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