The reader may have heard a good deal from the poets concerning "The Language of Flowers;" but here is quite a new dialect of that description, in the shape of mottos for different fruits and vegetables in different months:
Motto for the Lilac in April: "Give me leave."
For the Rose in June: "Well, I'm blowed!"
For the Asparagus in July: "Cut and come again."
For the Marrowfat Pea in August: "Shell out!"
For the Apple in September: "Go it, my Pippins!"
For the Cabbage in December: "My heart is sound: my heart is my own."
Now that "shads is come;" now that lamb has arrived, and green peas may soon be looked for; now that asparagus is coming in, and poultry is going out, listen to the Song of the Turkey, no longer seen hanging by the legs in the market, and rejoice with him at his emancipation:
"The season of Turkeys is over!
The time of our danger is past:
'Tis the turn of the wild-duck and plover,
But the Turkey is safe, boys, at last!
"Then hobble and gobble, we'll sing, boys,
No longer we've reason to fear;
Who knows what a twelvemonth will bring, boys,
Let's trust to the chance of the year!
"The oyster in vain now may mock us,
Its sauce we can proudly disdain;
No sausages vulgar shall shock us,
We are free, we are free from their chain!
"Then hobble and gobble, we'll sing, boys,
No longer we've reason to fear;
Who knows what a twelvemonth will bring, boys.
Let's trust to the chance of the year!
"What matters to you and to me, boys,
That one whom we treasured when young,
With a ticket, "Two dollars! look here!" boys,
In a poulterer's window was hung!
"Then hobble and gobble, we'll sing, boys,
No longer we've reason to fear;
Who knows what a twelvemonth will bring, boys,
Let's trust to the chance of the year!