Of course, where the events of Teutonic myth and legend were associated with a particular locality, they have left their mark in the names of places. These, naturally enough, are found for the most part in Germany. In Great Britain—apart from _Asgardby_, _Aysgarth_, _Wayland Smith_, _Wansdyke_, _Wednesbury_, and some others—the place-names that have come to us from pre-Christian religion are principally Celtic, and are usually found—like _Cader Idris_, _Cader Arthur_, _Arthur’s Seat_, _Kynance Cove_, ...—in Scotland, Wales, and Cornwall. Apart from place-names, _galahad_ is a relic of Celtic legend which has found a permanent place and a modern usage in the language; and there may be one or two others. But not many. In England the whole Celtic nation and language died early out of the common consciousness, and it died even more suddenly than the persons of Teutonic myth. This explains the freshness and delight which many young writers of the last generation found in the language and legend of Irish antiquity. To resuscitate, as Keats did, the invisible beings of classical mythology was to dig down into the roots of our present everyday outlook; to take part in the Celtic revival was to feel that you were looking out on the world through an entirely new window—or at any rate through one which had not been cleaned for centuries. We only owe one English word to the Slavonic myths, and that is the unpleasant _vampire_, which was brought back from the East by travellers in the eighteenth century.