Birds, again, like animals, have suggested various names, and among some of the best-known ones may be mentioned the goose-foot, goose-grass, goose-tongue. Shakespeare speaks of cuckoo-buds, and there is cuckoo's-head, cuckoo-flower, and cuckoo-fruit, besides the stork's-bill and crane's-bill. Bees are not without their contingent of names; a popular name of the Delphinium grandiflorum being the bee-larkspur, "from the resemblance of the petals, which are studded with yellow hairs, to the humble-bee whose head is buried in the recesses of the flower." There is the bee-flower (Ophrys apifera), because the, "lip is in form and colour so like a bee, that any one unacquainted therewith would take it for a living bee sucking of the flower."
In addition to the various classes of names already mentioned, there are a rich and very varied assortment found in most counties throughout the country, many of which have originated in the most amusing and eccentric way. Thus "butter and eggs" and "eggs and bacon" are applied to several plants, from the two shades of yellow in the flower, and butter-churn to the Nuphar luteum, from the shape of the fruit. A popular term for Nepeta glechoma is "hen and chickens," and "cocks and hens" for the Plantago lanceolata. A Gloucestershire nickname for the Plantago media is fire-leaves, and the hearts'-ease has been honoured with all sorts of romantic names, such as "kiss me behind the garden gate;" and "none so pretty" is one of the popular names of the saxifrage. Among the names of the Arum may be noticed "parson in the pulpit," "cows and calves," "lords and ladies," and "wake-robin." The potato has a variety of names, such as leather-jackets, blue-eyes, and red-eyes.
A pretty name in Devonshire for the Veronica chamcaedrys is angel's-eyes:—
"Around her hat a wreath was twined
Of blossoms, blue as southern skies;
I asked their name, and she replied,
We call them angel's-eyes."[6]
In the northern counties the poplar, on account of its bitter bark, was termed the bitter-weed.[7]
"Oak, ash, and elm-tree,
The laird can hang for a' the three;
But fir, saugh, and bitter-weed,
The laird may flyte, but make naething be'et."
According to the compilers of "English Plant Names," "this name is assigned to no particular species of poplar, nor have we met with it elsewhere." The common Solomon's seal (Polygonatum multiflorum) has been nicknamed "David's harp,"[8] and, "appears to have arisen from the exact similarity of the outline of the bended stalk, with its pendent bill-like blossoms, to the drawings of monkish times in which King David is represented as seated before an instrument shaped like the half of a pointed arch, from which are suspended metal bells, which he strikes with two hammers."
In the neighbourhood of Torquay, fir-cones are designated oysters, and in Sussex the Arabis is called "snow-on-the-mountain," and "snow-in-summer." A Devonshire name for the sweet scabriosis is the mournful-widow, and in some places the red valerian (Centranthus ruber) is known as scarlet-lightning. A common name for Achillaea ptarmica is sneezewort, and the Petasites vulgaris has been designated "son before the father." The general name for Drosera rotundifolia is sun-dew, and in Gloucestershire the Primula auricula is the tanner's-apron. The Viola tricolor is often known as "three faces in a hood," and the Aconitum napellus as "Venus's chariot drawn by two doves." The Stellaria holostea is "lady's white petticoat," and the Scandix pecten is "old wife's darning-needles." One of the names of the Campion is plum-pudding, and "spittle of the stars" has been applied to the Nostoc commune. Without giving further instances of these odd plant names, we would conclude by quoting the following extract from the preface of Mr. Earle's charming little volume on "English Plant Names," a remark which, indeed, most equally applies to other sections of our subject beyond that of the present chapter:—"The fascination of plant names has its foundation in two instincts, love of Nature, and curiosity about Language. Plant names are often of the highest antiquity, and more or less common to the whole stream of related nations. Could we penetrate to the original suggestive idea that called forth the name, it would bring valuable information about the first openings of the human mind towards Nature; and the merest dream of such a discovery invests with a strange charm the words that could tell, if we could understand, so much of the forgotten infancy of the human race."
Footnotes:
1. "Dictionary of English Plant Names," by J. Britten and Robert Holland. 1886.