And now the tradition of working oxen has so nearly vanished that, except in Sussex, it is difficult to glean information on the subject. To begin the search for a cow-shoe is almost like setting out to find the golden fleece. Even more difficult would it be to discover, outside a museum, a specimen of the framework, with its set of bells, which was formerly fixed above the yoke. The ox-waggoner of these unromantic times, could we find such a worthy, would tell us that the bells were employed for ornament and for their musical sound: his ancestors, however, would have asserted that the jingling noise kept off witches and persons possessing the “evil eye.”

There is, indeed, a considerable amount of folk-lore respecting the ox, but, before examining this, time will not be misspent if we examine the pedigree of the animal.

Most authorities now recognize three species of ox (Bos) as having inhabited our island in Pleistocene and recent geological times. We will glance at the three species in order. The European bison (Bos priscus) is now found nowhere except in Poland, and need detain us only a moment. This animal had

humps on its withers, and since none of our present breeds of cattle exhibits this feature, the claimant is deemed an impossible ancestor[1316]. Next in rank is the gigantic ox, known scientifically as Bos primigenius, which was characterised by long curving horns, of which the basal portions lay in a straight line with the top of the skull (Fig. 97 A). This beast was domesticated in Switzerland in the Neolithic Age, though, in Britain, it seems to have been known only as a wild animal during that period. It had made its appearance in our island in Palaeolithic days, but many writers suppose that it had become extinct here before the Roman invasion. Without much hesitation this animal may be considered identical with the urus which Caesar describes as inhabiting Continental forests. The urus, he tells us, was a little below the elephant in size, while its appearance, colour, and shape were those of a bull (Hi sunt magnitudine paulo infra elephantos, specie et colore et figura tauri). Its strength, speed and ferocity were extraordinary. The Germans captured it by means of pitfalls and killed it (Hos studiose foveis captos interficiunt)[1317]. It is stated as a fact of no little importance that the urus, or, as it was sometimes called by German writers, the aurochs, survived in Poland and Lithuania until A.D. 1627[1318]. Since its extinction, the name of aurochs has been improperly given to the European bison, which, as already stated, still lives on.

The interest of the late survival of the urus lies in the theory that all European breeds of long-horned oxen, and indirectly—through introductions from the Continent—some of our semi-wild cattle, are descended from this species. The famous breeds of Chartley (Fig. 98), Lyme, and Chillingham Park, are placed in this list. We say “indirectly,” because Professor James Wilson asserts that B. primigenius is not found in British deposits latter than the Bronze Age, and hence cannot have left direct descendants in our country.

Wild bulls are, indeed, mentioned in Fitzstephen’s Life of Becket, as existing near London in the latter part of the twelfth century, though it is extremely doubtful if these were uri[1319]. They were more probably more akin to our Park cattle. And one reason for believing that these Park cattle are derived from partially domesticated breeds is their white colour, which, had natural selection been allowed free play, would have tended to bring about their extermination. Moreover, the Park cattle occasionally have black calves; one was born in the Zoological Gardens, London, in 1909. This fact would seem to indicate that the original colour was black. Professor Wilson’s theory is, that the Park cattle are the wild representatives of oxen introduced by the Romans. Again, the present feral descendants of the supposed domesticated ancestors are not all of one type as regards skull and horns, so that the problem is not simple.

Touching the origin of our domestic long-horned breeds, there are two views extant. The first hypothesis is that our longhorns are traceable to the Roman invasion. The Romans had a tame long-horned ox of a size intermediate between B. primigenius and B. longifrons, the last named being a smaller breed, to be noticed shortly. This Roman ox was perhaps the result of crossing B. longifrons with Italian stock. Alternatively, it may have been a domesticated form of B. primigenius itself, which, not having passed through so many generations as later varieties, retained more of the original features—such as the long horns and straight forehead—its size alone being diminished[1320]. The other view taken of our long-horned cattle is that of Professor Boyd Dawkins, who, arguing from the occurrence of B. longifrons as the only species discovered at the Roman station of Uriconium, credits the Scandinavian invaders with the importation of the long-horned race[1321]. Professor Wilson has also strongly argued that the Norsemen brought over our polled cattle. Mr R. Hedger Wallace, in an excellent contribution to this subject, considers that the longhorns may even have been introduced from Holstein and the Low Countries in Mediaeval times[1322]. This might be termed a third hypothesis, and, before accepting it, the student should carefully read Professor Wilson’s little volume.

We pass to the last of our ancient types, the “Celtic shorthorn” (Bos longifrons = B. brachyceros), already mentioned as known to the Romans. This smaller ox had an abnormally developed forehead, hence its name longifrons. The short horns and the depressed curve of the upper portion of the skull frontal should be compared with the corresponding features in the urus (Fig. 97 C). The Celtic shorthorn was domesticated in Britain in the Neolithic period, and during the Bronze Age it was our characteristic, if not our only ox, and occupied this

position on the arrival of the Romans. Its remains have been found in vast quantities among the ruined lake-dwellings of Croyland[1323], and also in turbaries in various parts of England[1324]. In short, if Professor Wilson be correct, this ox represents our original native breed. The ox described by Nilsson under the name of B. frontosus is believed to be the same, or a closely allied species[1325]. From the black Celtic shorthorn our black cattle of Wales and the Highlands (Fig. 99) are probably derived, though inter-breeding has doubtless much diminished the purity of the strain. It is curious to find that B. longifrons is, by some, supposed to have been originally a stunted variety of B. primigenius. Actual crossing of the breeds is unproved. The larger animal, it is believed, became locally dwarfed by unfavourable environment, and was hence more easily subjugated by Neolithic man[1326].

Once having tamed the ox, early man soon used it for purposes of haulage and carrying burdens. The paintings on ancient Egyptian sepulchres, which go back nearly to the days of polished stone implements, exhibit several breeds of the ox tribe, both bearing the yoke and drawing the plough[1327]. Again, Dr T. Rice Holmes cites authorities to show that an ox drawing a plough is depicted on rock-carvings in Scandinavia[1328]. And that the animal was used as food there is abundant testimony afforded by the nature and condition of the bones unearthed from barrows and primitive settlements.

With the position of the ox in prehistoric times is intimately connected its status in folk-lore and history. At once, however, we notice that the ox has not here played such a prominent part as the horse. With regard to sacrifice, Jacob Grimm sums up the case by the axiom that agricultural nations have leaned more towards bovine, and warlike peoples towards equine sacrifices[1329]. We may accept this as a general tendency, but perhaps not more. Among the Greeks and Romans, indeed, bullocks were the favourite victims[1330]. It will be remembered, too, that the Philistines, when about to send back the Ark of Jehovah to the Israelites, selected for the purpose two milch kine which had never been subjected to the yoke. These kine were offered as a burnt-offering by the jubilant Israelites when the end of the journey was reached[1331]. In Sweden, almost down to the time of Grimm (b. 1785, d. 1863), there existed cattle known as “God’s cows.” Grimm sagaciously hints that the term had its origin when such animals were claimed as priestly dues[1332]. One is inclined to trace the expression further, namely, to the days of real sacrifices. Among the old Norse and Alamannic tribes the sacrifice of oxen was a custom which was eradicated with great difficulty. A letter written to St Boniface (died A.D. 755) speaks of ungodly priests who offered bulls and he-goats to heathen deities (qui tauros et hircos diis paganorum immolabant)[1333]. Gregory the Great, in a letter to the Abbot Mellitus (A.D. 601), uttered a like complaint against the Angles: “Boves solent in sacrificio daemonum multos occidere[1334].” The horns of cows intended for sacrifices were bedecked with garlands[1335], somewhat in the manner of the Swiss cows which are adorned with ribbons by their herdsmen. To witness the inveteracy of custom concerning the cult of the ox, it is only necessary to cross over to Brittany at the period of the great religious processions. Notably, one should get a glimpse of the display made during the “Pardon” of St Cornély at Carnac. At that period cattle are driven many miles to be sprinkled with holy water at a sacred well. Such farmers as can afford the gift, present an ox as an oblation to the Church. As soon as the animal has been blessed, it is led away to be sold by auction, the money being delivered to the church authorities. Until about a century ago, at Clynnog in North Wales, cattle were similarly offered to St Beuno. Apparently, both in Wales and Brittany, a Christian saint had supplanted a pagan deity. Indeed, at a Roman villa in Carnac, Mr James Miln dug up the votive image of an ox—a suggestive discovery[1336].

There is another phase of the ox’s domination—that connected with the soothsayer. The ancient Cimbrians swore oaths over a brazen bull[1337]. In Hindoo folk-lore, the bull appears in the ceremonial associated with childbirths, weddings, and funerals[1338]. In ancient Rome, as is familiar to most readers, the ox figured in oracles. Speaking with a man’s voice, the beast gave dire warnings, such as that which bade Caesar beware the Ides of March[1339]. White oxen were sacrificed to Jupiter, and black ones to Pluto. The black ox was therefore deemed accursed, a herald of ill-luck. In this superstition lies the explanation of such a proverb as, “The black ox has trodden on his foot,” allusions to which are found in old writers like Thomas Tusser and Heywood the dramatist. Perhaps of more interest to us is Kemble’s statement that there are records of bulls having been used for divination in England[1340] (p. 435 supra). In the Bronze and Early Iron Ages oxen were frequently sacrificed at graves when interments took place, as indicated by the prevalence of bones and teeth in the mounds. It is supposed that the animals formed part of the funeral feast. Ox skulls (B. longifrons) are recorded from many round barrows of the Aeneolithic (Copper-Stone) and Bronze period[1341]. But more remarkable was Sir R. Colt Hoare’s discovery, in a barrow near Amesbury (Wilts.), of the skeletons of two children, each resting on the head of a cow. The animal appeared to have been of small size. The head of one child lay to the East, that of the other to the West[1342].

There will perhaps be always some doubt as to which animals were used by prehistoric folk as daily food, and which were eaten only on ceremonial occasions. It seems probable that the earlier peoples did not commonly eat beef. Contrariwise, there is good evidence to show that horseflesh was much sought after, and we have seen how strong was the later tradition and how difficult it was to destroy it. Pliny relates the case of a man who was brought before the Roman people, and condemned to exile, for having killed an ox for purposes of food. The grave part of the offence was that the wretch had slain the beast—the partner in man’s labours—with as little compunction as he would have killed one of his own peasants[1343]! And Virgil instances the eating of oxen (juvenci = young bullocks) at banquets as a sign of degeneracy, and as not having existed in the Golden Age[1344]. Other classical writers give utterance to a like misgiving. This tradition of a “Golden Age” was probably an instance of subconscious recollection of the pastoral stage of society.

Honour, therefore, was reserved for the ox. Labour did not diminish its dignity. But since wealth sprang from labour, whether of man or beast, the Athenians did not deem it amiss to stamp the figure of an ox upon their coins[1345]. Yet the Athenians, Professor Frazer tells us, were accustomed to sacrifice the ox with elaborate ritual as the representative of the spirit of vegetation. The sacrifice was known as “the murder of the ox” (βουφόνια). Apart, too, from actual sacrifice, there was a mysterious virtue imputed to the animal. Thus, the Egyptian reverence for cows, which were regarded as embodiments of Isis, and which were never killed, has been fully established by Professor Frazer, who attributes the worship to either the pastoral or the agricultural stage of Egyptian development. The kings of Northern Europe were accustomed to take with them, when set on great enterprises, one or more sacred cows, to yield a supply of potent elixir that would ensure success[1346]. Bulls drew the chariots of Frankish monarchs[1347]. At this point, the past is revealed in the present, for Defoe records how he witnessed, near Lewes, the strange spectacle of “an ancient lady of very good quality” being drawn to church in her own coach by six oxen. This was done, however, not from “Frolick or Humour,” but from necessity, the roads being so deep and miry[1348]. In the same county, too, it was the custom, down to our own days, for a farmer who had employed oxen on his land to be drawn to his burial by an ox-team[1349].

The symbolic side of our subject deserves a word or two. The figure of an ox was emblematic of St Luke, and in later times, a similar device was representative of St Frideswide, St Leonard, and St Sylvester[1350]. As the ox gradually lost its prestige, and the symbolic was replaced by the secular, fables superseded the older reputable beliefs. All are familiar with the celebrated “Dun Cow,” said to have been slain by the doughty Guy of Warwick (cf. p. 199 supra). It was about four yards in height, and six in length, with a head proportionately large. As described in the old ballad:

The basis of this legend of Sir Guy, according to good authorities, belongs to a period previous to the Norman Conquest.

In Chapter IV. we had occasion to refer to the bones of the Dun Cow. In recalling the story, the subject of inn-signs deserves a moment’s notice. The Bull, whether Black, White, or Red, is very popular on tavern sign-boards, but it is a little curious that the Ox is not common, and is, in fact, now becoming rare. The Cow takes the place of the Ox, and is represented as of various colours, Red, White, Brown, Dun, and Spotted. The Wild Bull is met with, to say nothing of the Chained Bull and the Bull and Chain. There is reason to believe that the Ox signs formerly held a more favoured position. In nursery rhymes, the animal was certainly prominent. The cow that jumped over the moon has its fellow in the childish jingles of other lands besides ours. There is also a German counterpart of the bull who tolled the bell when pussy was drowned, for in a twelfth century manuscript the bull is made to read the Gospel over the dead body of the wolf[1352]. The tradition that oxen talk in their stalls on Christmas night is old, but is probably post-Christian—there being no likely pagan basis for the story.

We may conclude with a notice of a pleasant custom, once common—the giving of pet names to oxen and cows. Richard Carew (1769) states that Cornish folk were much addicted to the practice: “Each Oxe hath his severall name, upon which the drivers call aloud, both to direct and give them courage as they are at worke[1353].” With dairy cows the nomenclature was quite as diversified. Excluding the “fancy names” of the breeder’s herdbook, we find such appellations as Whytelocke (in a will c. A.D. 1546); Fyll Kytt (A.D. 1551); Cherry and Cherrye (in wills, A.D. 1546, 1585); Shakespeare (A.D. 1793); Fill Bowl and Fill Pan (A.D. 1809)[1354]. Such names as Daisy, Damsel, Grizzle and Straighthorn are representative of old Hampshire[1355]. Then there are the names made familiar to us in literature, for example, “Jetty,” “Lightfoot,” and “Whitefoot,” of Jean Ingelow, “Brockie” and “Gowans” of Sir Walter Scott[1356]. Pet names are still given to milch cows, as Mr Edward Thomas has observed in his South Country. Monotonously, persuasively, the cowboy calls, in turn, to such cows as linger to crop the roadside sward: “Wo, Cherry! Now, Dolly! Wo, Fancy! Strawberry! Blanche!” and so on, throughout a pleasant roll-call[1357].

But now that the ox no longer drags his burden along the dusty turnpike, he receives no nickname. He is merely merchandise—the subject of transactions between the butcher and the grazier. Not the least lamentable feature in his history is the fact that no one remembers, or cares to remember, his social services in the past. Knowledge of the ox as a toiler of the field has all but departed, and, with oblivion, kindliness perchance has diminished. “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn[1358],” said the Mosaic law. Nowadays, one hears of Societies whose work, imperatively necessary, consists in watching, with friendly eye, the interests of dumb, driven cattle. It is a little doubtful whether any hardships connected with the use of draught oxen ever exceeded, or equalled, the cruelty which is oftentimes, if reports be true, associated with the lives of fatted kine.

CHAPTER XII

RETROSPECT

From the site we went on to consider the church fabric. It was seen that some of the earliest churches were raised during periods when the community thought it wise to plan buildings adapted both for defence and worship. The truth of this proposition will, by most students, be deemed to have been satisfactorily proved. The part of the building specially designed for protection was the steeple, which was frequently, by turns, conning tower, beacon, treasure-chamber, and fortress. Touching this ancient use, folk-tales have the true ring.

As the centuries passed away, defensive towers became unnecessary, yet the idea survived in slight architectural features, now meaningless, unless interpreted by the light of history. The nave, however, continued to have its social value for several hundred years. Partly owing to the Reformation of the sixteenth century, partly in consequence of the pressure of population and the subsequent provision of more suitable buildings for secular purposes, even the nave was at last forbidden to the trader and the religious dramatist. Only a few trivial vestiges, such as the affixing of public notices on the church door, remain to tell of the old latitude given to customs, almost all traces of which have vanished from the memory of the common folk. We must except from this oblivion the village chatter about Cromwell’s soldiers stabling their horses in the nave, the gossip about dog-whippers and dicing, and the numerous bits of scandal coming down from the less creditable periods of church history. All of these stories possess a germ of reality. With respect, however, to the current explanations of “lepers’ windows,” squints, “priests’ chambers,” and deflected chancels, there is no direct tradition, these explanations having been obtained from outside sources.

Again, with regard to the orientation of churches, the reasons given by country folk are obviously hearsay presentations of what has been taught by educated persons. We have, it is true, the records of ecclesiological writers to aid us, but these are, unfortunately, rather contradictory. Priest and architect seem to have conspired to keep any actual details of tradition to themselves, supposing, indeed, that any precise canons ever existed. This select corporation may have handed down the theory and the practice, but the rite is now shorn of much ceremonial, and the custom is followed almost blindly. Moreover, modern builders appear to be very careless in their alinements. The staple rudimentary idea of orientation is clearly pagan, and the broad general tradition of sun-alinements must have been well kept during the early centuries of church-building, whether any definite, exact rules as to seasonal alinement were observed or not. If the orientation of modern churches is settled in a somewhat haphazard manner by the builders, and if the primitive idea has become blurred and indefinite, the orientation of graves affords a splendid example of unconscious folk-memory. Not only a sexton, but probably any villager chosen at random, would take into account the East-and-West direction in digging a grave, though he might not be able to assign a reason for his method. The primitive purpose has long since been driven aside by the force of events, and even the symbolists have had to introduce secondary explanations.

In burial customs, with their numerous little superstitious observances, the survival of folk-memory is well displayed. It is needless to repeat the evidence here—how, in recent years, objects have been surreptitiously, and even openly, buried with the dead; how the funeral feast, in an attenuated form, lingers on; how we still scrupulously don the funeral garb, once the sign of deprecation or fear; how graveyard teeth are used as charms and remedies. True, the underlying ideas have much altered; witness, for instance, the modern reasons put forward to justify the wearing of mourning; but so far as the practices are affected, we are still living, though, of course, unavowedly, in the Neolithic period. The superstitions relating to death cannot be expelled from the uneducated mind, which realizes too well that the event itself is inescapable. Hence the prejudice against cremation, stubbornly defying enlightened opinion, and hence the stories of ghosts and apparitions furtively believed in by many persons who would be ashamed to admit such credulity.

The folk-memory connected with the points of the compass supplied us with some curious little touches of local superstition, and with the familiar objection to burial on the North side of the churchyard—an inherited antipathy coming down from prehistoric times. Next, the churchyard yew presented a complicated problem. During the eighteenth century there appears to have existed an echo of the days when the churchyard yew was pruned for purposes of archery. In the few instances where traditions concerning archery are still extant, there is a strong suspicion that folk-memory has been “assisted” by local writers and rambling antiquaries. Indeed, the strange silence about the yew in genuine popular legend is so complete as to be amazing. One does not refer to accounts of the employment of the yew on Palm Sunday, and other similar observances; at most, these are valid only as furnishing secondary motives. The real puzzle remains. Here we have a graveyard tree, possessing strong distinctive characters—sombreness, strength, longevity, perpetual verdure—appealing eloquently to human sentiment. The planting of the tree was a custom in the early days of British Christianity, and the practice has never become obsolete. Individual trees, when decayed or uprooted, have been replaced by fresh ones. In face of the cumulative testimony we cannot believe that the choice of the yew, like that of the elm or ash, was merely casual; yet most of the trustworthy tradition respecting the tree has long since disappeared in a most extraordinary manner.

Rapidly passing on, we recall the chapter relating to the horse-cult. Neglecting the minor details, we observe, in the obstinate prejudice against eating horseflesh, a reversal of prehistoric ideas. Here, at least, the Church made little admitted compromise, though the pagan habit died hard, and backslidings are recorded. Strange to say, few persons could give a reason, except that derived from the Jewish law, for the general repugnance. On broad grounds, we should have expected to find some curious, inconsequent explanation, such as that involved in the superstitious fear of killing robins and swallows, or of eating certain kinds of fish. There could scarcely be any rooted distaste for horseflesh, nor natural repulsion to so clean an animal. Yet the original ecclesiastical ban has lingered long after its actual effective force has been lost. Perhaps a partial explanation is found in the fact that we have always had numerous other domestic animals which have furnished us with flesh food, though the native stores have had to be supplemented by importation.

While folk-memory has sub-consciously kept alive the antipathy to horseflesh, the story of the working ox supplies us with an excellent illustration of the direct failure of oral tradition. The use of the bullock as a beast of draught constituted an economic question simply. So soon as the immediate material advantage was removed, owing to the disuse of ox-labour, all interest in keeping up the tradition was lost. Consequently, it is extremely difficult to get sound information respecting a custom so recently abandoned, and not one person in a hundred has ever seen an ox-shoe. Had the ox been pre-eminently connected with British and Early Teutonic sacrifices and superstitions, as was the horse, we should almost certainly have inherited a number of vagrant traditions. As it is, we possess but a few old ballads, legends, and nursery rhymes, like that of the Dun Cow of Warwick, or the cow that jumped over the moon.

The study of the ox, indeed, helps us to appreciate exactly where the strength and the weakness of folk-memory lie. Roughly speaking, the soundest traditions are concerned either with essential details of urgent social economy, or with religion and superstition. In these matters, oral transmission is usually faithful. “This story shall the good man teach his son.” But let an industrial practice be dropped, through its being no longer necessary or profitable, and a few decades will wipe out all direct remembrance. The most stupid myths will arise to account for this or that visible relic of the industry or custom. So long as the occupation brings material gain, the tradition is scrupulously passed on from father to son. Of superstition, or of widely-felt fears, affecting both body and spirit, there is the same careful transmission and the same vivid retention. Scenes of horror also remain long in the memory of the people; hence we meet with traditions of battles, massacres, raids, burnings. Just in proportion as the historical facts grow tenuous, the accounts become distorted and exaggerated, as, for instance, in the Irish legends about Cromwell. There are minor divisions of each series, such as those which comprise the stories about buried treasure, ghosts and “barguests,” omens and amulets, together with superstitions respecting personal characteristics, times and seasons, health and disease, with many other matters.

Viewing broadly the tract occupied by folk-memory, we indeed find certain stable elements. We see the peasantry, diminishing numerically, but still forming a great multitude, slow-moving by nature, and tenacious of their heritage of folklore. The dull, mechanical monotony of the lives of many of the industrial classes, again, tends to check any breaking away from tradition. Our educational system is, alas, still so uniform as to put a curb on originality, hence there is a tendency for ideas to keep their traditional set. Opposed to these conservative factors, there is at work a well-known biological principle. As our society—to use the Spencerian phrase—is being slowly transformed from a state of homogeneity to one of heterogeneity, as the individual becomes separated and specialized from the mass, the habit of acting instinctively like blind units of the human crowd is slowly lost, while race-memory is weakened, and the primitive faculty of unconsciously preserving and transmitting unwritten lore becomes atrophied and almost worthless.

Even the wofully scanty records of folk-memory such as those which we have noticed, are destined soon to disappear. Education, in spite of its cramped conditions, is destroying many foolish beliefs and baneful superstitions. But it is doing more than this; for the printed book and the daily newspaper not only obliterate folk-memory, but remove the need for its lawful exercise. The reader no longer relies on oral tradition, but on the printed pages of history and on works of reference. Scarcely can we tell whether an important event took place five years ago, or a dozen years ago. The speech and actions of famous men become confused in popular tradition—always there is some book wherein the record is kept. A credulous antiquary may proclaim that a certain mound is a barrow, and though the “barrow” was actually raised within the past twenty years, few folk can come forward to gainsay the statement. Or some old shepherd “believes” that he has used flint celts for bell-clappers, whereas it is more likely that he has merely heard, or read, of such a practice. In fact, we are swiftly approaching the time when folk-custom and folk-memory will be so utterly vitiated by books and lectures as to be worthless. Caution is especially necessary at the present day. In his address to the British Association in 1910, Mr W. Crooke gave a timely warning respecting the “half-trained amateur.” Such a person, visiting India, “may see a totem in every hedge, or expect to meet a corn-spirit on every threshing floor.” And, at home, the rash enthusiast may see an idol in every stone heap, an Iberian in every dark-haired man, a symbol in every line of an ancient building, a prehistoric grave in every stray bit of potsherd.

There is, however, a middle course of action. And, though folk-memory is waning, there is work which can be done, if it be done quickly. There are still waifs and strays of custom to be collected and correlated. Every village clergyman has his parish registers, which, though unfortunately not reaching back so far as one could wish, may yet give information on some of the topics which we have studied. The local antiquary who will make a precise record of all discoveries which connect the present with the past, will do great service. The muniment room, with its deeds and charters, sometimes yields us timely help. The old chest, with its wills, leases, and covenants, may, in a few scattered sentences, throw light on some quaint custom. The ballads and folk-songs, which are now being so sedulously collected and studied, still safeguard many curious fancies and superstitions. All these sources will gradually yield less and less to the searcher. It is true that there are libraries full of volumes which treat of antiquities, folk-customs, and folk-lore, but the details need to be carefully re-arranged, and, in many instances, to be re-vivified by comparison with the living present.

ADDENDA

Page 9. Churches on Roman foundations. The piers of the chancel arch of Bosham church, Sussex, rest on enormous square bases, which are believed to be Roman. The capitals were also probably copied from Roman models. Mr P. M. Johnston, F.S.A., in Victoria Hist. of Sussex, 1907, II. p. 362, suggests that the work represents “possibly the triumphal arch of Vespasian’s basilica.” Roman relics have been found under the floor of this pre-Conquest church.

St Michael’s church, St Albans, retains much Roman material in its walls and piers.

Since this chapter went to press, I have read Mr Montagu Sharpe’s Parish Churches on Romano-British Sites, 1909, in which evidence is adduced to show that many of our parish churches occupy the sites of pagan rural chapels (sacella) and are closely associated with the lines of centuriation as planned by Roman surveyors. The sacellum was a small unroofed place consecrated to a deity (p. 4), containing an altar, and sometimes a shrine (aedicula). The sacellum was also used for non-religious purposes, e.g. as a place of refreshment. Mr Sharpe states that the Roman surveyors divided a district into areas or “blocks” by means of four public ways (viae vicinales). In the canton of the London Civitas a side of such a square measured 1⅛ miles (p. 2). Maps are given, one of which shows that 30 parish churches of the Isle of Wight “had intimate connection with the lines of the Roman Survey” (p. 3). Such churches are especially found near cross-roads.

Mr John Ward’s The Roman Era in Britain, 1911, pp. 111-113, deserves notice in this connection, especially with regard to the conflict between the historical evidence and the “comparative silence of archaeology.”

Page 14. Classification of earthworks. A portion of the scheme is appended, in order to explain the groups of earthworks to which reference is made.

A. Promontory fortresses: partly inaccessible, on account of cliffs or water, partly defended by artificial walls or banks.

B. Hill-or Contour-forts: fortresses situated on hill-tops, with artificial defences following the natural line of the hill.

C. Rectangular, or other simple enclosures, including forts and towns of the Romano-British kind.

D. Castle mounts: forts consisting of a mount, with an encircling ditch or fosse.

E. Castle mounts with baileys: fortified mounts wholly or partly artificial, having an attendant court or bailey.

Page 118. Churches as fortresses. The church of St Michael, Torrington, Devon, was employed by the Royalists (1646), both as a prison and a powder magazine. Owing to an explosion, probably accidental, the church was blown up, and about 200 prisoners were killed.

The town referred to by Thorold Rogers seems to be Alton.

Page 161. Arms taken to church. A few of the old oak seats in Clovelly church, Devon, are notched, and it has been supposed that the purpose was the accommodation of weapons. In one case there is a corresponding hole in the floor, rectangular in shape, which may have been intended to receive the butt end of a musket (cf. the stands in City churches for holding the sword of the Lord Mayor).

Respecting the rating of the clergy for armour, see Notes and Queries, 11th Ser., IV. p. 468.

Page 167. The Borsholder. The powers of this official are enumerated in William Lambard’s work, The Duties of Constables, Borsholders, Tythingmen, and such other lowe Ministers of the peace (1583), pp. 15, 16, 20, etc.

Page 201. Objects in churches. An enormous pole was formerly suspended in a horizontal position in the nave of Bosham church, Sussex. It was traditionally said to be the staff of a Mediaeval giant, Sir Bevis of Southampton, who was accustomed to stride across Bosham Harbour at one step, on his way to Southampton (K. H. MacDermott, The Story of Bosham church, Sussex, 1906, pp. 14-15). For a list of curiosities formerly preserved in pagan temples, see J. Beckmann’s History of Inventions, Discoveries, and Origins, trans. by W. Johnston, 1846, I. pp. 283-4.

Page 344. Plan of churchyards. Additional examples of churches which have little space on the North side: West Tarring, Sussex; Northam and Clovelly, Devon; Hambledon, Surrey. Small South yards: Ferring and Lyminster, Sussex.

Page 346. Introduction of headstones. It is asserted that the churchyard of Grasmere, Westmoreland, was devoid of gravestones until the early part of the nineteenth century, and was used as the playground of the village school. Wordsworth thus refers to the churchyard in The Brothers: