(319) NAMES. "WHAT'S in a name?" exclaims the Avon bard, 66 a rose under any other name would smell as sweet." At the risk of exposing ourselves to the imputation of presumption, we answer, there is much in a namemuch more than meets the ear; if the mere sound be considered-the simple unconnected word-then the poet's assertion is correct; and names are but fashioned air-mere shapings of the breath-shadowy, unsubstantial, empty, and unmeaning; but be it remembered that names are symbolic-perceptible representations of the imperceptible, as well as signs of the sensible and apparent-they are associating ties, linking the present to the past-bridges by which we pass the gulf of time, and reach the world to come- they are the keys of thought, unlocking the mental cells, and presenting meditational materia—they are the stimulus of the memory, and reminiscences of the departed: a single word uttered, like the touching of a spring, throws open the doors of recollection, and makes absent things present, distant things near, former scenes recur, former joys again delight, and buried griefs oppress. The gates of the tomb fly open, and its tenants stand before us habited in youth, and clothed in beauty-years are obliterated and time removed-we again are young-we again are active, vigorous, and strong-we re-act what once we acted-we again hope as once we hoped-we again fear as once we feared. Such, then, is the magic power of names; and though a rose under any other name might actually and bonâ fide smell as sweet, yet if that garden gem, of flowers the queen, bore an unsavoury appellation, the world might remain in ignorance of its fragrance, and it might chance to bloom, blossom, and decay, its virtues all unknown, its merits undivulged, blushing unseen, and wasting its "sweetness on the desert air." Who, for instance, would ever dream of smelling (except, perchance, some prosaic botanising booby) at a dandelion, (I omit its alias,) or snuffing at a buttercup? What ideas do such cognomina present, indicative of either sense or sentiment, balm or beauty? The one certainly reminds you, in its twofold designation, of the " puppy dog' and the "lion ;" and the other is ideally associated with Cheshire cheese and Irish butter, which, unlike Othello, "Albeit given to the melting mood," are not extremely poetical. No-there is much more truth in the old saying, "Give a dog a bad name, and hang him;" for far better would it be that he should quit the stage of canine existence, dangling from a tree by the side of some sweet stream, melodiously murmuring his requiem, the birds singing masses to his soul, (if he have one,) and the autumn-tinted foliage forming for him a winding-sheet, and the bark of the tree his coffin. Alas! for him, it is his last bark. Better, I say, to die thus, than to drag out a miserable existence-the kicked of all the kickers-the denounced of all denunciators-having the fear of surly housemaids constantly before his eyes, and haunted with the horrors unspeakable of tin tea-kettles, pewter saucepans, and other ingeniously devised tortures, with which scholastic imps (generally the pride of papas for their precocious talents, and the pets of mamas, who smile at the little dear's innocent divertisements) "visit all his race," until the poor devil, "more sinned against than sinning," either gives up the ghost in the common gutter, or has an end put to his miseries by the merciful interference of a cart-wheel; and never more will he point, (not a moral but) a partridge-never more will he wag his tail--he is only fit for flaying, and meet for sausages, and his death is celebrated, not in verse, or as Milton expresses it, But "In many a rhyming bout, And linked sweetness long drawn out ;" With many a pot of stout, In linked sausages long drawn out. Better that he should die by hydrostatics, than be accused of hydrophobia-happier for him that he had perished in his puppyhood, than lead the life of such a dog. I again repeat, "Give a dog a bad name, and hang him." For who would venture to enter a farm-yard alone, if he knew that the owner possessed a dog called Tiger, or Wolf, or Nero? But who would refuse to fondle a dog that answered to the name of Di, Fidelle, or Flora? The former are fearful names, conveying ideas of cruelty, blood-thirstiness, and ferocity. On hearing them we are insensibly led to think of the two most irreclaimable beasts of the forest, whose delight is in human gore, and of Rome's imperial monster, who complacently swept his fingers across the strings of his lute, whilst his city was burning, and his subjects were being devoured by the conflagration. But the latter names produce an impression of gentleness, fidelity, and attachment; a dog, with such a name, a child" of timid ones most timid," would not hesitate to pat; nay, would even venture to take liberties with his mouth, and make itself familiar with his tail. Who would approve of the contiguity of a dog named Crab? or who could, without some internal misgivings, take upon his knee (for its dear mistress' sake of course, as all singly-blessed maidens of a certain age, who patronise puppies and love their lap-dogs, insist upon the doctrine of "love me love my dog") one that was 'ycleped Wasp? or who could sit at a table without some degree of emotion, and tranquilly stretch out his legs, if he thought it probable that his toes would come in contact with my lady's pet, who rejoiced under the name of Snap? We know a lady who lost all her friends merely from the fact of having a plethoric poodle in her drawing-room, who was called Cæsar. * A Mr. Peacock, do we not expect him to " unfold a tail ?" or a Mr. Cock, that he will crow over us? or if we meet a surgeon of the name of Duck, do we not suspect him to be little better than a quack? or an attorney surnamed Petty, do we not mentally add "Fogger?" Who would allow a surgeon to bleed him whose name was Thurtell? who would trust his life in the hands of a physician called Graves? who but a Welshman would employ a shoemaker called Leek? who save a Frenchman would hire a cook called Garlic? or a footman called Slow? who would read the poetry of a "Gomeril?" and who could expect anything from a Hogg but a grunt? Let it not be supposed that we have fabricated these names to suit the occasion, for we assert on our honour, that they are all real" bonâ fide” names, and attached to persons of the professions we have mentioned. In the town of Lthere lived a man whose name was Robert Buzz-right well we knew him-and a better man never drew breath-a nobler spirit was never clad in human shape. But sorely was he tried— heavily, most heavily was the chastening hand of affliction laid upon him; yet was he patient under suffering, and with a philosophic-or rather a Christian fortitude-did he endure all the kicks and buffets of outrageous fortune. He was alone in the world. No parents' tender care did he ever We know a gentleman of that name, and we really pity him the continual play upon his name. know-bereft of both in infancy, strangers administered to him that aid and comfort, which come most sweetly from a mother's hands. No uncles or aunts--no brothers or sisters, "Nor wife, nor children dear, e'er did he behold;" he was like a solitary tree, planted far from its parent stem, and kindred shoots-but the grave has closed over his sorrows-and peace be to his ashes! He is interred just at the entrance of the churchyard at L- —, and never do we pass by his grave, on our way to church, but we mentally exclaim, "Alas! poor Buzz!" Robert Buzz was naturally of a delicate constitution, possessing so weakly a frame, that it was considered doubtful whether or not he would survive his infancy; and it is stated that when he was a year old, so diminutive was he, that a breakfast cup would completely cover his face. With the greatest care and attention, however, he was reared; but owing to his extreme delicacy, he was twelve years of age before it was thought safe to send him to school-and then he was attended by a maid servant, his body enveloped in two or three great coats, and his neck multitudinously surrounded with comforters and kerchiefs. It may be thought extraor dinary that, having no relations, so much attention should be bestowed upon him; but his sole guardian had been his father's most intimate friend, and was a kind-hearted old man; whilst his sister was one of those benevolent seniores vestales who pour forth in an abundant stream, when once they have found an object, the affection which has long been pent up within their bosoms. But to return from our digression-rendered necessary to solve the apparent mystery of his kindly treatment. We have said that he was twelve years of age before he was sent to school; and it may naturally be inferred, from his never having learnt a letter until that advanced period towards puberty, that the sickly schoolboy soon became an object of contempt and ridicule to his more progressed and hardier school-fellows; besides, from the mode which had been adopted by his petting protectress of bringing him up, he was exceedingly shy, and not at all able to compete with the pert, pragmatic, monkeys of half his years, who were up to all the tricks of that miniature world, a school, and to whom mischief was as the bread of life. According to the custom of those little republics, which delight in sobriquets, and nominal abridgments, he was soon familiarly called Bobby-Bobby Buzz, and from that, on account, we suppose, of his extreme bashfulness, and apparent dulness, (we say apparent, for he was not really dull,) he soon acquired the title, "Booby Buzz.” The Romans, we are told, used, whenever fortune made a happy throw, to mark that day with a white stone. "Alas! Robert Buzz-the day that thou acquiredst that infernal nickname, well mightest thou, on the contrary, have marked it with a black one-nickname, might it truly be called, for old Nick himself must have been the sponsor." Seldom do we lose, when once acquired, such names-they cling to us through existence, they haunt us night and day, they follow us in every department and relation of life, and even on the bed of death they do not forsake us-they are our double-our evil genius-they taint the cup of pleasure, and render the bowl of bitterness more bitter. We ourselves, who are now writing this article, sorrow in a nickname, but we dare not tell it, lest the reader should laugh, and decline to peruse this our philosophical essay. No-our motto is "stat nominis umbra,” and as long as our name is unknown we are respected. Our friend we say was entitled Booby Buzz-and Booby Buzz was he called to his dying day. Years rolled on, and Mr. Robert Buzz left school and went to college. He studied hard, and acquired the requisite modicum of classic lore, to enable him to pass his examinations with credit. But on the critical day when his turn had arrived, when charged with learning to the very muzzle, crammed with Latin and Greek like a turkey for the spit, he was proceeding with heart elate, and beaming eye, Nov. 1835.-VOL. XIV.-NO. LV. Y and cheeks flushed with hope and expectation, some one exclaimed "Make way for Booby Buzz." There was a general titter in the room-even his examiners could not forbear a smile the name fell upon his ear like a funeral knell. His heart sank, the colour forsook his cheek, and paled was the ineffectual fire of his eye; his expectations vanished, his confidence abated, and " Hope withering fled, and honour bade farewell." With faltering feet, and slow, he advanced, but it was all over with him-the labour of months had disappeared-the fruits of the midnight lamp, and the early dawn, had decayed; his mathematics had faded into thin air, and his Latin and Greek had made themselves wings and flown away; not a question could he answer, his memory slumbered more profoundly than the seven sleepers, and had his mind been washed with the water of Lethe, it could not have exhibited more vacuity. Of course he was turned back, and all agreed that Booby Buzz was a greater booby than ever. He returned to his chamber melancholy and forlorn, and for three days and three nights neither ate, drank, nor slept, but spent the time in "lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning." He at length roused himself from his lethargy, and after some time passed in severe study, he at last succeeded in getting his degree. In course of time he was ordained, (for he had chosen the church as his profession,) and the day had arrived when for the first time he was to mount the pulpit, and exhort sinners to repentance. He had prepared his maiden sermon with great care he had revised and corrected it, and re-revised and re-corrected it, until he thought it was quite perfect. For weeks he had been stringing his nerves for this first effort; he had committed his sermon to memory, and repeated it aloud fifty times, to accustom himself to the sound of his own voice; he attitudenised before a glass, and had studied every expression of the face, of deep solemnity, of winning persuasion, of smiling encouragement, and of frowning denunciation. And now, with his manuscript bound in black morocco, he ascended the steps of the pulpit, to awaken sinners from the sleep of sin, and denounce damnation to the obstinately wicked. He had chosen for his discourse the subject of faith, a portion of scripture relative to Abraham's offering up of Isaac, and God's promises to him and his seed for ever. It consisted of a number of verses, but let the quotation of one suffice, which he uttered in an audible voice, and with a very impressive gravity, "And it came to pass after these things, that it was told Abraham, saying, Behold, Milcah, she hath also borne children unto thy brother Nahor, Huz is first-born, and Buz is brother." There could not have been for Booby Buzz a more unfortunate text in the whole Scripture, including the Apocrypha. He stopped suddenly short, as if conscious of it for the first time-the congregation began to titter-never was the word buz so buzzed into his ear. Throughout the whole church there was a general buz, and he himself for the first time, came over to the world's opinion, that Booby Buz was indeed a booby. He could not proceed, and even if he had had the power, it was not in the course of nature, that the congregation could so far recover their gravity, as to become attentive and instructed listeners. To recount all the misfortunes that waited upon Booby Buzz in consequence of his unhappy name, would be impossible, for they were endless. How he made numberless ineffectual efforts to distinguish himself, but was always foiled, and compelled to retreat covered with ridicule and shame-and how he made several proposals of marriage, but was invariably rejected, as no lady had the moral courage to be styled MRS. BOOBY Buzz. Having dilated in the previous part of this dissertation on the evil consequences accruing to such of the canine race as are unfortunate in an ill-selected name, and proved, we trust satisfactorily, that to bestow on a dog a repulsive appellation, is all the same as to pass sentence of death Names. on him, or (which is worse) condemn him to a life of torture, "and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes;" inasmuch, if you conceive a dislike to any member of that four-footed community, from the noblest to the most ignoble, from the elegant and symmetrically formed greyhound, down to the veriest cur, that delights in snarls, and deals in snaps, you have only to bawl out, at the top of your lungs, "Mad dog -mad dog!" and you immediately enlist the public sympathy, and the poor unfortunate is forthwith devoted to destruction, and before he has paraded the length of a single street, most probably meets with his execution. Alas! what dreadful results, what direful events, what disappointments and disasters, have attended upon thousands of our own species, from the folly, caprice, or vanity of their godfathers and godmothers. Too often drop too has the baptismal font been the fount of sorrow; too often has the sprinkling of a drop of water upon the face, proved in the end a much," and even, sometimes, has been productive of that last and most fatal of all drops, "the Newgate drop," which no man ever tasted twice, or liveth to tell of. Too frequently is the baptismal banquet, when the delighted mother carries the dear token of her husband's love, (and though but a "penny token," thinking it worth its weight in gold,) round the room, to be kissed, and hugged, and beslavered by the admiring company, whilst the simpering father, unskilled in the delicate art of nursing, fondles the ill-favoured brat, (which, "like Niobe is all tears,” and all unconsious of having a "local habitation and a name,") having his own spooney face taken in little, like a bear fondling a cub; frequently, we repeat, has this christening feast been the forerunner of many fastsevery bottle that is cracked being the precursor of a cracked skull-and every toast that is drunk, the harbinger of a lack of bread. Thousands of men, and women also, have been cursed with the misery of a name. Let a man be blest with every qualification, which nature in its most lavish mood can bestow upon him-let him be tall and well-fashioned, every limb betokening strength, yet every motion full of grace, having Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself, "An eye like Mars, to threaten and command, A station, like the herald Mercury, New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; Where every god should seem to set his seal, let him have talents of the highest order; knowledge the most varied, "Good name, in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; But he that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that, which not enriches him, Exempli gratia: What will be expected of a man whose distinctive In spite of our teeth, we appellation is William Button? Tell us not that he is handsome, that he is accomplished, that he is rich and noble. Y 2 cannot help associating him with that celebrated portion of vegetable |