedars occasionally replace the yew[1011], for example, in the churchyard of Lullingstone (Kent), or they supplement it, as at Ashtead (Surrey). Rodmell, in Sussex has a magnificent holm oak, besides a large horse-chestnut and numerous elms. Walnuts are not uncommon; Mitcham and Great Bookham (Surrey), Clee and Great Coates (Lincs.), furnish good examples. Boldre churchyard (Hants) contains a maple which was considered by Gilpin and Strutt to be the largest in England. A huge ash borders the Eastern yard at Westmeston (Sussex), but the ash, especially the “weeping” variety, is a feature of churchyards in the Northern counties. “They, too, had once their office, they handed on the fire.” Of these miscellaneous trees I have compiled, from observation, a goodly list, but always one meets the yew, either sporadically, or in each successive churchyard. Whatever may have been the case with our indigenous trees, such as the oak, and beech, or the common elm—a tree now acknowledged to be endemic—at the date referred to in the ordinances for protection, we do know that the yew then existed as a churchyard tree. Its most common position—on the South side of the building—is also that which is exposed to the prevailing winds and rainstorms.

A very popular theory, and one which merits close examination, is that yews were grown in the churchyard so as to ensure a ready supply of material for the manufacture of bows. Even should anyone audaciously deny that the yew is poisonous, he cannot dispute the existence of an old-standing belief to that effect. A tree dangerous to cattle, it was therefore argued, must be grown in an enclosed area. In Mediaeval times, though perhaps not so commonly in the early Saxon period, such a space was already furnished by the conveniently fenced churchyard. While we cannot allow the claim that the fact of the tree’s being poisonous will account for the felling of yew groves, while, rather, we must believe that the needs of archery would demand the actual plantation of thickets and woodlands, there is no reason for doubting that, where an additional tree was preserved for the village bowyers, the husbandman would desire to have it railed in. The yew groves, at least those artificially planted, would usually have their own fences, and would be inaccessible to cattle. Partly, the bow theory goes against the shelter theory, since constant lopping would impair the tree’s usefulness as a curtain. The bow theory, however, is not quite inconsistent with the employment of sprays of the tree on festal occasions.

To review briefly the subject of British archery let us start fairly at the Norman Conquest. It is known that the Normans were acquainted with the cross-bow[1012] or arbalest (prob. from arcus = a bow; ballista = a military engine: the later spelling

“arrowblest” is discredited), a somewhat complicated weapon, having a handle or stock, to which was attached a bowstave of yew or steel (Figs. 76, 77). The cross-bow was drawn by means of a stirrup fixed at the end of the stock, or it was slowly and laboriously wound up by cords and windlass, and then drawn by means of a lever. Besides this cumbrous weapon, the Normans, as we learn from the Bayeux “tapestry,” were accustomed to use the simpler long-bow[1013], a plain arched weapon—a “self” bow made of a single yew stave. These bows were employed at the Battle of Hastings, and some writers have hastily assumed that the long-bow “came over with the Conqueror.” This conclusion cannot be accepted in silence.

Able authorities state that the long-bow (Figs. 78, 79) was peculiarly the weapon of Northern races in general[1014]. The Danes and the Saxons used it in warfare[1015], and it is noteworthy that we inherit the Anglo-Saxon words, boga, boge (bow), and arwe (arrow), the last term having been in use so early as A.D. 835[1016]. There is also evidence, based on examples of decorative ornament and on runes, that archery was practised in England about the year A.D. 750. By some authorities the Romans are supposed to have introduced the bow, presumably the cross-bow, which is really a kind of portable ballista, into the country[1017]. Sir John Evans, while admitting that the cross-bow was in use during the Roman period, believes that it was not known in the Neolithic

Age, when long-bows made of yew were probably employed[1018]. Between these two periods vast centuries roll, and we may fairly assume that the cross-bow does not belong to pre-Roman Britain. But what impresses us is the conviction that the plain long-bow had never been entirely superseded. A yew bow, made of indifferent material, consisting of a single stave about five feet long, was dug out of deep peat near Cambridge in 1885, and was judged to be prehistoric[1019]. Switzerland has also yielded a few specimens, but bows of undoubted Neolithic Age are rare. Reasoning from the unnumbered arrowheads of stone which have come down to us and which are now preserved in collections, we may infer that the long-bow was in common use during the Later Stone Age, even supposing that many “arrow-heads” were really tips for shafts thrown by hand. We may peer yet further into a darker past, when, as Pitt-Rivers suggests, primeval man fastened his lance to the stem of a young forest tree, which he improvised as a spring-trap or an elastic throwing stick[1020].

This slight digression carries us thus far: the cross-bow may possibly reach back to the Roman period, but the long-bow is certainly of prehistoric origin. These conclusions have some bearing on the artificial planting of yews, and are important to the upholders of the “bow theory.” It may be advisable, too, to notice the discovery of a spearhead of yew in the peat of the Fenland[1021].

Now we may return to the Norman Conquest, and the Norman cross-bow. To wind up and discharge this weapon was obviously a difficult and tardy process. For every bolt shot by the cross-bowman, the archer could deliver six arrows[1022]. Mr C. F. Longman and Col. H. Walrond consider this ratio much too favourable to the clumsier engine[1023]. Be that as it may, the long-bow, swift and deadly, won for us Creçy and Poitiers. Aided by their field entrenchments, the English were able to give the national arm free scope, and the “quarrels” discharged by the Genoese cross-bowmen were more than answered by the English arrows[1024]. The scene makes us remember Gilpin’s apposite observation, that the Frenchman drew a bow, while the English bent a bow. For, in England, the cross-bow had given the first place to its lightsome competitor in the thirteenth century[1025]. But the bolt and cross-bow lingered for two more centuries, until the long-bow itself was struggling for supremacy with the hand-gun or hand-cannon, which had been introduced about the year A.D. 1446. A statute, passed in A.D. 1515, increased the property qualification for using a cross-bow or hand-gun to 300 marks a year, and this sum was again raised a few years later. At the same time the use of the long-bow was enforced[1026].

We will now deal exclusively with the long-bow. Statutes relating to archery are very numerous, and range from the time of Edward I. to that of Charles II., during whose reign the long-bow practically died out as a weapon, in spite of many patriotic attempts at resuscitation. Very pleasant reading is afforded by some of these old ordinances. The first statute, 13 Edward I. (A.D. 1285), known as the Statute of Winchester, ordered all males of a certain rank to shoot from the age of seven, and this act was not repealed until A.D. 1557. Statutes passed during the reign of Edward III. commanded that bows and arrows should be provided by the local authorities, and archery should be encouraged. Under Richard II. all servants were to practise at the target, and Sunday was specially nominated for the purpose. Henry IV. (A.D. 1405) regulated the manufacture of arrow-heads, which were to have a steel point, and to bear the mark of the maker. Most important legislation was passed under 5 Edward IV. c. 4 (Irish Statutes): “Every Englishman, and every Irishman dwelling with Englishmen, shall have a bow of his own height.” Later, came laws regulating the importation of bowstaves. Here it should be explained that the timber of the yew, dense and elastic, was considered to form the ideal raw material, but modern bowyers have largely abandoned “self-yew” bows, and seem to prefer a combination of two kinds of wood, yew for the inner, and hickory for the outer layer. Since English yew was inferior to that of Spain, Portugal and Italy, because it suffered from an excess of “pins”—spots from which branches had been trimmed (Fig. 70, p. 367 supra)—importation was necessary. First, then, bowstaves were ordered to be brought over with other merchandise, and marked accordingly. Next, they were to be imported with every butt of wine. The price was fixed, and soon the scale of charges became complicated. In A.D. 1504, good bowstaves were admitted free of duty. And so the story might be continued. There are commands to practise the sport on feast-days, and on every possible occasion; the quality of the bowstaves and arrows is to be improved; butts are to be erected or repaired. Entries under this last head are found in parish accounts extending well into the seventeenth century. The churchwardens’ accounts of Ashburton (Devon) for instance, refer (A.D. 1558-9) to “lopping the yew-tree” and to payments “to the Bowyer.” So late as A.D. 1772, several thousand bowstaves came to England, chiefly from the Baltic ports and from Rhineland[1027].

Seeing then, that the making of bows and arrows was, for many centuries, a leading industry both in England and on the Continent, we are led to ask to what extent Sir A. Conan Doyle’s lines express historical facts, since they are obviously not correct as they stand.

In the first place, it is abundantly clear that yew was the material most sought after. Roger Ascham says that yew was best for “parfite shootyng,” and that “Brasell (a hard, red, dye-wood), Elme, Wych, and Asshe” were “meane for bowes[1029].” Now the importation of foreign yew was rendered necessary, as already noticed, because the native material was not the most suitable. More than this, the supply of yew, even with the addition of cargoes from abroad, was insufficient. Thus, in 1541, to give one instance only, it was enacted that the bowyer should make four common bows of “elme, wych, brasil, ashe,” or other wood, for one of yew. Near London, the proportion might be reduced—two bows of common wood to one of yew[1030]. Our English yew was so knotty, that, as Brady sadly remarks, it was “used for bows of boys, and other weak shooters[1031].” While a bow made of the best foreign yew was to be sold for 6s. 8d., a bow of English yew was assessed at a value of 2s. only. The main point to be noticed here is that, as an historical fact, English yew was employed, at any rate, in part. And Warner, a writer of the late eighteenth century, asserts that among the “lower ranks” there was, in his time, a tradition that the churchyard yew was the source of bowstaves[1032]. Apart from the churchyard tree, there were other supplies. A general plantation of yews, we are informed, was specifically commanded in 1483[1033]; Strutt cites the remarkable yew wood on the isle of Inchconakhead, Loch Lomond, as a probable result of such afforestation[1034]. General Pitt-Rivers suggested a like date and origin for the yews of Cranborne Chase, and it is possible that several ancient copses of yew were much extended in area about this time. In the reign of Elizabeth—so we are told, but I doubt whether the assertion can be upheld—yews were actually ordered to be planted in churchyards[1035]. It is also stated that Charles VII. of France (A.D. 1422-1461) commanded that the tree should be grown in all the churchyards of Normandy expressly to provide wood for cross-bows[1036]. Incidentally, we observe that the yew was employed in making both kinds of bow. Connecting these facts with the practice of archery on the village green, and with the ordinances for the repair of the parish butts, it is a fair supposition that the churchyard yew served, though perhaps as a secondary purpose of its existence, the demands of the local bowyers.

Several objections have been raised against this last-named theory. The inferiority of English yew has been mentioned; in the face of a constant lack in the supply of yew, the objection is not weighty. Then it is pointed out that the English churchyard seldom contains more than one full-grown yew, and as a final word, Hansard affirms that “Every yew-tree growing within the united churchyards of England and Wales, admitting that they could have been renewed five times in the course of a century, would not have produced one-fiftieth of the bows required for military supplies[1037].” This is a hard saying. But, in fact, churchyards sometimes have two or three yews, and probably, as Dr Lowe hints, there may formerly have been more, though few have survived the severe periodical loppings. Again, it is not claimed that the churchyard stock of timber was more than supplementary and subsidiary. The yew avenues and yew groves of many a nobleman’s estate would give toll. To argue that the churchyard yew could not have been pruned to make bows because that supply was insufficient, would be as erroneous as if the future historian were to assert that English wheat could not have been used for bread in the year 1911, because five out of six loaves were obtained from external sources. And, as we have already seen, the plain facts prove that the combined native and Continental stores of yew were so inadequate that the laws compelled the substitution of other kinds of timber in fixed proportions.

This deficiency of raw material has led some writers to raise the question whether the artificial scarcity did not render the planting of yew trees in graveyards a strict necessity[1038]. Hansard himself admits that the inferiority of English yew has been too much insisted on[1039]. His other statement—that Henry IV. forbade the royal bowyer, Nicholas Frost, to trespass for wood on the estates of any religious order[1040]—does not finally dispose of the claim of churchyard trees, though, in its own connections, the fact has some importance. A wary controversialist, with a position to defend, might urge that the injunction implies a former practice which was now, after this order, to be discontinued. Here we are concerned, however, to test fairly all the theories. Without wresting the evidence, there seems good ground for believing that the churchyard yew supplied its quota of bowstaves to the village, and that this may have possibly been the case even in the pre-Conquest period. Not for a moment, however, do I believe that the needs of archery explain the primary purpose of the first planters.

A faint side-light on the general subject of the utilization of churchyard trees comes from Rodmell, in Sussex. During the sixteenth century the rearing of silkworms was one of the industries of this village, and a portion of the necessary supply of mulberry leaves was obtained from trees grown in the churchyard. It is stated that specimens of the trees were still standing in the eighteenth century.

From interpretations based on social economy, to those which make ornament the primary purpose of the churchyard yew, the leap is not great, since the latter idea, after running parallel with, may have been ultimately superseded by the former. Thus, the churchwardens’ accounts of Bridgenorth (Salop) record the planting of a yew-tree “for reverence sake[1041].” Again, Giraldus de Barri, commonly called Giraldus Cambrensis, who visited Ireland about the year A.D. 1184, observed the yew in burial grounds and holy places. His words are: “Prae terris autem omnibus, quas intravimus, longe copiosus amara hic succo taxus abundat, maxime vero in coemiteriis antiquis, locisque sacris, sanctorum virorum manibus olim plantatas, [al. plantatis] et decorum et ornamentum [al. ornatum] quem addere poterant, arborum istarum copiam videas[1042].” The style of Giraldus is not beyond criticism, but his meaning is quite clear: “In this country more than any other which I have visited, yew-trees, having a bitter sap, abound, but you will see them principally in ancient cemeteries and sacred places, where they were formerly planted by the hands of holy men, to give what ornament and beauty they could[1043].” While offering this as an explanation of the original intention, Giraldus informs us, in another part of his work, that, when Henry II. made his expedition to Ireland, his archers went to Finglas, about two miles from Dublin, and sacrilegiously laid violent hands on a beautiful group of yews, in a most irreverent and atrocious manner (“enormiter et irreverenter desaevire coeperunt”)[1044]. This took place, it will be noted, but a few years before the Welsh antiquary’s own visit to Ireland, as secretary to Prince John (A.D. 1185). Incidentally, we may glance at a curious suggestion made by Mr C. I. Elton. Referring to the reputed introduction of hive-bees to Ireland by St Dominic of Ossory, Mr Elton supposes that there could have been little bee-culture until the yews had largely disappeared, for the tree is prejudicial to this industry[1045]. One would like to hear the opinion of bee-keepers on this question; so far, one’s own inquiries have been fruitless.

From the idea of ornament we turn to the motive force of superstition. The most curious example of this folly is given in a fantastic description by Robert Turner, a seventeenth century writer on botany. The passage merits full quotation. The yew was planted “commonly on the West side [this is an error, W. J.] because those places being fuller of putrefaction and gross oleaginous vapours exhaled out of the graves by the setting sun, and sometimes drawn into those Meteors called Ignes fatui, divers have been frightened, supposing some dead bodies to walk, others have been blasted, not that it is able to drive away Devils, as some superstitious Monks have imagined; nor yet that it was ever used to sprinkle Holy Water, as some quarrelsome Presbyters, altogether ignorant of natural Causes, as the signification of Emblems and useful Ornaments, have fondly conceived.” The writer further admits that the yew is poisonous; “yet the growing of it in the Church-yard is useful, and therefore it ought not to be cut down upon what pittiful pretence soever[1046].” Turner’s lofty disdain of “superstitious Monks” and “quarrelsome Presbyters,” coupled with his own ideas of “natural causes,” is very diverting, but discounts his claim to accuracy. Yet we notice that, while pressing his own interpretation, he alludes to others which were probably current in his day. We should remember, moreover, that Turner wrote nearly two and a half centuries ago, and that he was, to this extent, nearer the origin of the custom. Consequently, he may have caught the record of genuine folk-memory, though that might have already become confused.

In opposition to Turner’s scepticism about the power of the yew to banish devils, was the popular belief that the tree protects the graveyard from witches[1047]. Henderson says that the yew was indeed “a very upas tree to witches,” and that this accounts for its proximity to the church[1048]. Another writer, Mr W. G. Black, in an excellent paper, takes a contrary view. Witchcraft was ever most powerful when it exercised its mysterious influences through instruments usually connected with the Church. Hence the value of divination by church key and a book of Psalms; hence charms by coffin-rings and churchyard grass (cf. pp. 164, 302 supra). The yew was actually helpful to witches because it grew near the church[1049]. To harmonize these conflicting superstitions is unnecessary, yet they might perhaps be traced along converging lines to a common source. From religious consecration to sorcery is a short journey for the ignorant. Besides this, the antiquary is thoroughly accustomed to what one may call the “contradiction of localities”; the yew may have been a guardian against witches in one village, while in the next village the “midnight hag” used it as a spell. Superstitions and customs cannot be adequately represented in a unilinear series. The tree of descent throws out branches which lie in many planes, and the terminal points may often be opposed to one another.

It chances that a passage in Macbeth, easily glided over unthinkingly, bears upon this subject of the yew’s uncanny properties: “Slips of yew, sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse[1050].” (Sliver, diminutive of Earlier Mod. Eng. slive, a variant of slip = to cut off[1051].) The allusion to the balefulness of the eclipse arouses no special comment. The “fatal and perfidious barque” which proved so unfriendly to Lycidas was “built in th’ eclipse[1052].” The Venerable Bede found it necessary to forbid Christians to practise witchery by the moon. The Chinese believe that the eclipsed sun or moon is being devoured by a dragon, and the Hindoos attempt to ward off the ill-effects of an eclipse by breaking earthenware vessels and casting out the food contained therein[1053]. It was natural, then, that eclipses represented times of foreboding and of mysterious rites. But why employ a “sliver” of yew? The answer is probably supplied by Sclavonic folk-lore. The devil, or storm-spirit, claims the yew as his own. To use a beam of this tree, or even a branch broken off by the wind, that is, a picked-up portion, was unlucky. The devil would haunt the house of the sorcerer to regain his own. The witch, therefore, employs a mere insignificant slip, useless either to woodman or demon[1054]. Or was it that the three hags, being in league with the Evil One, might lawfully use his instruments?

In German folk-lore, there was a belief that the wood of the yew, ground to powder, made into paste, and baked in an oven, was a sovereign remedy against the bite of a mad dog[1055]. Alternatively, a die was made of yew and letters and signs were cut in the block. Cakes stamped with this charm (Toll-holz) were given to the mad animal. These instances show that the yew, while feared as of ill-omen, brought its measure of luck to him who could obtain and use it aright.

The foregoing beliefs seem to form part of a tangled skein, which, if temporarily dropped, must be picked up again shortly. In the interval, material of a like nature may be examined.

The dense, heavy tree, “standing single in the midst of its own darkness,” has been considered a just emblem of sin, death, and mortality. Being, perhaps, our most deadly indigenous tree, it materializes the adverse spirit of evil and destruction[1056]. In partial conflict with this idea, the vitality of the tree, its longevity, its durable timber, and its evergreen leaves, have suggested to some minds the Resurrection and the eternal life. This latter fancy may have been strengthened by the sight of young shoots springing out of the old, apparently dead, wood, even from a decaying stump, or a hole entirely hollow, and charred perchance by fire. Whether these symbolisms are altogether adventitious and derivative, and whether they can be quite reconciled, are difficult questions. The ideas have a Mediaeval tinge, but none the less they may be relics of an older mysticism.

The inquiry may be pushed back further, because there are a few miscellaneous fragments of evidence to be collected. Dr Daniel Rock, whose volumes show wide research and carefulness in sifting ecclesiological details, casts aside the bow theory, and proceeds to say that many of our yews were planted by Anglo-Saxons, and not a few by British Christians. The hardy evergreen yew is the analogue of the cypress of hotter climes. The converted Britons, he believes, “often, if not always, sought to build their churches near to some fine yew-tree—even then, maybe, a few hundred years old[1057].” Dr Rock gives the grand yew of Aldworth, Berkshire, as an example of this early planting, but we can scarcely accept his opinion. Although, by actual measurement, it was found, as already mentioned, that this tree has not increased in girth since the year 1760, yet this girth is but 27 feet, and will not satisfy the claim of so great an antiquity. Undoubtedly the yew-tree was reverenced in the early times. Two churches, alluded to by an ancient Welsh bard, were renowned for their prodigious trees: the minsters of Esgor and Heûllan, “of celebrity for sheltering yews[1058].” Boswell Syme, the authority for this statement, adds that Heûllan signifies an old grove. We read, too, of consecrated yews. In the old Welsh laws, a consecrated yew was assessed at £1, a specimen of ordinary yew at 15 pence only. With these prices we may compare those of a mistletoe branch and an oak branch, which were threescore pence and sixscore pence respectively[1059].

In the North of Scotland the yew was credited with a peculiar property. A branch of graveyard yew would enable one chief to denounce another, in such a manner that, while the clansmen standing by could hear the threats, the intended victim could not hear a word[1060].

Accumulated testimony shows that the yew was an object of veneration in pre-Christian times. Mr H. C. Coote has dragged forth evidence on this subject, as on many kindred questions, which had previously lain unnoticed. “But of these old-world superstitions,” he writes, “that connected with the yew-tree is the most interesting. For, as of old, it was associated with the passage of the soul to its new abode,—so ever since the introduction of Christianity into this country it has continued to adorn the last resting place of the body which the soul had left[1061].” He then quotes the poet Statius, who flourished about A.D. 81: “Necdum illum [i.e. Amphiaraum] aut trunca lustraverat obvia taxa Eumenis[1062],” that is, Amphiaraus had descended into Hades so quickly that the Eumenides, or Furies, had no time to purify him by a touch of the holy yew branch[1063]. The Furies are also fabled to have made torches of yew[1064]. In connection with the superstition mentioned by Statius, a discovery described by Wright is of interest. In a Roman cinerary urn there was found a dark incrustation of vegetable matter, believed to be caused by the decay of a branch of yew[1065].

Since, then, the yew called forth tributary respect in pagan times, we are led nearer the centre of mystery, and the Cimmerian shades close in rapidly. Can we be sure of the primary cause of the veneration? The tree has been popularly associated with that much misunderstood priestly caste, which embraced the Druids of classical writers. Dr Lowe contends that there is no evidence to show that the Britons held the yew in reverence; to disprove the notion, he adds, “I have been unable to discover a single instance of a Druidical stone being associated with a Christian church[1066].” If, as is fairly evident, “Druidical stone” is to be interpreted as “prehistoric megalith,” a reference to Chapter I. will show that such cases were probably not uncommon. Concerning the Druids and their sacred trees our direct knowledge is scanty, but absence of allusions to the yew in connection with Druidical rites is not completely conclusive against the ceremonial virtues of the tree. Besides, there are some half hints which are not quite negligible.

To speak of the worship of sacred trees would carry us far from our bearings. Those who desire to study this subject would do well to read Professor J. G. Frazer’s Golden Bough, and the famous seventh chapter of Mr Grant Allen’s Evolution of the Idea of God. From these writers we learn not only the significance of tree-worship and tree-spirits, but we understand the inspiring motive of ceremonial tree-planting. The first trees which grew on barrows may have become rooted there by accident, such as the chance visits of birds, or the scraping together of the material of the mound. The trees would receive the more encouragement from the fact that the soil had been turned over and laboured. Again, is it too fanciful to suggest that a sacred grave-stake, freshly trimmed, might occasionally put forth leaves and take root? Whatever the origin of the practice, direct planting, with a fixed purpose, would eventually come into vogue. Shrubs, especially evergreens, would be placed on the graves of dead tribesmen (cf. p. 323 supra). Like practices have been recorded the world over. Greeks, Arabs, Etruscans, Phoenicians, Hindoos, Chinese, and various American peoples furnish examples. A survival is seen in the English custom of thrusting slips of bay and yew into the green turf of Christian graves[1067].

Frequently the round or Bronze Age barrows of the South of England are topped by the Scotch pine, a tree which is not indigenous to that region. In Southern Europe the cypress is the favoured evergreen of tombs and cemeteries, but in Italy and Provence the holm-oak is equally a conventional graveyard tree. In Northern Europe it is the yew which receives the place of honour[1068]. Branches of cypress and yew were employed in ancient Greece and Rome as signals that a household was in mourning[1069]. No great stress can be laid on the passage from Macpherson’s Ossian, “The yew was a funereal tree, the companion of the grave among the Celtic tribes. Here rests their dust, Cuthullen! These lonely yews sprang from their tomb and shaded them from the storm[1070].” Without daring to re-open the Ossian controversy, one may, however, hazard the opinion that the passage enshrines a genuine tradition.

At Knowlton, Dorset, as stated on p. 13 supra, the church, which is now utterly ruined, and which is of Norman, or, as some have supposed, perhaps even Saxon foundation, stood within a round British earthwork, one of a small group. The earthworks, which were first carefully described by Warne, are themselves now nearly obliterated, but a group of storm-swept yews, it will be recollected, marks the site[1071]. It is perhaps justifiable to suppose that our early ancestors, like the churchmen of Mediaeval days, replaced dead or uprooted yews by fresh saplings. The group of yews at Kingly Vale, to which we have already paid some attention, stands in the neighbourhood of four barrows, and numerous excavations, probably prehistoric, dot the turfy slopes of the hillside.

Folk-lore lends a little help in attaching the yew to prehistoric observances. Sir John Rhŷs relates a story of an Irish hero, who, by the aid of his druid or magician, defied the fairies, dug into the heart of their underground home, and recovered his lost wife. To accomplish this, the druid used “powerful ogams” written on rods of yew[1072]. O’Curry records a saga wherein the druids employ divination wands made of yew[1073]. Sir G. L. Gomme thinks that the change from oak or mistletoe to yew was the result of Christian influence, and that Druidism continued to exist long after it was officially dead[1074]. This may be so, but, theory for theory, there is a little more reason for supposing that the early Church diplomatically accepted a settled custom. Moreover, though the yew was planted in the graveyard, and though it was pressed into service on Palm Sunday, it is only in modern times that its branches have been admitted into the sacred building as a portion of the Christmas decorations. Even to-day an East Anglian superstition says that if anyone accidentally brings yew into the house along with the other Christmas evergreens, a death will occur in his family within a twelvemonth[1075]. This refusal of a place of honour during the great period of joyousness and festivity seems to indicate that the tree was originally adopted by the Christians, not from choice, but from policy; in other words, a pagan emblem was adopted, but not unreservedly. Yew twigs were appropriate only to the more solemn services of the Church. Again, the branches were doubtless proper decorations for a maypole, as one may learn to-day from outlying districts like the Aland Isles; but for centuries the yew was not recognized at the great Christian anniversary.

In a legend related to the king of Tara by Finntann, the cultivator and craftsman of the yew, it is said that the first household vessels were made of the timber of this tree[1076]. In the British Museum, London, as well as in the Science and Art Museum of Dublin, many early implements made of yew are exhibited. Ossian speaks of the war chariot thus: “Of polished yew is its beam; its seat of the smoothest bone.” This tradition may point to a former abundance of the tree, or it may denote a slackening of ceremonial, followed by the employment of yew wood for economic purposes.

There remain a few more “half-hints.” The Fortingal yew (p. 375 supra) had its career shortened by the lighting of Beltane fires against its trunk[1077]. The origin of Beltane fires is on all hands admitted to be at least pre-Roman. Another illuminating fact is that when this aged tree had become separated into two portions, funeral processions were accustomed to pass between the limbs[1078].

Readers of Scott will remember that in the Lady of the Lake (canto iii., st. 8), the fiery cross by which clansmen were gathered to battle was made of yew, and we may assume that the poet had heard of the mystical associations of the tree. The lines run thus: