We are all delighted at the noble stand some folks are making at the abominably hard names which so many plants receive from those pedantic old chaps, the botanists. Several of my neighbors, fond of gardening, or perhaps I should say more properly, horticulture, come to my house occasionally, and we talk most emphatically against the abominable nuisance. Mr. Poniatowski, who came originally from Varadjadagh, tells me they have the same warfare against the botanists in his land ; and my other neighbors, Maillebois of Katzbach, and Khujeet Khang, say that in France, Germany and even in Bombay, the same struggle against hard names is going on. Mr. Khujeet Khang, having been fed in early life on kalo roots a well known plant of our gardens, is particularly violent when these hard names are mentioned. He is a famous dendrologist, arboriculturist and silviculturist, and is much worried when he gets a hard name for a tree. He contends that English, pure and undefiled, is good enough for all the world; far superior, in fact, to his own Asiatic mother tongue. "Observe," he remarked to me at our last meeting, "the obfuscation of the cephalic textural pigment in the pernicious eccentricity of consciousness, during the cerebral oscillations deflected under molecular depression, potentially and periodically evolved under the hypothesis presented by Hecatompy-bug, the celebrated laecanthropher, that the elucidation of metemphychosis approximates an anomalous complication involving an intermittent exacerbation with periodical collapse, during which the obvious corollary, so far as quantitative analysis develops in the elongated ellipsoid of the cranium in its tumid state, all tends to a paroxysm fatal to pure English." "Where" said he, with fixed fire in his eye, "can you find two who will agree to the exact pronunciation of dahlia, fuchsia, clematis, and hosts of similar barbarous Latin designations ?" "When," he said, "I stood on the littoral diabase of the ampitheatre in the archipelago where I could identify by the aid of petroleum in the fenestra] alcoves of the castellated structures, in the period of my adolescence, as I did diurnally nocturally, tertianally, quotidianally, and continually; there was no Latin lingo to confuse the mind." The legumes and the follicles masticated by the heterogenous population of his natal home need no Latin to properly engulph them.

He firmly believed there would be no oidium among the French vignerons, only for Latin or Greek names. This was the primary and irremediable trouble, which needed no opthalmoscope to discover. There was no fatiguing necromantic phantom, obstructing this sensory operation. It seems to me, Mr. Editor, there, is immobility in the facts he presents. Let us have good English, I say, and down with the hard unpronounceable pedantic Latin names. - Julius Rhowbotham.

P. S. - Please do not omit the h in the first syllable, as, though I am of English descent, our family was originally Greek.