the f being changed into th, which is not uncommon.
Isidorus says that Thule derived its name
from the sun, " because it here makes its summer
solstice, and beyond it there is no day." Another
etymology traces the name to a Greek word,
signifying "afar;" which makes us think of
Thomson's remote, dreamy line about the Hebrides,

           Placed far amidst the melancholy main.

Thule, King of Egypt— a gentleman of somewhat
apocryphal existence— has been made to
stand godfather to the mysterious northern land.
But Bochart says "the northern regions are
always described as dark, and that some of the
poets call this island Black Thule; that the
Syrians use the word thule to denote ' shades'
(thule ramsa, ' the shades of evening'); and that
the Phœnicians doubtless named it thule, darkness,
or Gezirat Thule, 'island of darkness.'"
Whatever the meaning of the word, the imagination
cannot but be fascinated by an idea involving
so much of shadowy and far-off mystery.
We travel in fancy into that dim, tremendous
outpost of the habitable globe, and look northward
over the solitary ocean that rolls no mortal
knows whither (perhaps to the boundaries of the
other world, the land of shades and disembodied
souls) and out of which, as Tacitus reports, the
sound of the sun is heard as he rises. The
account of this region, given by the Roman
writer, is wonderfully grand. He says that it
is the end of nature and of the world, and that
"many shapes of gods" are seen on the shores
of the great ocean. In fables such as these
the natural and supernatural seem to meet on
some strange neutral ground.

The mysterious northern island brings to our
mind the seldom-visited and little-known Scilly
Isles, off the coast of Cornwall. Here, again,
there are various derivations; one of which is
from the British word sullêh, "the rocks consecrated
to the sun." A late writer, alluded to
by Mr. Charnock, says that this etymology will
probably be adopted by the traveller who has
beheld these islands from the Land's End by
sunset, when they appear as if embedded in the
setting luminary. The idea thus conveyed is so
impressive and poetical that we wish we could
adopt it without hesitation; but Solinus calls
the islands Silura, whence it has been inferred
that they were at one time inhabited, and received
their name, from the Silures, a nation of
Iberic origin. The people, to this day, are a
singular race, and are not without a suspicion of
having some of the old Phœnician blood in them.
The merchants of Tyre are known to have traded
with the Scilly Islands, as well as with Cornwall,
for tin, and some may have settled there.
Before quitting the locality, we may remark that
The Cornish names of places are often full of
romance. A cavern on the coast is called, in
the old British tongue, "the cave with the
voice." A whole poem is suggested in those few
words.

There is a wild and grotesque popular legend
in connexion with the name " Hammersmith."
Our London readers must have often noticed,
in passing up the river, the two churches
of Fulham and Putney, which are so exactly
alike in size and general architectural arrangement,
that one seems like a reflexion of the
other. According to the old story, these churches
were built, many ages ago, by two sisters of
gigantic stature, who had out one hammer between
them. This they used to throw across
the river, from one to another, as occasion required;
their call and response being, "Put it
nigh!" and "Full home!" One day, however,
the hammer fell to the earth and its claws
got broken. That their work might not stand
still, the sister giantesses betook them to a
smith, who lived in the locality now called
Hammersmith; and this worthy artisan soon set
matters to rights. Thenceforward, the name of
the place commemorated the act. Bowach, in
his Antiquities of Middlesex (1705), is needlessly
severe on this amusing legend, which he
rather superfluously calls "a ridiculous account."
What he adds is scarcely credible, viz. that the
story was in his day " firmly believed" by some
of the inhabitants of Fulham, Putney, and Hammersmith.
But, being resolved to be didactic,
the historian draws from the "fantastic relation"
he has just given, the grave moral that the
ignorant may be imposed on very strangely.
Another etymology of the name Hammersmith
seems to be from Ham, Saxon (a town or dwelling
— the same as the modern English word
home), and hyde or hythe, Saxon for a haven or
harbour. " Therefore," says a writer who has
given attention to the subject, " Ham-hythe signifies
a town with a harbour or creek, which
here connects the river with the centre of the
town, and forms a convenient quay, or dock,
for the landing of various kinds of merchandise,
coals, and corn." The conversion, however,
of Ham-hythe into Hammersmith is an extreme
instance of the effect of time on words and
names.

A legend of a giant is also adduced in explanation
of the name of the city of Antwerp.
Antigone, a giant with a very Greek cognomen,
lived on the banks of the Scheldt; and one
Silvius Brubon cut off the hand of the monster,
and threw it into the river. Thence, says the
story, by means of the two Flemish words,
handt, a hand, and werpen, to throw, comes the
name Antwerp. Scarcely less singular, though
apparently based on fact, is the story told of the
origin of the name Malakoff— a word now associated
with one of the most deadly struggles in
modern history, and with the ducal title of an
illustrious French general. No longer ago than
the year 1831, a sailor and ropemaker, named
Alexander Ivanovitch Malakoff, lived at Sebastopol,
and was celebrated for his wit, his good
humour, and his festal habits. He had many
admirers and friends; but, being led, when in
his cups, into participating in a riot, he was dismissed
from the dockyard in which he was employed,
and reduced to the last resource of opening
a low wine-shed on a hill outside the town.
His old friends crowded about him in his new