be, instead, the very
interesting fruit of this elm, each little seed securely held inside a
very neat and small flat bag. Looking at it earlier the next spring, the
conspicuous reddish brown color of the bud-scales was noted.

I have never seen the "wahoo," or winged elm of the South, and there are
several other native elms, as well as a number of introductions from the
Eastern Hemisphere, with which acquaintance is yet to be made. All of
them together, I will maintain with the quixotic enthusiasm of lack of
knowledge, are not worth as much as one-half hour spent in looking up
under the leafy canopy of our own preeminent American elm--a tree
surely among those given by the Creator for the healing of the nations.

The tulip-tree, so called obviously because of the shape of its flowers,
has a most mellifluous and pleasing botanical name, _Liriodendron
Tulipifera_--is not that euphonious? Just plain "liriodendron"--how much
better that sounds as a designation for one of the noblest of American
forest trees than the misleading "common" names! "Tulip-tree," for a
resemblance of the form only of its extraordinary blooms; "yellow
poplar," probably because it is not yellow, and is in no way related to
the poplars; and "whitewood," the Western name, because its wood is
whiter than that of some other native trees. "Liriodendron" translated
means "lily-tree," says my learned friend who knows Greek, and that is a
fitting designation for this tree, which proudly holds forth its
flowers, as notable and beautiful as any lily, and far more dignified
and refined than the gaudy tulip. I like to repeat this smooth-sounding,
truly descriptive and dignified name for a tree worthy all admiration.
Liriodendron! Away with the "common" names, when there is such a
pleasing scientific cognomen available!

By the way, why should people who will twist their American tongues all
awry in an attempt to pronounce French words in which the necessary
snort is unexpressed visually and half the characters are "silent,"
mostly exclaim at the alleged difficulty of calling trees and plants by
their world names, current among educated people everywhere, while
preferring some misleading "common" name? Very few scientific plant
names are as difficult to pronounce as is the word "chrysanthemum," and
yet the latter comes as glibly from the tongue as do "geranium,"
"rhododendron," and the like. Let us, then, at least when we have as
good a name as liriodendron