After referring to the interpolations in which there "is a distinctly Christian element, contrasting strongly with the general heathen current of the whole," Mr. Sweet, in his "Sketch of the History of the Anglo-Saxon Poetry," in Hazlitt's edition of Warton's "His. of English Poetry," says--"Without these additions and alterations it is certain that we have in Beowulf a poem composed before the Teutonic conquest of Britain. The localities are purely continental; the scenery is laid amongst the Goths of Sweden and the Danes; in the episodes the Swedes, Frisians, and other continental tribes appear, while there is no mention of England, or the adjoining countries and nations." Mr. Jno. Fenton, in an able article on "Easter" in the _Antiquary_ for April, 1882, says--"To us in western lands the equinox is the beginning of spring and the new life of the year; but in the east it is the beginning of summer, when the early harvest is also ripe, when the sun is parching the grass and drying up the wells, when, as Egyptian folk-lore has it, a serpent wanders over the earth, infecting the atmosphere with its poisonous breath."[26] These mythical huge worms, serpents, dragons, wild boars, and other monsters, "harvest blasters," are still very common in the North of England. The famous "Lambton worm," of huge dimensions and poisonous breath, when coiled round a hill, was pacified with copious draughts of milk, and his blood flowed freely when he was pierced by the spear-heads attached to the armour of the returned Crusader. The Linton worm curled itself round a hill, and by its poisonous breath destroyed the neighbouring animal and vegetable life. The Pollard worm is described as "a venomous serpent which did much harm to man and beast," while that at Stockburn is designated as the "worm, dragon, or fiery flying serpent, which destroyed man, woman, and child." In the ancient romance in English verse, which celebrates the deeds of the renowned Sir Guy, of Warwick, is the following quaint description of a Northumberland dragon, slain by the hero:-- A messenger came to the king. Syr king he sayd, lysten me now, For bad tydinges I bring you. In Northumberlande there is no man, But that they be slayne everychone; For there dare no man route, By twenty myle rounde aboute, For doubt of a fowle dragon, That sleath men and beastes downe. He is blacke as any cole, Ragged as a rough fole; His body from the navill upwards. No man may it pierce it is so harde; His neck is great as any summere; He renneth as swift as any distrere; Pawes he hath as a lyon; All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe, Great winges he hath to flight, That is no man that bare him might, There may no man fight him agayne, But that he sleath him certayne; For a fowler beast then is he, Ywis of none never heard ye. The said Guy, amongst other marvellous exploits, killed at "Winsor,"