here is this merit, at least, among the coarser crew of imported
flowers, that they bring their own proper names with them, and we know
precisely whom we have to deal with. In speaking of our own native
flowers, we must either be careless and inaccurate, or else resort
sometimes to the Latin, in spite of the indignation of friends. There
is something yet to be said on this point. In England, where the old
household and monkish names adhere, they are sufficient for popular
and poetic purposes, and the familiar use of scientific names seems an
affectation. But here, where many native flowers have no popular names
at all, and others are called confessedly by wrong ones,--where
it really costs less trouble to use Latin names than English, the
affectation seems the other way. Think of the long list of wild-flowers
where the Latin name is spontaneously used by all who speak of
the flower: as, Arethusa, Aster, Cistus, ("after the fall of the
cistus-flower,") Clematis, Clethra, Geranium, Iris, Lobdia, Bhodora,
Spirtea, Tiarella, Trientalis, and so on. Even those formed from proper
names (the worst possible system of nomenclature) become tolerable at
last, and we forget the man in the more attractive flower. Are those
who pick the Houstonia to be supposed thereby to indorse the Texan
President? Or are the deluded damsels who chew Cassia-buds to be
regarded as swallowing the late Secretary of State? The names have long
since been made over to the flowers, and every questionable aroma has
vanished. When the godfather happens to be a botanist, there is a
peculiar fitness in the association; the Linaea, at least, would not
smell so sweet by any other name.

In other cases the English name is a mere modification of the Latin
one, and our ideal associations have really a scientific basis: as with
Violet, Lily, Laurel, Gentian, Vervain. Indeed, our enthusiasm for
vernacular names is like that for Indian names, one-sided: we enumerate
only the graceful ones, and ignore the rest. It would be a pity to
Latinize Touch-me-not, or Yarrow, or Gold-Thread, or Self-Heal, or
Columbine, or Blue-Eyed-Grass,--though, to be sure, this last has an
annoying way of shutting up its azure orbs the moment you gather it, and
you reach home with a bare, stiff blade, which deserves no better
name than _Sisyrinchium anceps._ But in what respect is Cucumber-Root
preferable to Medeola, or Solomon's-Seal to Convallaria, or Rock-Tripe
to Umbilicaria, or Lousewort