cession of
green leaves and beautiful flowers unwinds itself with a glory which no
familiarity can tarnish.

I cannot resist giving the names of some of the flowers that make this
familiar show that February and March give us. Field-speedwell
(_Veronica agrestis_), butcher's broom, _Pyrus japonica_, primrose, red
dead-nettle, crocus, dandelion, periwinkle, celandine, marsh-marigold,
sweet violet, ivy-leaved veronica, daffodil, white dead-nettle,
colt's-foot (_Tussilago farfara_), dog's mercury, buttercup (_Ranunculus
repens_), hyacinth, almond-tree, gooseberry, wood-sorrel, ground-ivy,
wall-flower. The order in which they occur is taken from the mean dates
of flowering given by Blomefield. To a lover of plants, this commonplace
list will, I hope, be what a score is to a musician, and will recall to
him some of the charm of the orchestra of living beauty that springtime
awakens.

SOME NAMES OF CHARACTERS IN FICTION {15}

To some readers the personality of the characters in fiction is
everything, and the names under which they appear of no importance. This
is doubtless a rational position, but to me, and I think to many other
novel-readers, the names which our imaginary friends and enemies bear is
a matter of the greatest interest. To us it seems unbearable to have a
Mr B. as a principal character, and the same objection applies to the
names of places--"the little town of C. near the cathedral town of D." is
too depressing. Trollope, who does not rank high as a name-artist,
entirely satisfies us with his Barchester and its Bishop Proudie and
Archdeacon Grantley. George Eliot, too, has been able in the case of
Stonyshire and Loamshire to give convincing names to counties, and never
offends in the names of her characters, though they have no especial
attractiveness.

In some cases it is hard to say whether or no a given name is
appropriate. In Jane Austen's books, for instance, we have grown up in
familiarity with the characters and we cannot associate them with others.
It would be unbearable to have Emma's lover called Mr William Larkins and
his servant George Knightley. And this is not merely the result of old
acquaintance; there is, I cannot doubt, a real dignity in one name and a
touch of comedy in the other. For this statement one can but rely on
instinct, but a real William Larkins (and I must apologise to him if he
exists) will doubtless take a different view of the matter.

But Jane Austen, l