nked by
two other stones standing erect on each side. Let any one go there to
watch a sunset about the time of the autumnal equinox, and he will see
that the shadow thrown by the erect stone would fall straight through the
hole of the _Men-an-tol_. We know that the great festivals of the ancient
world were regulated by the sun, and that some of these festive
seasons--the winter solstice about Yule-tide or Christmas, the vernal
equinox about Easter, the summer solstice on Midsummer-eve, about St. John
Baptist's day, and the autumnal equinox about Michaelmas--are still kept,
under changed names and with new objects, in our own time. This
_Men-an-tol_ may be an old dial erected originally to fix the proper time
for the celebration of the autumnal equinox; and though it may have been
applied to other purposes likewise, such as the curing of children by
dragging them several times through the hole, still its original intention
may have been astronomical. It is easy to test this observation, and to
find out whether the same remark does not hold good of other stones in
Cornwall, as, for instance, the Two Pipers. We do not wish to attribute to
this guess as to the original intention of the _Men-an-tol_ more
importance than it deserves, nor would we in any way countenance the
opinion of those who, beginning with Caesar, ascribe to the Celts and their
Druids every kind of mysterious wisdom. A mere shepherd, though he had
never heard the name of the equinox, might have erected such a stone for
his own convenience, in order to know the time when he might safely bring
his flocks out, or take them back to their safer stables. But this would
in no way diminish the interest of the _Men-an-tol_. It would still remain
one of the few relics of the childhood of our race; one of the witnesses
of the earliest workings of the human mind in its struggle against, and in
its alliance with, the powers of nature; one of the vestiges of the first
civilization of the British Isles. Even the Romans, who carried their
Roman roads in a straight line through the countries they had conquered,
undeterred by any obstacles, unawed by any sanctuaries, respected, as can
hardly be doubted, Silbury Hill, and made the road from Bath to London
diverge from the usual straight line, instead of cutting through that
time-honored mound. Would the engineers of our railways show a similar
regard for any national monument, whether Celtic, Roman, or Saxon? When
Charles II.,