lucendo principle, bestowing a name indicated
by no especial reason, calling a street Gloucester-
row which has nothing whatever to do with
Gloucester, or Guildford-place when it has no
connexion of any sort or kind with the capital
of Surrey.

The impropriety of acting upon this last
principle, or want of principle, need not be dwelt on.
In these days it is not likely that public opinion
would suffer the bestowal, on this river-side
road, of a name chosen arbitrarily, or because
of its having a euphonious sound, or suggesting
aristocratic associations. That a large class of
English people would willingly assent to the selection
of a name, recommended only by its power
of appealing to that flunky element which
exists in the breast of so many free-born Britons,
cannot be doubted. A stroll in the suburbs of
London, where private houses—and sometimes
very small ones—are called by such names as
"Balmoral House," or "Osborne Lodge," or
"Lordship Villa," will convince any sceptic
that there are a great many people, residing in
London and its neighbourhood, who would be
very well pleased if a name could be bestowed
on the new street, which would remind them
in some way, nearly or remotely, of the Court
Circular. But this class, though a large one,
is not influential in matters of this kind; and
we need hardly distress ourselves with
apprehensions lest the Thames Embankment should
have its prospects blighted by any allusion, on
its corner houses, either to Royal personages
themselves or to their places of abode. It will
certainly not be called Balmoral-terrace, or
Osborne-esplanade, much as Clapham and Hackney
might like it. As to the places of abode
of Royalty, then, we need be under no alarm.
Are we equally secure that the authorities
in giving a name to this very important roadway
will abstain from consulting the Court
Circular at all in its past or present developments?

It is necessary to speak plainly in this matter.
We are constructing a street which will, in all
human probability, be, now and for ages to come,
one of the great streets of the world. We are
not much given, as a nation, to foresight or
precaution, but it does not require a large amount
of the gift of prophecy to enable one to predict
that this new thoroughfare will pay an important
part in the world's history between the
time of this, its first construction, and the period
when, yielding to the universal law, it decays
and becomes a heap of ruins. Now, the name
which we bestow upon this street, once given, is
given for ever, so that we ought really to be
very careful in our selection; and surely, being
duly impressed with the importance of what we
are doing, we may at least arrive at one conclusion,
that—with the example of Regent-street
before our eyes—we ought to be very wary of
Royal titles, and should be justified in resolving
that at all events, and come what may, we will
keep clear of the Court Circular, and the
Almanach de Gotha, in naming the Thames
Embankment.

To call a street or public place, in an arbitrary
manner, by any name that sound well,or is
recommended only by its court circularity, is
distinctly bad. What principles then remain for
our street godfathers to act upon? Two
principles mentioned just now. First, we may name
our new street either after some great man,
or in commemoration of some great historical
event, or, secondly, in allusion to some local
characteristic peculiar to the thoroughfare in
question, and obviously distinguishing it from
all others.

As to the first of these, it has been acted upon
already to some small extent in this country,
and in France much more. We have, among
others, a Wellington-street, tolerably conspicuous,
and a Milton-street, somewhat obscure;
and taking more modern instances, we find a
Cromwell road, a Cromwell place, and a Garrick
street among our newer thoroughfares. Our
language, perhaps, lends itself less aptly to this
arrangement than does the French. Rue Jean
Jacques Rousseau sounds better than Sir Isaac
Newton-street, and Quai Voltaire than Bacon's
quay; but in spite of that, it is certain that we
should do right to call some of our new streets
after our great men, and that our James Watts,
our Brunels, our Jenners, and the rest, may
fitly be commemorated by having their names
inscribed on our corner houses. Whether in
the case of this particular street or road, called
at present the Thames Embankment, we should
act wisely in proceeding on this principle, is
another question.

Much, again, might be said that would be
favourable to a name commemorative of some
great event in our history. And here it may be
premised that such event need not, by any
means, be one of those victories which we are
so fond—perhaps too fond—of calling to mind.
This boasting and bragging about our victories
is, after all, rather a barbarous business, not
like the age we live in, probably still less like
those ages that are to come. The Indian, with
his scalp trophies suspended from his girdle,
after all, acts much as we do when we call a
bridge after the battle of Waterloo, or name our
principal square in commemoration of Trafalgar.

The issue of a war is generally the establishment
of peace; is it good to sully such peace
by for ever harping on the quarrel which
preceded it? How would this answer in private
life? When Jack Noakes has quarrelled with
his neighbour Tom Styles, about a trespass or
a question of boundaries, and, having got the
best of it, has made the quarrel up again, does
he immediately call his house Boundary Villa,
or is the name of his spare bed-chamber altered
from "the Blue Room" to Styles's Trespass?
There is no more reason why a nation should
brag of its victories than an individual, and it
is perhaps more dignified, as it is certainly more
graceful, to be silent about such deeds of
prowess. As to names given in commemoration
of those political and other events which
have tended to make us what we are—victories