“The vulgar people here, call them Chopped Ham,” said a young man, with a book in his hand; “and they say that the sting is the mustard that is usually eaten with Ham. In the Legends of the Isle of Wight,” continued he, glancing at his book, “this strange name is supposed to allude to a chieftain of the name of Ham, who was killed and chopped in pieces near Netley Abbey, and who has given his name, not only to Southampton, but to Hampshire.”
“I should like to get some of these curious creatures in spite of their stinging,” cried Agnes; “they are so beautiful. They look like fairy parasols, continually opening and shutting, but made of the finest gauze, and trimmed with long fringe; and see, there are some tinted with all the colours of the rainbow.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Merton, “the poet says,
——‘There’s not a gem
Wrought by man’s art to be compared to them;
Soft, brilliant, tender, through the wave they glow,
And make the moonbeam brighter where they flow.’”
“How very pretty, mamma,” cried Agnes.
“These lines are very pretty,” said Mr. Merton, “and, moreover, they have a merit not very common in poetry, for they exactly describe the sea-nettles, as they are called, with which you are so much delighted.”
“Sea-nettles!” cried Agnes, “it seems a pity that they have not a prettier name.”