Of Pears, the Bon Chrêtien called by English Gardeners the Bum-Gritton, the Teton de Venus and the Cuisse Madame, three names which equally mark the country from whence they came. The last Bishop of Alais before the French Revolution visiting a Rector once who was very rich and very avaricious, gave him some gentle admonitory hint of the character he had heard of him. “Mais Monseigneur,” said the Man, “il faut garder une Poire pour la soif.” “Vous avez bien raison,” replied the Bishop: “prenez garde seulement qu'elle soit du bon Chrêtien.” The first Lord Camelford in one of whose letters this pun is preserved, thought it perfect. But to proceed with the nomenclature of Pears, there are the Supreme, the Bag-pipe of Anjou, the Huff Cap, the Grey Good Wife, the Goodman's Pear, the Queen's Pear, the Prince's Pear, the Marquis's Pear, the Dean's Pear, the Knave's Pear, the Pope's Pear, the Chaw Good, the Vicar, the Bishop's Thumb, the Lady's Lemon, the Lord Martin, the St. Austin, La Pastorelle and Monsieur John, the Great Onion, the Great Mouthwater, the King of Summer, the Angelic Pear,—and many others which I would rather eat than enumerate. At present the Louis Philippe holds pre-eminence.
The Propria quæ Potatibus will be found not less rich,—though here we perceive a lower key of invention, as adapted to a lower rank of fruit and affording a proof of Nature's Aristocracy;—here we have Red Champions, White Champions, Late Champions and English Champions, Early Manlys, Rough Reds, Smooth Yellows, Silver Skins, Pink Eyes, Golden Tags, Golden Gullens, Common Wise, Quaker Wise, Budworth's Dusters, Poor Man's Profit, Lady Queens, Drunken Landlords, Britons, Crones, Apples, Magpies, Lords, Invincibles, the Painted Lady and the Painted Lord, the Golden Dun, the Old Red Rough, and the Ox Noble;
Cum multis aliis quæ nunc perscribere longum est.
For Roses, methinks Venus, and the Fair Maid, and Flora, and Favorite, and Diana may well keep company with our old favourite the Maiden Blush. There may be too, though it were to be wished there were not, a Miss Bold, among these beautiful flowers. Nor would I object to Purple nor to Ruby, because they are significant if nothing more. But for Duchess, with double blush, methinks the characteristic and the name go ill together. The Great Mogul is as bad as the Vagrant; the Parson worse than either; and for Mount Etna, and Mount Vesuvius, it excites an explosion of anger to hear of them.
Among the trees in Barbadoes, we read of Anchovy the Apple, the Bread and Cheese, or Sucking bottle, the Belly ache and the Fat Pork Tree!
From the fields and gardens to the Dairy. In the Vaccine nomenclature we pass over the numerals and the letters of the Alphabet. Would you have more endearing appellations than Curly, Curl-pate, Pretty, Browny, Cot Lass, Lovely Lass (a name peradventure imposed by that person famous in the proverb, as the old Woman who kissed her Cow)—more promising than Bee, Earnest, Early, Standfast, Fill-bouk, Fillpan,—more romantic than Rose, Rosely, Rosebud, Roseberry, Rosamond, Rosella, Rosalina, Furba, Firbrella, Firbrina, more rural than Rurorea.
Then for Bulls,—was there not the Bull Shakespeare, by Shakespeare off young Nell, who was sold in the year 1793 for £400., with a condition that the seller should have the privilege every year of introducing two Cows to the said Shakespeare. And was there not the Bull Comet who was sold for 1000 guineas. I say nothing of Alderman Bull, nor of John Bull, nor of the remarkable Irish Breed.
For horses I content myself with remembering the never to be forgotten Pot-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-os, sometimes written Pot8os. Whose was the proudest feeling of exultation, his who devised this numerico-literal piece of wit,—or that of Archimedes when he exclaimed Εὑρηκα? And while touching the Arithmographic mode of writing let us not forget the Frenchman who by the union of a pun and a hieroglyph described his Sovereign's style thus—Louis with ten-oysters in a row after the name.
As for the scientific names of Plants,—if Apollo had not lost all power he would have elongated the ears of Tournefort and Linnæus, and all their followers, as deservedly as he did those of Midas.
Of the Knights or Horsemen, Greeks and Trojans, Rustics and Townsmen among—Butterflies,—and the Gods, Goddesses, Muses and Graces, Heroes, Worthies and Unworthies, who feed in their grub state upon lettuces and cabbages, sleep through their aurelian term of existence, and finally obtain a name in the naturalist's nomenclature, and perhaps a local habitation in his Cabinet with a pin through their bodies, I say nothing, farther than to state why one tribe of them is denominated Trojans. Be it known then in the words of a distinguished Entomologist, that “this tribe has been dedicated by Entomologists to the memory of the more distinguished worthies of the Trojan race, and above others to preserve, the memory of those heroes whose exploits in the defence of that rich and potent station of the ancient world, the town of Troy, have been commemorated in the Iliad by the immortal Homer.” Lest Homer therefore and all the works derived from him should perish from remembrance the Entomologists have very considerately devised this means for preserving the memory of Hector.