I remember that the signs above shop-doors in England and
on the Continent used to amuse me often enough, when I was over there.
It is a notable circumstance that extraordinary names never seem
extraordinary to the persons bearing them. If a fellow-creature were
branded Ebenezer Cuttlefish he would remain to the end of his days quite
unconscious of anything out of the common.
I am aware that many of our American names are sufficiently queer; but
English writers make merry over them, as if our most eccentric were not
thrown into the shade by some of their own. No American, living or
dead, can surpass the verbal infelicity of Knatchbull-Hugessen, for
example--if the gentleman will forgive me for conscripting him. Quite as
remarkable, in a grimly significant way, is the appellation of a British
officer who was fighting the Boers in the Transvaal in the year of
blessed memory 1899. This young soldier, who highly distinguished
himself on the field, was known to his brothers-in-arms as Major Pine
Coffin.
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