Ir has been shown in a former paper that many of the plots of ground which are now churchyards, were originally the open-air churches in which our Saxon forefathers worshipped, long before any of our parish churches were built. The earliest architectural erection upon them was the cross of wood or stone, which the Saxon missionary set up in the midst of the churchyard, to form a rallying point for the people, and to hallow the place of their assembly.

But in many cases there seems to have been a religious symbol already there, which the Christian priest did not destroy, but planted his cross beside it. The churchyard yeway claim this precedence, if we may depend upon the conclusions of the French botanist, De Candolle, who tells us, for example, that the vast tree in Crowland Churchyard, in Kent, is 1200 years old; that in Fortingwell Churchyard, in Scotland, 1400 years; and that in Braborne Churchyard,

in Kent, older than the Christian era. There are many trees in our churchyards which may challenge comparison with these in girth of trunk and appearance of antiquity.

And the question of their great age does not depend entirely upon botanical reasonings; there is historical evidence for it. Giraldus Cambrensis, as he is called, i. e., Gerald, Archdeacon of St. David's, tells us in his "Topographia Hiberniæ," that he was in Ireland in the year 1186 A. D., and he speaks of churchyard yews there which were old trees in his time; "the yew, with its bitter juice, abounds here more plentifully than in any land which I have visited, especially in the ancient cemeteries and holy places, planted long ago by the hands of saintly men." There were similar trees in Gerald's native Wales. For in the ancient laws of that Principality,† we find among the fines to be inflicted upon those who shall unlawfully cut down trees, that "the yew trce of the wood," i. e., an ordinary yew tree, is valued at fifteen pence; "the yew-tree of a saint" at one pound. Wotton, the editor of the Welsh Laws,” adds a note to this passage to explain that "the yewtree of a saint' is one dedicated to a saint, as Dubritius for example, or Teilo, such as are still frequently found in the churchyards of Wales." The fact that it is in the native British church that we find these sainted trees, carries us back for the origin of our churchyard yews to a time more ancient than the conversion of the Saxons. Many of the existing trees appear, from a comparison with those of known date, to be as old as the Saxon times. From the great number of them which still remain, it seems probable that they were generally, if not always, planted in our old churchyards, as a necessary part of their furniture. Sometimes we find a group of them, which might have sheltered a congregation from sun or rain. Sometimes there are four, one at each corner of the churchyard, as if they had been intended to mark out the area of the churchyard. But much more commonly there is only one, and that is usually on the south side of the church near the usual site of the churchyard cross. What were they so generally, if not universaliy, planted for? A good deal of learned research and ingenious conjecture has been bestowed upon the question, but without eliciting any very satisfactory conclusion as to their original use or intention. Two utilitarian theories have been sug gested, but both seem untenable. The first is, that the trees were planted to protect the church from the wind; but there is usually only one, and that on the south side; and many of them were planted ages

*Evelyn, in the time of Charles II., measured this tree, and found it within an inch of fifty-nine feet in girth.

"Laws of Howel Dha," repeated in the Dimetian Code.

A very good summary of what has hitherto been said on the subject may be found in the "Beauties of England and Wales," vol. for North Wales.

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before there was a church to protect. The other theory is, that they were planted to supply the men of each parish with material for bows, and an Act of Parliament is quoted, which expressly orders that yews shall be planted in churchyards for this purpose. But the Act of Parliament is only of the time of Edward IV., and does not explain why yews were planted in the churchyard centuries before, and dedicated, as churches themselves were afterwards, to saints. The question is still unsolved-Why were they planted? When we find that some of them existed before the Saxon conversion, and that the Christian missionary did not destroy but planted his cross beside them, we are tempted to conjecture that the places where they are found were places of religious assembly* in ante-Christian times, and that the tree had either some mere innocent use, not involving any meaning at all, or that the meaning was one which did not prevent the Christian priest from retaining it side by side with the symbol of the cross. Was it merely for an innocent use? Was it for nothing else but to shelter the assembly under the canopy of its broad, flat evergreen boughs from summer sun and winter rain? Nothing more than the living roof of the open-air church? The people might have dedicated the tree under a saintly invocation, just as they dedicated the wooden and stone churches which they afterwards built for God's honour and the people's convenience.

If they had a symbolical meaning what was it? If, as we conjecture, the symbol existed in the place of assembly for heathen worship, and was retained by the Christian teachers, it symbolized some truth which was common to both religions. From its very general or universal adoption, we may conjecture that the symbol was an apt one. The fact that it seems to have been planted especially in the "cemeteries and holy places," may lead us to conclude that it was there especially appropriate. What did the symbol mean? We can discover no hint to guide us to an authoritative conclusion. But if the symbol were an apt one, if it shadowed forth some truth common to all religions, of universal application, surely we ought to need no interpreter-we ought to be able to read its significance for ourselves. What then does the yew suggest to us now-a-days? The poets-they are the proper authority on this point-answer with one consent that it is the "funereal yew." Yes, it is the most dark and gloomy of all our indigenous trees, and even old Giraldus notes its "bitter juice"; it might serve very well, better than any other native tree or shrub, in lieu of the classical cypress, as a funereal tree. Collinson in his "History of

* A little book on "Farley Heath," by Mr. Tupper (12mo, 1850, p. 69), says, that "on Merroe Downs, in Surrey, are two distinct concentric groves of venerable yews, a thousand years old, with remnants of like avenues, possibly Druidical."