nster municipal chronicles. But
it was desperately hard work to fix her attention.

'Beorminster,' explained the pedantic dean, not unmoved by his
listener's artificial charms, 'is derived from two Anglo-Saxon
words--Beorh a hill, and mynster the church of a monastery. Anciently,
our city was called Beorhmynster, "the church of the hill," for, as you
can see, my dear young lady, our cathedral is built on the top of a
considerable rise, and thence gained its name. The townsfolk were
formerly vassals, and even serfs, of the monastery which was destroyed
by Henry VIII.; but the Reformation brought about by that king put an
end to the abbot's power. The head of the Beorhmynster monastery was a
mitred abbot--'

'And Bishop Pendle is a mitred bishop,' interposed the fair Daisy, to
show the quickness of her understanding, and thereby displaying her
ignorance.

'All bishops are mitred,' said Dr Alder, testily; 'a crozier and a mitre
are the symbols of their high office. But the Romish abbots of
Beorhmynster were not bishops although they were mitred prelates.'

'Oh, how very, very amusing,' cried Daisy, suppressing a yawn. 'And the
name of the river, dear Mr Dean? Does Beorflete mean the church of the
hill too?'

'Certainly not, Miss Norsham. "Flete," formerly "fleot," is a
Scandinavian word and signifies "a flood," "a stream," "a channel."
Beorhfleot, or--as we now erroneously call it--Beorflete, means, in the
vulgar tongue, the flood or stream of the hill. Even in Normandy the
word fleot has been corrupted, for the town now called Harfleur was
formerly correctly designated "Havoflete." But I am afraid you find this
information dull, Miss Norsham!'

This last remark was occasioned by Daisy yawning. It is true that she
held a fan, and had politely hidden her mouth when yawning;
unfortunately, the fan was of transparent material, and Daisy quite
forgot that Mr Dean could see the yawn, which he certainly did. In some
confusion she extricated herself from an awkward situation by
protesting that she was not tired but hungry, and suggested that Dr
Alder should continue his instructive conversation at supper. Mollified
by this dexterous evasion, which he saw no reason to disbelieve, the
dean politely escorted his companion to the regions of champagne and
chicken, both of which aided the lady to sustain further doses of
dry-as-dust facts dug out of a monastic past by the persevering Dr
Alder. It was in this artful fashion that