In the ** Ramble ”—Fourth Excursion 
tree, a shrub of only five or ten feet in New York, has 
three times the altitude west of the Mississippi. Not to 
multiply instances, these examples show how sensitive to 
slight changes in climatic conditions our hardiest growths 
really are. 
Reverting to the matter of popular names, most of 
them originate either in some fancied or real property 
of bark, root, or leaf, or in some trivial or utilitarian 
aspect of the plant. How unfortunate that our stateli- 
est and most picturesque growths should be thus belittled 
by such commonplace terms. Shingle oak and box 
elder must be so called because the timber happens to 
be good for shingles and wooden-ware; ‘ pignut’’ 
hickory, because swine eat them; ‘‘fetid’’ buckeye, 
because of offensive odor; ‘‘clammy’’ locust, because 
leaf-stems are sticky, when pink locust would have em- 
phasized the glorious masses of rosy bloom; and one of 
the handsomest oaks must have its vulgar utility ever- 
lastingly obtruded upon us in the name of ‘“ post’’ oak, 
when its cruciform, glossy, leathery leaf affords data for 
a more dignified title. How prosaic, too, are hack- 
berry, honeyshucks, choke-cherry, cucumber-tree, and 
sour gum. One of our most ornamental growths in 
early spring, a white mist in the April bareness, has 
been nicknamed shadbush, simply because the ‘‘ run of 
shad’’ occurs at about the same time. One of the 
most honored names in horticulture at the present time 
is ‘‘ dogwood’’ ; yet originally it was probably given 
as an opprobrious epithet, for the worthlessness of its 
timber; ‘‘ dog’’ in past times having been a term of 
contempt, as it is now under exasperating circum- 
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