Memorial figures to seven Saxon bishops carved in Doulting stone on coffin-lids are in Wells Cathedral. The five earlier of these were sculptured by masons who had been engaged on the newly completed quire built by Bishop Reginald, and the leaf-carving on the canopied niches for the heads and the folds for the draperies in parallel-curved ribs give the date of 1200 for two of these effigies and a few years later for the other three. The latest two bishop-effigies show, however, that these masons or their sons, who were training themselves to become statuaries, were using stiff-leaf foliage on the slab of Bishop Dudoc's effigy, and on both are found the ripple folds of drapery, a well known characteristic of the statues on Bishop Jocelyn's west front (1220–40), giving us the date of 1230 (pl. 1, fig. 1). We are thus enabled to study at Wells the gradual advance towards statue technique from the beginning of the thirteenth century until the death of Bishop Jocelyn in 1242, marking a stage in a local experiment of English sculpture. These thirteenth-century craftsmen of Wells show wonderful restraint as well as great simplicity, while at the same time in no way indifferent to the charm of light and flowing drapery.

In most text-books of archaeology the section dealing with the Bronze Age in the Aegean invariably refers us to the culture of Crete and Mycenae. Under the heading of ‘South-Eastern Europe’ we are usually given an account of the Bronze Age of Hungary and the Danubian area. But between these two regions lies an area which is, as yet, almost entirely uncharted by archaeologists, an area which, from its position, is one of the most important in Southern Europe. Between the Danube and the Aegean, the Black Sea and the hills that hem in the river Vardar on its right bank, lies an area across which, by rigidly limited routes, have passed all intrusive elements from Asia and all invading elements into Asia, either by way of the South Russian Steppe or across the Dardanelles and Bosporus.

The dial forming the subject of this paper, acquired by the British Museum in 1923, is of gilt copper, made in the form of a book, along the edges of which are inscribed in capitals the words: Lucerna instrumentalis | intellectus directiva | sive instrumentum sciendi. The dial-plate which is fixed in the interior has a compass and two very short gnomons. It is for use in the latitudes of 42 and 45, and would serve for Rome and one of the large towns in the North Italian plain, perhaps Milan or Venice. It was made at Rome in the year 1593, as shown by the inscription on the dial-plate. On the cover is a shield of arms, barry, and in chief the letters I H S surmounted by a cross, a feature perhaps indicating that the owner was a member of the Society of Jesus; a fuller device, in which the three nails of the Passion are seen below the sacred monogram and cross, occupies the centre of the figure on the outside of the lower cover. The identification of the arms presents difficulties. They might be those of the Caraffa (gules, three bars argent), a member of which family, Vincenzio Caraffa, was general of the Jesuits in 1645.

Perhaps the first thing to remark about these seals is that they have suffered serious damage. Of course, anywhere seals are liable to damage. The chalky composition used in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries becomes very friable with age, and sometimes seems only to be held together by the varnish; various chemical preservatives have been suggested, but it is doubtful whether they are effective. The wax of the next three centuries is very much better, and a seal free from pressure and left undisturbed should be quite perfect to-day. These conditions may often be found in the muniment boxes of corporations or old manor houses, but the public records, until their arrangement in the last century, had lain for many years in such vast piles that seals among them had a poor chance. Every one knows that the wax of seals is brittle, but it is often forgotten that it is also a liquid and will yield to any pressure, however small, if continued long enough; just as we see a block of pitch in the street sinking under its own weight, though hard to the touch. Deformation of seals is quite common, and occasionally two or more have coalesced. Cotton-wool is a good protection against concussion, but it is harder than wax and will penetrate it under pressure; while, on the other hand, the cases of wood or metal known as skippets are protection against deformation, but not so much against concussion.

A combination of circumstances having recently brought the Canterbury gravels into prominence, a preliminary survey of some implement-bearing deposits in the Stour valley is now offered to the Society for comparison or contrast with the report on the Swanscombe and Dartford areas in the Thames valley published in Archaeologia, lxiv and lxv. The map of Kent issued by the Geological Survey in 1865 showed only the solid geology, not the Drift deposits, which date from the human period and provide abundant (if often puzzling) evidence as to the sequence of primitive dwellers in this region. The geological map is now being revised, four sheets having already been published; and as the series of memoirs accompanying the sheets includes a survey of the palaeolithic relics and conditions, a special effort is required to disentangle the recent geology of the Stour valley, which, in comparison with the lower Thames, has been unaccountably neglected.

Stow in his Survey of London describes St. Dunstan in the East as ‘a great parish of many rich merchants, and other occupiers of diverse trades namely salters and ironmongers’. Then turning to speak of Thames Street he writes: ‘in this street on the Thames side are divers large landing places called wharves and keys, for cranage up of wares and merchandise, as also for shipping of wares from thence to be transported. These wharves and keys commonly bear the names of their owners, and are therefore changeable.’ The frequent changes of name to which Stow thus alludes probably made it as difficult for him as it is for us to trace the history of any particular quay. Apart from a brief account of Wool Wharf, which in the reign of Richard II became the Custom House and has so continued to this day, Stow contented himself with recording a fifteenth-century reference to Passekes Wharf and Horner's Key, and with an incidental allusion to Porter's Key. But he did not attempt to give their history, though what there was to tell of the last of them must have fallen within his own memory.

The publication of the first volume of Sir Arthur Evans' Palace of Minos marks the beginning of a new era in the prehistory, not only of the Aegean, but of Europe as a whole. In the light of the new material there published and the precise dating of the old, it becomes possible to invest with an absolute value the relative chronology established for parts of central Europe as a result of the patient labours of Professor Vassits of Belgrade, the late Notary Palliardi of Moravské Budejovice, Dr. Seger of Breslau, and other workers during the last ten years. Thus chronology, the indispensable pre-condition for drawing historical conclusions from archaeological material, is on its way to finding a sure footing. The present paper represents an attempt to apply these results to our own country by giving precision to the date of the arrival of the Beakerfolk.

For many centuries, though a good many tapestries were woven in France, Flanders was the chief centre of the industry, and supplied the various European countries with tapestries and hangings of a similar character. Cloths of Arras were in demand for English country houses, and large purchases were made from time to time by the richer nobles. It was, however, at the beginning of the sixteenth century that tapestries came increasingly into demand and favour in England, as is evident by the fine collection made by Cardinal Wolsey for Hampton Court, and that of King Henry VIII for his own palaces. The inventory taken after his death records over 2,000 specimens, while a writer states that ‘one ship from the Continent carried no less than one thousand tapestries for the King of England’. Agents were employed in Flanders to secure the finest specimens as they were woven.

The Kunstgewerbe Museum at Cologne contains a peculiarly interesting example of medieval English alabaster carving, enclosed in what seems to be its original painted wooden case. A few years ago Dr. Carl Schaefer, who was then in charge of the Wallraf-Richartz Museum, found it cast aside in a store-room of that institution, and, having recognized its nature and origin, exhibited it for a little time in one of the galleries; afterwards, he had it removed to the Kunstgewerbe Museum, of which he was director, where it more properly belonged. I saw it in June 1922, soon after it had first been exhibited, and, at my request, Dr. Schaefer courteously had made for me the two photographs (pi. XLV, figs. 1 and 2) herewith reproduced.

In Prof. J. Strzygowski's recent work in English on the Origin of Christian Church Art, there is a chapter on Hiberno-Saxon art in the time of Bede (673–735); with the following striking passage: ‘Whether I turn to the remains of Anglo-Saxon churches, to the crosses, or to the manuscripts of the time of Bede, I feel in the presence of an art which differs from every other art in the world. Above all, I feel that we have here no mere pale reflection of Roman or Byzantine art’. (p. 233).

In March 1915 I made a short communication to the Society on two gravestones recently found in the ruins of Lindisfarne Priory. The works of repair, in the course of which these stones came to light, have since been continued, with such interruptions as may easily be understood, and are now nearly finished. Other gravestones of the same class have been found from time to time, and a good many fragments of standing crosses and cross-slabs, in addition to those already known, have been added to the collection in the little museum on Holy Island, and it has seemed to me that the time has now come when some general account of these stones may be attempted.

The further examination of the site in the meadow at Bidford-on-Avon, belonging to the Bidford Co-operative Society, and the adjoining garden, the property of the Stratford-on-Avon Brewery Company, was carefully carried out during the summer of 1923. The survey plan (pl. LIX) made by Mr. Wellstood shows the direction of the trenches, and the position of each interment.

It is now almost exactly twelve years since I first introduced this subject to the notice of the Society in connexion with a then recent deposit of medieval Exchequer Tallies at the Public Record Office; and though I subsequently communicated two further notes upon it, I may plead that even since those were made ten years have elapsed. During that “time there has been a great change in our knowledge of Exchequer procedure. Two or three notable books have appeared and a considerable amount of work has been done, though not all of it has yet been printed, upon the neglected Exchequer Records. Already we begin to look with quite different eyes at medieval financial problems, even though our knowledge of the great mass of the Memoranda Rolls, Receipt and Issue Rolls, Wardrobe Accounts and subsidiary documents still owes practically nothing to any publication of texts from those Records. I have accordingly thought it worth while to submit to the Society a further stage in our knowledge of the financial system, public, semi-public and private, of which Tallies formed so important a part. I have fortunately little to retract from what I said in my previous papers, but there are a few new points to note, some remarks to be extended, and a selection to be offered from a considerable accumulation of further illustrations.