difficult.

Pacciuchelli says:--"The Anio flows into the Tiber; pure as crystal it
meets the tawny stream, and is lost in it, so that there is no more
Anio, but the united stream is all Tiber." So is it with each
tributary to the tide of mediæval mythology. The moment it has blended
its waters with the great and onward rolling flood, it is impossible
to detect it with certainty; it has swollen the stream, but has lost
its own identity. If we would analyse a particular myth, we must not
go at once to the body of mediæval superstition, but strike at one of
the tributaries before its absorption. This we shall proceed to do,
and in selecting Norse mythology, we come upon abundant material,
pointing naturally to the spot whence it has been derived, as glacial
moraines indicate the direction which they have taken, and point to
the mountains whence they have fallen. It will not be difficult for us
to arrive at the origin of the Northern belief in were-wolves, and the
data thus obtained will be useful in assisting us to elucidate much
that would otherwise prove obscure in mediæval tradition.

Among the old Norse, it was the custom for certain warriors to dress
in the skins of the beasts they had slain, and thus to give themselves
an air of ferocity, calculated to strike terror into the hearts of
their foes.

Such dresses are mentioned in some Sagas, without there being any
supernatural qualities attached to them. For instance, in the Njála
there is mention of a man _i geitheðni_, in goatskin dress. Much in
the same way do we hear of Harold Harfagr having in his company a band
of berserkir, who were all dressed in wolf-skins, _ulfheðnir_, and
this expression, wolf-skin coated, is met with as a man's name. Thus