away, or exterminated perhaps, by the changes effected therein. There
may still remain in your vicinity some sequestered spots, congenial
to these and other rarities, which may reward the botanist and the
entomologist who will search them carefully. Perhaps you may find there
the pretty coccinella-shaped, silver-margined _Omophron_, or the still
rarer _Panagoeus fasciatus_, of which I once took two specimens on
Wellington's Hill, but have not seen it since." Is not this indeed
handling one's specimens "gently as if you loved them," as Isaak Walton
bids the angler do with his worm?

There 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