October 8, 1886.] 



BGIENCE. 



333 



eofer, was fomid at Eversley, Evershot, and Ever- 

 ton ; and the presence of the beaver is indicated 

 by such names as Beverly, Beverstone, and Bever- 

 coates. 



Changes in our customs, too, are to be traced in 

 old names. Two of the strongest marks of the 

 importance of a town are to be found in the exist- 

 ence of a market, or the possession of a bridge 

 over the neighboring stream. The Old-English 

 verb ceapian (to buy) gives us the words cheap, 

 goodcheap, dogcheap, chapman, chaffer, horse- 

 couper, and chop ; and it also gives us the pre- 

 fixes chipping, chep, and Jcippen. Cheapside and 

 Eastcheap were the old market-places of London ; 

 and into Cheapside, even to this day, run Bread 

 Street (where Milton was born), Milk Street, and 

 the Poultry. In the north of Europe we find 

 Copenhagen, which means ' Chipping or Market 

 Haven ; ' Nordkioping, which means ' North 

 Market ; ' and many others. 



Even the mistakes in names are full of sugges- 

 tion. The readers of Sir Walter Scott's 'Pirate' 

 know Fitful Head in Shetland as the abode of 

 Noma. But Fitful Head, though a quite appro- 

 priate name, is a mere corruption, undoubtedly 

 by mistake of the old Scandinavian name Hvit-fell 

 (or White Hill). Cape Wrath, again, has in its 

 oldest meaning nothing to do with storm, but, in 

 its old Norse form of Cape Hvarf, simjily indicates 

 a turning-point, — the point where the land trends 

 in a new direction ; and it contains the same root 

 as the words wharf and Antwerp. 



Many similar corruptions are to be found in 

 England. The walk from Buckingham Palace to 

 Westminster is now called Birdcage Walk, which 

 is only a meaningful corruption of Bocage Walk ; 

 Chateau Vert, in Oxfordshire and in Kent, has 

 been altered into Shotover Hill, and a legend about 

 Robin Hood and Little John has been attached ; 

 Beau Lieu, in Monmouthshire, has grown into 

 Bewley ; Grand Pont, in Cornwall, into Gram- 

 poufid ; and Bon Gue (the good ford), in Suffolk, 

 has been, too, naturalized into Bungay. 



So far, we have seen that history and philology 

 become the loyal servants of the teacher. Shall 

 we be able to say the same of poetry ? How shall 

 the most brilliant outcome of the human intellect, 

 the most inspired expression of the mind, the 

 product of the noblest faculties, strengthened by 

 and intertwisted with the deepest emotion, help 

 our much stiidy of the world? 



To some extent it has already done so. Long- 

 fellow has produced for us a geographical library 

 in thirty-two volumes, which he calls ' Poems of 

 places.' Four of them have been republished by 

 Messrs. Macmillan & Co. in this country ; but the 

 whole thirty-two volumes ought to be in the library 



of every large school and college. Such a collec- 

 tion contains, and must contain, a great deal of 

 what is good, of what is indifferent ; and we know 

 that neither gods nor nor men columns tolerate 

 the indifferent in poetry. 



But let us choose that which is good, and hold 

 fast to it. How does Longfellow introduce Edin- 

 burgh to us? We who know the city, and have 

 loved it long, know that it is a poet's dream in 

 stone, watched by the everlasting hills, looked in 

 upon by the eternally-during sea, bowered in trees, 

 intermingled with rocks and crags and cliffs, and 

 possessing a history that no taint of doubt or 

 cowardice has ever sullied. 



How does Burns describe this world-famous 

 city ? — 



■' Edina, Scotia's darling seat, 

 All hail thy palaces and towers, 

 Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

 Sat Legislation's sovereign powers ! 



" Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, 



With open hand the stranger hail ; 

 Their views enlarged, their liberal mind. 

 Above the narrow, rural vale." 



Sir Walter Scott sings of the city in other scenes, 

 and with the thought of war in his mind : — 

 " Nor dream that from thy fenceless throne 

 Strength and security are flown ; 

 Still, as of yore, queen of the north. 

 Still canst thou send thy children forth. 

 Ne'er readier at alarm bell's call 

 Thy burghers rose to man thy wall, 

 Than now, in danger, shall be thine, 

 Thy dauntless voluntary line ; 

 For fosse and turret proud to stand, 

 Their breasts the bulwarks of the land." 



Not inferior are the lines of Alexander Smith, 

 whom many of us still remember : — 



" Edina, high in heaven wan, 

 Towered, templed, Metropolitan, 



Waited upon by hills. 

 River, and widespread ocean, tinged 

 By April light, or draped and fringed 



As April vapor wills, 

 Thou hangest, like a Cyclop's dream, 

 High in the shifting weather-gleam. 

 " Fair art thou, when above thy head 

 The mistless firmament is spread ; 



But when the twilight's screen 

 Draws glimmering round thy towers and spires, 

 And thy lone bridge, uncrowned by fires. 



Hangs in the dim ravine, 

 Thou art a very Persian tale, — 

 Or Mirza's vision, Bagdad's vale." 



Not less true, not less adequate, is the sonnet 

 written by A. H. Hailam, the early-lost friend, in 

 sorrow for whom Tennyson wrote his ' In memo- 

 riam : ' — 



" Even thus, methinks, a city reared should be — 

 Yea, an imperial city, that might hold 

 Five times a hundred noble towns in fee, 

 And either with the might of Babel old, 

 Or the rich Roman pomp of empery, 

 Might stand compare, highest in arts unrolled. 

 Highest in arms : brave tenement for the free, 

 Who never crouch to thrones, or sin for gold, 



