In the year 1736, Linnæus paid a visit to England. He did so by the request, and at the expense, of Mr. Clifford, who was desirous to procure various plants for his collection, and that he should communicate with the most celebrated botanists and horticulturists of the day. He carried with him a letter from Boerhaave to Sir Hans Sloane, who was a mere rich collector in natural history, and afterwards founder of the British Museum. This letter is still preserved among the archives of that institution, and it is written in the strongest language of recommendation. Notwithstanding such an honourable introduction, however, the old baronet, who was a sort of highly cultivated curiosity-shop keeper and not a scientific man, was indisposed to do justice to the merits of a young man whose innovations on established systems he viewed with suspicion and dislike. He therefore treated the stranger with coldness, and dismissed him without any marks of regard. One of the principal objects of interest to Linnæus, in this country, was the botanical garden at Chelsea; and from the keeper of that collection, Philip Miller, an excellent botanist, he experienced much attention, and was supplied with many rare plants. The garden at Chelsea was the first in Great Britain that was subsequently arranged according to the Linnæan system. Dr. Shaw, the Oriental traveller, Professor Martyn, Peter Collinson, and many other men of true science, received Linnæus consistently with his testimonials, and admiring his genius, forwarded his objects by all the means in their power, and, on his return to the Continent, continued to correspond with him on subjects of mutual interest in science. From London our traveller proceeded to Oxford, where he paid his respects to the celebrated Dillenius, justly considered one of the first botanists of the time. This learned man was not by any means disposed to regard Linnæus favourably. He had received from Gronovius a sheet of the “Genera Plantarum,” and conceiving it to be written in opposition to him, was irate, and, pointing to the young Swede, said to a gentleman who chanced to be in his company at the moment of Linnæus’s entry, “See, this is the young man who confounds all botany!” Linnæus did not understand English, but the word “confound,” so similar to the Latin _confundere_, let him into the secret of the professor’s words. He, however, showed no sign of comprehending him.