448 FRUIT. 



all talk and no cider ; that, thank God ! was not his fashion. What 

 he had to say he said ; and that was, that he was sick of this tom- 

 foolery about foreign names. A name either meant something or it 

 did not. Any body who looked at him could see that he was a 

 Red-Streak, and that was all that his father expected when he named 

 him. Any body could believe that the last speaker was a Duchess. 

 But what, he should like to know, did the man mean who named a 

 Peach " Sanguinole a chair adherent /" He should like to meet 

 that chap. It would be a regular raw-head and bloody-bones piece 

 of business for him. And " Fondante du Bois ;" he supposed that 

 was the fond aunt of some b'hoys, it might be the " old boy," for 

 all he knew. And " JSeurre Gris d'Hiver nouveau? Could any 

 thing be more ridiculous ! He should like to know how those 

 clever people, the pomologists, would translate that ? They told 

 him, " new gray winter butter," (laughter ;) and what sort of winter 

 butter, pray, was that ? " Heine de Pays bas ;" what this meant, 

 he did not exactly know, something, he supposed, about " rainy 

 weather pays bad," which would not go down, he could tell the 

 gentleman, in our dry climate. There was no end to this stuff, he 

 said. He seconded the Pippin. Clear it all away ; boil it down to 

 a little pure, plain English essence, if there was any substance in it ; 

 if not, throw the lingo to the dogs. He hoped the Pears would ex- 

 cuse him. He meant no offence to them personally. But he didn't 

 like their names, and he told them so to their faces. 



The Minister Apple here observed that he had some moral scru- 

 ples about changing the names of all the fruits. It might have 

 a bad effect on the hearts and minds of the community. He 

 begged leave to present to the speaker's consideration such names, 

 for example, as the " Ah man Dieu" and the " Cuisse Madame " 

 Pears ! There were many who grew those Pears, and, like our first 

 parents, did not know the real nature of the fruits in the garden. 

 Happy ignorance ! Translate them, and they would, he feared, be- 

 come fruits of the tree of knowledge. 



A tall Mazzard Cherry hereupon remarked (wiping his specta- 

 cles), that a very easy way of avoiding the danger which his worthy 

 friend, who had just sat down, had pointed out, would be to reject 

 both the Pears and the names, when they were no better than the 



