the mean dates being: mezereon, 22nd January; furze, 24th January; hazel, 26th January; snowdrop, 30th January. One cause of variation in the date
of flowering is temperature, and in the early months of the year this is probably the principal cause. Temperature must in the same way affect the flowering of summer plants, though the result is not so striking as in the springtime. In my article “A Procession of Flowers” (in this volume) I have given the range of the dates of flowering for different months.
The spring is the happiest season for those who love plants, who delight to watch and record the advent of old friends as the great procession of green leaves and beautiful flowers unwinds itself with a glory which no familiarity can tarnish.
I cannot resist giving the names of some of the flowers that make this familiar show that February and March give us. Field-speedwell (Veronica agrestis), butcher’s broom, Pyrus japonica, primrose, red dead-nettle, crocus, dandelion, periwinkle, celandine, marsh-marigold, sweet violet, ivy-leaved veronica, daffodil, white dead-nettle, colt’s-foot (Tussilago farfara), dog’s mercury, buttercup (Ranunculus repens), hyacinth, almond-tree, gooseberry, wood-sorrel, ground-ivy, wall-flower. The order in which they occur is taken from the mean dates of flowering given by Blomefield. To a lover of plants, this commonplace list will, I hope, be what a score is to a musician, and will recall to him some of the charm of the orchestra of living beauty that springtime awakens.
SOME NAMES OF CHARACTERS IN FICTION [15]
To some readers the personality of the characters in fiction is everything, and the names under which they appear of no importance. This is doubtless a rational position, but to me, and I think to many other novel-readers, the names which our imaginary friends and enemies bear is a matter of the greatest interest. To us it seems unbearable to have a Mr B. as a principal character, and the same objection applies to the names of places—“the little town of C. near the cathedral town of D.” is too depressing. Trollope, who does not rank high as a name-artist, entirely satisfies us with his Barchester and its Bishop Proudie and Archdeacon Grantley. George Eliot, too, has been able in the case of Stonyshire and Loamshire to give convincing names to counties, and never offends in the names of her characters, though they have no especial attractiveness.
In some cases it is hard to say whether or no a given name is appropriate. In Jane Austen’s books, for instance, we have grown up in familiarity with the characters and we cannot associate them with others. It would be unbearable to have Emma’s
lover called Mr William Larkins and his servant George Knightley. And this is not merely the result of old acquaintance; there is, I cannot doubt, a real dignity in one name and a touch of comedy in the other. For this statement one can but rely on instinct, but a real William Larkins (and I must apologise to him if he exists) will doubtless take a different view of the matter.
But Jane Austen, like George Eliot, makes no pretence to be an artist in nomenclature. She merely aims, I imagine, at names which, without being colourless, are free from meaning and in every way possible.
Thackeray is the outstanding instance of a novelist who makes a fine-art of nomenclature. With him there is an obvious delight in coining names. Thus there would be no harm in Clive Newcome going to Windsor and Newton’s shop to buy paint brushes, but Thackeray sends him to Messrs Soap and Isaac—a parody of that highly respectable firm which always pleases me.