208 Oenothera Ovata. 



first described by Torrey & Gray in the 'Synoptical Flora,' or by 

 DeCandolle or others elsewhere. 



It is now generally conceded that an author, after publishing a 

 name, has no longer any right to substitute another name therefor 

 in subsequent publications, even though the first name he finds to 

 be a misnomer. This right, claimed by many of the older botanists 

 of a past generation, is no longer contended for. It is also an open 

 question as to how far published names may be changed or cor- 

 rected by their own or subsequent authors. 



A common Californian cactus is published by Prince Salm in 

 4 Cacteas Horto Dyckensi,' p. 91, as Mamillara Goodrichii Scheer, 

 named in honor of Mr. Goodrich. Professor Sereno Watson informs 

 me that Seeman says in the Botany of the ' Herald ' that it was a 

 'Mr. J. Goodridge, surgeon,' whom the plant was intended to com- 

 memorate in its name as its discoverer. The name, therefore, has 

 been written M. Goodridgii by many subsequent authors. Gray 

 (Botanical Gazette, ix. 53) inadvertently publishes Antirrhinum 

 Nivenianum, and repeats this spelling on the following passage. 

 This was collected by Rev. J. C. Nevin, and it is obviously proper to 

 write A. Nevinianum, as the former spelling was mere inadvertence 

 •or a typographical error. But in the instance of Mamillaria Good- 

 richii, as originally written there is less cause for change, since the 

 man may not have been clear in his own mind as to the correct 

 -spelling of his name, — like Shakspeare, spelling it differently at 

 different times. C. R. Orcutt. 



CENOTHERA OVATA. 



(From Garden and Forest, iv. 285.) 



There is a glowing California field flower that possesses many 

 ■charms, and well deserves introduction to the garden. In its season 

 this lovely California GEnothera, with its dwarf growth and com- 

 pact clusters of golden bloom, appears as distinct and as striking a 

 feature of the landscape as the great flame-red Eschscholtzias. 



The other day — it was May 10th — I walked up the long sea- 

 ward slopes of Berkeley. Every vacant lot and the very streets 

 were golden with little plats of shining blossoms. I began to 

 remember that for three or four months this brilliant display con- 

 tinues. I counted the flowers and yet unopened buds on the nearest 

 plant. The circle of its outer leaves was about a foot in diameter; 

 they rested upon the turf, hardly rising four inches above it at any 

 point. Fifteen open flowers rose well above the foliage, and no less 

 than thirty-six buds could be counted without pulling the crown 



