Briefly, the following observations were recorded. Scattered throughout the uppermost layer of the soil, to a depth of two or three feet, the explorers found pieces of dressed chalk. These are supposed to have formed part of a Norman doorway, and were doubtless buried when the church was restored, or rebuilt, in the fourteenth century[223]. A confusing feature was the discovery, at various levels, of coarse pottery, bones, bone tools, hammer stones, flint flakes, and flint cores[224]. These objects were found “in larger measure at the top of the mound, but were at no time absent[225].” Yet, at the very bottom of the barrow, scraps of Samian ware and a portion of a Roman “brick” were exposed[226]. These Roman vestiges, lying at the lowest horizon, showed that the mound could not be Celtic. All the objects hitherto described might have been collected, along with the soil, from lower levels when the pile was raised. Are we driven to marvel at the surprising wealth of relics? If so, we must remember that the spot had some strategical importance, and had doubtless been occupied by Britons and Romans long before the occasion of the construction of the barrow. There is no necessity here to relate the engrossing story in greater detail, since this has been fully done by Dr J. Stevens and Mr Reginald A. Smith. It is enough to state that the barrow was heaped up to cover the remains of a Saxon chieftain. This was distinctly shown by the character of the grave-furniture--drinking horns, military trappings, utensils, and ornaments of Saxon date. The circumstances connected with this primary burial, as well as the relics, showed that the interment was of the non-Christian type[227]. For our next example we turn to the history of Ludlow. Down to the close of the twelfth century, the parish churchyard of that town occupied the site of a tumulus. In A.D. 1199, the barrow was cleared away, and there were disclosed sepulchral relics which pointed to a Roman origin. The clergy, however, declared that the remains were those of Irish saints, and thus turned the discovery to good account[228]. This ludicrous ecclesiastical fiction serves one purpose, and by good chance it speeds us in our present business. Through this tale we get a hint that the priests of the Middle Ages were inquisitive about the contents of barrows. Hallowed bones and mythical treasure formed the lure. Canon Jessopp has related numerous instances of this Mediaeval “hill-digging” for treasure in the county of Norfolk[229]. Thomas Wright put the other side of the matter in a way which arrests the eye and ear of every modern antiquary, for he thought that he could adduce, from monastic legends, a hundred distinct examples of the opening of barrows to search for the bones of saints[230]. From this keen dissection of ancient burial mounds, we may infer that even the Mediaeval churchmen imputed sanctity to barrows, although the belief found expression in paradoxical acts of desecration.