th
the country which happens to hold it; every one of our soldiers of
late longed to get back, by no means necessarily because he wanted to
see England again. Did he really want to see it at all--I mean for its
own sake apart from what it held of his? I know that he would have cut
his tongue out sooner than have confessed it. That is his nature, and
I can't help liking him for it--because it is a part of himself, and I
like him better than any man in the world. But allowing for that queer
shyness, how are we to test his love of our country? Is there a sure
test? Well, I know of one, which to my mind is a certainty. Judged
by that I must own that Atkins does not stand as a lover should, or
would.

My test is this. The lover of his countryside knows its physical
features by heart, and to him they have personality. You will have
observed the tendency of Londoners to guide you by the names of
public-houses; you will have noticed their blank ignorance of points
of the compass. To a great extent these defects characterise the Home
Counties, and one might try to excuse them in various ways. In the
North of England, and in Scotland throughout, you will be told to
"go east," or "keep west" (as the Wordsworths were asked, were they
"stepping westward?"), with a conviction that the direction will be
sufficient for you as it plainly is for your guide. Now nobody can
be said to know his countryside who does not know the airts; and
the plain truth is that the Southern Englishman does not know his
countryside at all. How, then, can he love it? But there's a stronger
point than that.

Nothing is more surprising than the indifference of Southerners to
their rivers. Where, for instance, throughout its course do you ever
hear the Thames spoken of as "Thames"--as if it was a person, which no
doubt it is? In the North you talk of Lune and Leven, Esk and Eden:

Tweed said to Till,
What gars ye run so still?

Scotland shows the same respect. Do you remember when Bailie Nicol
Jarvie points out the Forth to Francis? "Yon's Forth," he said with
great solemnity. That was well observed by Scott. In Italy--notably in
Tuscany--a river is always spoken of without the definite article. It
may be the case in Devonshire too; but it is never done here in South
Wilts though we have five beautiful streams ministering to our county
town. Indeed Wiltshire people are nearly as bad as the Cockneys, who
always call their Thames "the river," which is a