to Pedicularis? In other cases the merit
is divided: Anemone may dispute the prize of melody with Windflower,
Campanula with Harebell, Neottia with Ladies'-Tresses, Uvularia with
Bellwort and Strawbell, Potentilla with Cinquefoil, and Sanguinaria with
Bloodroot. Hepatica may be bad, but Liverleaf is worse. The pretty name
of May-flower is not so popular, after all, as that of Trailing-Arbutus,
where the graceful and appropriate adjective redeems the substantive,
which happens to be Latin and incorrect at the same time. It does seem a
waste of time to say _Chrysanthemum leucanthemum_ instead of Whiteweed;
though, if the long scientific name were an incantation to banish the
intruder, our farmers would gladly consent to adopt it.

But the great advantage of a reasonable use of the botanical name is,
that it does not deceive us. Our primrose is not the English primrose,
any more than it was our robin who tucked up the babes in the wood;
our cowslip is not the English cowslip, it is the English
marsh-marigold,--Tennyson's "wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in
swamps and hollows gray." The pretty name of Azalea means something
definite; but its rural name of Honeysuckle confounds under that name
flowers without even an external resemblance,--Azalea, Diervilla,
Lonioera, Aquilegia,--just as every bird which sings loud in deep woods
is popularly denominated a thrush. The really rustic names of both
plants and animals are very few with us,--the different species are
many; and as we come to know them better and love them more, we
absolutely require some way to distinguish them from their half-sisters
and second-cousins. It is hopeless to try to create new popular
epithets, or even to revive those which are thoroughly obsolete. Miss
Cooper may strive in vain, with benevolent intent, to christen her
favorite spring-blossoms "May-Wings" and "Gay-Wings," and "Fringe-Cup"
and "Squirrel-Cup," and "Cool-Wort" and "Bead-Ruby"; there is no
conceivable reason why these should not be the familiar appellations,
except the irresistible fact that they are not. It is impossible to
create a popular name: one might as well attempt to invent a legend or
compose a ballad. _Nascitur, non fit_.

As the spring comes on, and the densening outlines of the elm give daily
a new design for a Grecian urn,--its hue, first brown with blossoms,
then emerald with leaves,--we appreciate the vanishing beauty of the
bare boughs. In our favored temperate zone