mals 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 changing 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 favo<