84 PEPACTON 



" And, hark, the cuckoo, weatherwise, 

 Still hiding farther onward, wooes you." 



In like manner the primrose is an exotic in 

 American poetry, to say nothing of the snowdrop 

 and the daisy. Its prominence in English poetry 

 can be understood when we remember that the 

 plant is so abundant in England as to be almost a 

 weed, and that it comes early and is very pretty. 

 Cowslip and oxlip are familiar names of varieties of 

 the same plant, and they bear so close a resemblance 

 that it is hard to tell them apart. Hence Tenny- 

 son, in "The Talking Oak: " — 



" As cowslip unto oxlip is. 

 So seems she to the boy." 



Our familiar primrose is the evening primrose, — a 

 rank, tall weed that blooms with the mullein in late 

 summer. Its small, yellow, slightly fragrant blos- 

 soms open only at night, but remain open during 

 the next day. By cowslip, our poets and writers 

 generally mean the yellow marsh marigold, which 

 belongs to a different family of plants, but which, 

 as a spring token and a pretty flower, is a very good 

 substitute for the cowslip. Our real cowslip, the 

 shooting star, is very rare, and is one of the most 

 beautiful of native flowers. I believe it is not 

 found north of Pennsylvania. I have found it in 

 a single locality in the District of Columbia, and 

 the day is memorable upon which I first saw its 

 cluster of pink flowers, with their recurved petals 

 cleaving the air. I do not know that it has ever 

 been mentioned in poetry. 



