From which fruit, as conveniently as from anywhere else, can be drawn our homely moral of common sense in the use of words. As every schoolboy I hope doesn’t know, the orange is the globose fruit of that rutaceous tree the _citrus aurantium_, but as every schoolboy certainly is aware, there are several kinds of orange on the market, to wit the ordinary everyday sweet orange from Jaffa or Jamaica, the bitter marmalade orange that either comes or does not come from Seville, the navel orange, and the excellent “blood,” with several other varieties. Moreover the orange has as many _points_ as a horse, and parts or processes connected with its dissection and use as a motor-bicycle. “I would I were an Orange Tree, that busie Plante,” sighed George Herbert once. I wonder how Herbert would have anatomized his Orange, then a rarer fruit than today when popular affection and necessary daily intercourse have wrapped the orange with a whole glossary of words as well as with tissue-paper. Old gentlemen usually _pare_ their oranges, but the homophonic barrage of puns when Jones _père_ prepares to pare a pair of--even oranges (let alone another English-grown fruit), has taught the younger generations either to peel a norange or skin their roranges. _Peel_ (subst.) is ousting _rind_; a pity because there is also _peal_ as a homophone; but I am glad to say that what used to be called _divisions_ are now almost universally known as _fingers_ or _pigs_ (is the derivation from the tithe-or parson’s pig known by its extreme smallness?); the seeds are “pips,” and quite rightly too, because in this country they are seldom used for planting, and “pip” obviously means that when you squeeze them between forefinger and thumb they are a useful form of minor artillery; then there is the white pithy part under the outer rind; I have heard this called _blanket_, and that is pretty good, but I have also heard it called _kill-baby_, and that is better; for me it will always remain _kill-baby_. On consulting _Webster’s International Dictionary_ I find that there is no authority or precedent for calling the withered calix on the orange the _kim_, but I have done so ever since I can remember, and have heard the word in many respectable nurseries (it has a fascination for children), and I can’t imagine it having any other name. Poetical wit might call it “the beauty-patch on that fairy orange cheek”; heraldry might blazon it, on _tenne_, as a _mullet, vert, for difference_; and contemporary slang would probably explain it as that “rotten little star-shaped gadget at the place where you shove in your lump of sugar”; but _kim_ is obviously the word that is wanted, it needs no confirmation by a Dictionary Revisal Committee or National Academy.