FLINT IMPLEMENTS. 
349 
creases often have in the metal at the base of the blade the 
mark or cast of the cord which fastened earlier weapons to the 
handle. What was once a necessity has become merely an 
ornament, and the survival of the idea is all that is left of the 
more ancient plan. Powerful weapons they were in the hands 
of a strong man. Heavy blows could be struck for offence and 
defence. From the Lincolnshire Fens came the skull of an 
ancient Bos pierced through the froutal bone by the stone axe 
of primitive man. 
It is not difficult to distinguish between the true marks of 
wear and those produced by accident ; nor need the chance 
fracture of a stone into a shape resembling the true relics be 
confused with the ancient tool. All real flakes, struck with 
intent, have one flat side marked by a rounded bulb at the end, 
the other sides being more or less numerous, though as a rule 
the section is triangular. When these have been used for 
scraping, either from right to left, or vice versa , the natural 
tendency of the operation would be to break off small fragments 
on one side of the used edge, leaving the other still unchipped. 
Accidental crushing would certainly be likely to create fine 
chipping or shelling on both sides of it. Intentional work 
rarely can leave traces on more than one side. 
So with the implements. A true edge to a tool fashioned 
from material that breaks with a conchoidal fracture could only 
be produced by blows struck alternately on either side, thus 
forming a series of alternate scallops, giving a wavy edge. If 
the concavities were opposite to one another, as they generally 
are in accidental forms, and in by far the greater number of 
forgeries, a blunt crushed edge, incapable of cutting, would 
alone be made. All true flint workers, and notoriously those of 
old time, have recognized this. Nature’s processes rarely con- 
duce to a similar result ; her work is nearly always irregular, 
but man’s labours are characterized by regularity, and have a 
definite intention about them. 
Nature, the grand instructress, will furnish a handful of use- 
ful though inferior tools from any gravel-heap or pile of debris. 
She can make implements, and make them very badly, too. 
No two of them are alike. None quite the thing. Human art 
and thought can alone produce similarity of workmanship. 
Nature may clumsily provide stones that could be used as 
weapons, but she does not make many, and even they are clumsy. 
Nature can fashion, or wear, or weather a rough rock pinnacle 
into the feeble semblance of a human face or form. Human 
art and intellect can see in and produce from the living rock 
the noble statue, or the speaking bust. Nature never shows us 
two flowers exactly alike. Art can give facsimiles of any given 
type of human handiwork, for in the results of man’s skill there 
