cross Britain, indicates with undeviating
fidelity that there, in remote decades, Roman legions camped and the
Roman argent eagle flashed back morning to the sun. Coin is a
contraction for "colonia," indicating that at the place so designated a
Roman colonia received honors at the hands of the Roman Senate. In
other words, these locative terminals are as certainly bequeathed
England by the Roman occupancy as is London Tower. "Ton" is historical
too, but is footprint of another passing race--namely the Gaul,
defeated of Caesar on many a bloody field--and is a contraction of
"tuin," meaning garden, appearing in Ireland as "dun," meaning
garrison, both indicating an inclosure, and so becoming a frequent
terminal for names of cities, as Huntingtuin or tun, probably
originally a hunting-tower or hamlet. A second form of "ton" is our
ordinary "town," which, as often as we use, we are speaking the tongue
of the Trans-Alpine Gauls, taking a syllable from the word of a
half-forgotten people. From yet another source is the locative "ham."
Chester is of Roman origin, tun is of Gaelic; but "ham" is Anglo-Saxon,
and means village, whence the sweet word home. Witness the use of this
suffix in Effingham and the like. "Stoke" and "beck" and "worth" are
also Saxon. "Thorpe" and "by" are Danish, as in Althorp and Derby.
These reminiscent instances from over seas will serve to illuminate the
thought under discussion--the historical element embodied in the names
of localities. As in these three locatives we track three distinct
peoples through England, we may, by the same method, fall on the
footprints of divers civilizations in our New World.

Thus far we have touched at random, as one does on a holiday. Now,
seriously, as on a journey of discovery, may we take staff in hand to
trace, if possible, the elusive march of populations by the ashes of
their campfires, as Evangeline did the wanderings of Gabriel, her
beloved.

The Dutch, more's the pity, have left scant memorials of their American
empire. "Knickerbocker's History of New York" has effectually laughed
them out of court; but, notwithstanding, they were mighty men, whose
idiosyncrasies we readily catch at as a jest, but whose greatness
breaks on us slowly, as great matters must. "Kill" was a Dutch word,
meaning creek, a terminal appearing in many of the few words they have
left us, such as Fishkill, Peekskill, Wynantskill, Catskill. Along the
banks of streams, with na