A correspondent sends us a plant which he says is the Gopher root, and asks for its botanical name. We wrote that Michaux had named it Chryso-balanus oblongifolius. In return, the following bomb has exploded in our "sanctum:"

"Your kind favor of ioth came while I had some 'gentlemen from Africa' engaged in removing some Chrysobalanus oblongifolius from a piece of ground, for an extension of my lawn. If one of them could pronunce that name, I am sure he would be as much of a hero among his fellows, as the Montana cow-boy who discovers a new and particularly startling species of profanity. Yes, that name is very good indeed. Michaux did nobly for a man who was not aware of the subterranean and agricultural cussedness of the plant. The name is long enough and scientific enough to answer the ends of science in this, that it can never be used and so profaned by contact with vulgar tongues, and mankind (of course, scientists are not included in that mob), will continue to say 'Gopher root' in one locality, and some other root in some other locality, till the end of time or of unmanageable scientific names. Of course, we can all see that there is some confusion among common names of plants, that it is desirable to remedy.

How? Supposing when the American Pomological Society was organized thirty years ago, it had attempted to clear up the confusion in the nomenclature of our fruits by rejecting all common names, and substituting scientific Latin, or Greek, or Sanscrit jawbreakers, how much would they have accomplished?

"Just about as much as scientific botanists have in all time. They would have had a lot of very select names that would be understood by a little self-admiring circle of 'holier than thou' scientists, while mankind would continue to buy and sell, and grow and eat fruit, under the same old confusion of names. A fruit or flower can never become popular, that the people cannot pronounce. Many of our best fruits are crushed by the incubus of an unpronounceable name. When Col. Wilder introduced Beurre d'Anjou, if he had named it the Wilder, or Marshall, or any easily spoken name in the language of the country, I have no doubt it would to day be much more widely planted. I firmly believe that to day there is not one person in a thousand, in the United States, who could call for one of them at a fruit store, or read aloud its name in a premium list. Duchesse d'Angouleme went "lame" till it sloughed off all of its name but Duchess, which we can pronounce. Millions can call for it now, who would have to go hungry if compelled to ask for it by the full name.

So botany can never be popularized in a foreign language.

" Why should a botany for the use of English-speaking people say Ulmus instead of Elm? Why say Angustifolia instead of narrow-leaved? Why say hirsute instead of hairy? Why Quercus instead of oak? Such things work mischief in frightening beginners at the threshold of their studies. To see and hear beginners stumbling and floundering among such a jargon of sounds, is legitimate fun for their associates, and their discomfiture deters the great majority from ever exposing themselves to be ridiculed by their companions. Supposing a little class does persevere and conquer the monstrous difficulties of botanic nomenclature, and gain a fair knowledge of plants. When the members of that class go out into the world, and mix and associate with mankind, they must leave behind them all those painfully-acquired names, and talk English, or justly expose themselves to be ridiculed as pedants for intruding their wisdom on associates, who cannot comprehend a word they say. It is a shame, that nearly the whole human race should be shut out from an intelligent study of nature, to tickle the vanity of a few so-called scientific donkeys. I am now saying nothing against science. I am a strong believer in the value of science. I believe in English science for English-speaking people.

Here is a sample of the abominable foolishness of using foreign terms in English literature. I clip from an agricultural journal that pretends to be giving instruction to its readers about applying guano to orange trees :

'"In general, a bag containing from 60 to 70 kilograms, is used per fanega; but there are some cultivators who use double this quantity. The number of trees planted per hanegada varying so much, some growers have adopted the rule of putting about 4 1/2 kilograms to each tree; thus the manure of each costs about 5 or 6 reals.'

"Now that is what I call 'clear, lucid and ambiguous.' I suppose that this matter is of so much importance, that (like botanical names) it would not do to put in language that could be understood. Doubtless, these scientists think we judge their learning as the old Scotch woman did her new preacher. Being asked what she thought of the sermon, she said: "A wonderfully learned man - a most powerful discourse. I couldn't understand a word he used.'

" I don't know as I will ever see the day, but 1 have faith that at some time a botanist will appear, who, in addition to botanical knowledge, will have enough common sense to put his knowledge into a shape so all of us who love trees, plants and flowers, can drink our fill of the fount. God speed the day !"

And now "we rise to remark" that no one appreciates the desires of our correspondent more than these same " botanists and scientists." Numbers of them - among them Professor Asa Gray - have tried to send forth an English name along with the scientific name, only to find that they do not " take," - the people themselves insisting on giving an English or common name - yes, a dozen or more of them - to the same plant. When a name does become common the man of science uses it, and is glad to use it. Addressing the masses, he would never say Quercus or Ulmus, but Oak and Elm. And if " Butter and Eggs," '* Fried Potatoes," or any other familiar phrase should really become common as a name for Narcissus, he would use it just as blandly in common conversation as our friend will say " Gopher root." Indeed, now that he has been laid under obligations by knowing that "Gopher root" is a common name for "Chrysobalanus oblongifolius," it is not likely the latter will be used except in cases where "Gopher root" will not be as well understood And we can all appreciate the point about the commercial value of a short name.

Possibly the accident which changed the Pear, William's Bon Chretien into the Bartlett, has much to do with the popularity of that variety.

But it all comes down to " What are we going to do about it?" Linnaeus, who named the plant "Chrysobalanus," was a Swede, and was under no obligation to give the plant an English name. He might have called it the " Ginger-bread plant," "Wilkinson's Glory tree," or " Love in the Everglades," - but the Swedes would have " set up" about this; for to them, " Wilkinson's Glory," "Ginger-bread," or "Love in the Everglades," would have been as much or more " harsh, unpronounceable, and pedantic " than even Chrysobalanus.

Some day, when the English language becomes the universal language of the earth, there will be no difficulty about it. If the task is easy before that time, there are hundreds of scientists who would rejoice to know of it as cordially as our correspondent and the Editor.

Your correspondent's fierce anathemas against botanical names call to mind an anecdote which I think is to the point and well illustrates the necessity of " speaking English." A physician was called to prescribe for a lad of some ten or twelve years and requested him to show his tongue, which elicited only a vacant stare, and the mother said, "talk English, doctor," and to the lad, "hopen thy goblet and run out thy lalliker".

The fact is, these difficulties of language are all relative or imaginary, and your correspondent's article would be as incomprehensible in some quarters as Latin names are objectionable to him. I well remember my first impressions upon looking through my text book of chemistry. I thought it almost impossible that I could ever master the "unpronouncable" words and terms, but as I advanced, taking one thing at a time, no more trouble or difficulty was experienced than with any of the common branches of study when first taken up, and I do not believe any young man, with, energy enough to accomplish anything in life, ever was or ever will be prevented by botanical or scientific names from prosecuting any studies which his tastes and occupation render desirable.

As far as the Beurre d'Anjou pear is concerned, its lack of high color has had much more to do with its loss of popularity than its name, and when fruits are displayed for sale it is not necessary that purchasers should call for them by name. And more than this, I venture the assertion that not one in one hundred of those who buy or sell knows the name of the variety he handles.

It is very true that the botanist who freely uses botanical names in conversation in general, is liable not to be comprehended, or thought to be displaying his knowledge, and this is equally true in every science; and not only this, but, as the anecdote at the commencement of this article illustrates, every well educated man who mixes in all grades of society must drop his dictionary words and clip his enunciation, as well as adopt the provincialisms of those he is talking to, or he will sometimes fail to make his meaning clear or will be credited with a desire to show his superiority.