May — The Rose fortunate in its Name, 167 



smelling as sweetly by another name, I would just ob- 

 serve that the rose has been remarkably fortunate in 

 her name, wherever it is derived from the Latin. It 

 is perfectly euphonious ; it calls up no association what- 

 ever but that of the flower itself, except in the mind of 

 some learned pundit, who thinks it may have some- 

 thing to do with the Sanscrit word vrad, which means 

 ' flexible ; \ and wherever either rose or rosa is used in 

 poetry it always comes in charmingly. Now, without 

 referring again to the supremely unfortunate pedicn- 

 laris, let me take the case of a particularly magnificent 

 tree which has occupied us a little quite recently, the 

 horse-chestnut. I have often wished that awkward com- 

 pound word could be exchanged for one at the same 

 time more convenient and better sounding. Imagine 

 the embarrassment of the poets if the rose had been 

 called the horse-chestnut ! They would simply have 

 passed it in silence. It is fatal to the celebrity of a 

 flower for it to be known by an awkward name, even 

 though it may smell as sweetly as if some poet had 

 named it with musical syllables. And why the connec- 

 tion with the horse ? Are horses fond of the fruit ? 

 Most probably it is only a way of implying that it is 

 unfit for human food. I might have mentioned, when 

 speaking of the cuckoo and the use of his name with 

 the arum, which the people call cuckoo-pint, that another 

 plant is also dedicated to the same bird, the cuckoo- 

 flower, or meadow-bittercress. This plant is often found 

 in great abundance in dampish meadows, and I know of 

 one place near a little stream where the water is entirely 



