19^4 Coi^GPi.^.— Folk-lore of Irish Plants and Animals. 55 
the bridge which spans this stream, suggesting as it did 
Horatius who kept the bridge in Macaiilay's Lay. I was 
inchned on the whole to set it down as a joke of the County 
Surveyor until I discovered that Coghill is a well-known 
form of eel-trap or net often mentioned in Fishery Reports. 
The bridge, no doubt, takes its name from the vicinity of 
a favourite station for these Coghill or eel -traps. 
My first acquaintance with the peculiar Sexual System 
in plants, which finds credence all over Ireland, was made 
in 1901, when botanizing and hunting for Gaelic plant- 
names on Carlingford Mountain, above Omeath. Here I 
was told of a He-Slanlus and a She-Slanlus, but unfor- 
tunately had no time to procure samples of the two sexes. 
SlxAD tuf, I need hardly say, perhaps, is the name current 
almost throughout Ireland for the Common Ribwort or 
Plantain. 
Four years later, while driving from Skerries to the Man- 
of-War, I came on the track of a He- and She-Bulkishawn, 
or Ragweed. My informant was the car driver. The She- 
Bulkishawn, he told me, was an ingredient in a famous 
horse medicine, which appeared to be quite as potent as 
Don Quixote's Balsam of Fierabras, and far more complex 
in its constitution. No less than twelve " erribs " went to 
the brewing of this medicine. There was Garlic and Fether- 
few, and Yarrow and Broom, and He-Bulkishawn and 
She-Bulkishawn, and six other " erribs," he disremembered 
the names, but the She-Bulkishawn was the best of them. 
He wouldn't say himself that all the twelve " erribs " were 
indispensable, but I gathered from him that not even the 
most advanced thinkers would venture to omit any of 
them. " What is the She-Bulkishawn like ? " I inquired. 
"Oh," he answered," it's something hke the He-Bulkishawn, 
the Ragweed that grow.s everywhere, but it hasn't any 
flowers and it's a sight harder to find." He was instructed 
to keep a sharp look-out for her, and, finally, as we 
approached Balrothery, he stood up and, pointing eagerly 
with his whip to a tuft of the Common Tansy growing on a 
roadside bank near a field gate, cried out — " There she is ! " 
