kind of his promiscuous group of ‘Sanicle,’ “which Clusius calleth Pinguicula; not before his time remembered, hath sundry small thick leaves, fat and full of juice, being broad towards the root and sharp towards the point, of a faint green colour, and bitter in taste; out of the middest whereof sprouteth or shooteth up a naked slender stalke nine inches long, every stalke bearing one flower and no more, sometimes white, and sometimes of a bluish purple colour, fashioned like unto the common Monkshoods” (he means Larkspurs) “called Consolida Regalis, having the like spur or Lark’s heel attached thereto.”  Then after describing a third kind of Sanicle—­(Cortusa Mathioli, a large-leaved Alpine Primula,) he goes on:  “These plants are strangers in England; their natural country is the alpish mountains of Helvetia.  They grow in my garden, where they flourish exceedingly, except Butterwoort, which groweth in our English squally wet grounds,”—­(’Squally,’ I believe, here, from squalidus, though Johnson does not give this sense; but one of his quotations from Ben Jonson touches it nearly:  “Take heed that their new flowers and sweetness do not as much corrupt as the others’ dryness and squalor,”—­and note farther that the word ‘squal,’ in the sense of gust, is not pure English, but the Arabic ‘Chuaul’ with an s prefixed:—­the English word, a form of ‘squeal,’ meaning a child’s cry, from Gothic ‘Squaela’ and Icelandic ‘squilla,’ would scarcely have been made an adjective by Gerarde),—­“and will not yield to any culturing or transplanting:  it groweth especially in a field called Cragge Close, and at Crosbie Ravenswaithe, in Westmerland; (West-mere-land you observe, not mor) upon Ingleborough Fells, twelve miles from Lancaster, and by Harwoode in the same county near to Blackburn:  ten miles from Preston, in Anderness, upon the bogs and marish ground, and in the boggie meadows about Bishop’s-Hatfield, and also in the fens in the way to Wittles Meare” (Roger Wildrake’s Squattlesea Mere?) “from Fendon, in Huntingdonshire.”  Where doubtless Cromwell ploughed it up, in his young days, pitilessly; and in nowise pausing, as Burns beside his fallen daisy.

12.  Finally, however, I believe we may accept its English name of ‘Butterwort’ as true Yorkshire, the more enigmatic form of ‘Pigwilly’ preserving the tradition of the flowers once abounding, with softened Latin name, in Pigwilly bottom, close to Force bridge, by Kendal.  Gerarde draws the English variety as “Pinguicula sive Sanicula Eboracensis,—­Butterwoort, or Yorkshire Sanicle;” and he adds:  “The husbandmen’s wives of Yorkshire do use to anoint the dugs of their kine with the fat and oilous juice of the herb Butterwort when they be bitten of any venomous worm, or chapped, rifted and hurt by any other means.”