uck by its taurinity? What hint of ovinity would there have been
for us if Sir Redvers' surname had happened to be that of him who wrote
the Essays of Elia? Conversely, 'Charles Buller' seems to us now an
impossible nom de vie for Elia; yet it would have done just as well,
really. Even 'Redvers Buller' would have done just as well. 'Walter
Pater' means for us--how perfectly!--the author of Marius the
Epicurean, whilst the author of All Sorts and Conditions of Men was
summed up for us, not less absolutely, in 'Walter Besant.' And yet, if
the surnames of these two opposite Walters had been changed at birth,
what difference would have been made? 'Walter Besant' would have
signified a prose style sensuous in its severity, an exquisitely
patient scholarship, an exquisitely sympathetic way of criticism.
'Walter Pater' would have signified no style, but an unslakable thirst
for information, and a bustling human sympathy, and power of carrying
things through. Or take two names often found in conjunction--Johnson
and Boswell. Had the dear great oracle been named Boswell, and had the
sitter-at-his-feet been named Johnson, would the two names seem to us
less appropriate than they do? Should we suffer any greater loss than
if Salmon were Gluckstein, and Gluckstein Salmon? Finally, take a case
in which the same name was borne by two very different characters. What
name could seem more descriptive of a certain illustrious Archbishop of
Westminster than 'Manning'? It seems the very epitome of saintly
astuteness. But for 'Cardinal' substitute 'Mrs.' as its prefix, and,
presto! it is equally descriptive of that dreadful medio-Victorian
murderess who in the dock of the Old Bailey wore a black satin gown,
and thereby created against black satin a prejudice which has but
lately died. In itself black satin is a beautiful thing. Yet for many
years, by force of association, it was accounted loathsome. Conversely,
one knows that many quite hideous fashions in costume have been set by
beautiful women. Such instances of the subtle power of association will
make clear to you how very easily a name (being neither beautiful nor
hideous in itself) can be made hideous or beautiful by its bearer--how
inevitably it becomes for us a symbol of its bearer's most salient
qualities or defects, be they physical, moral, or intellectual.

Streets are not less characteristic than human beings. 'Look!' cried a
friend of mine, whom lately I found studying a map of