ON THE PRIMULAS 295 



if he relaxes his grip for a moment, discreetly retiring 

 when he renews his pressure, and eke flinging out a flower 

 or two in order to show how little impressed they are 

 by all his efforts. 



The Cowslip is not a garden plant, but we give a 

 grateful thought to it every time our eye falls affection- 

 ately on the beautiful Polyanthuses of our spring beds. 

 We see that these exquisite little flowers differ from the 

 Primroses in bearing several flowers in a cluster at the 

 top of the stem (poly-anthus, many-flowered), and we 

 understand that they acquired the habit from the Cow- 

 slip. We love the latter as a meadow plant, and we 

 rejoice that we have it in a glorified form larger, richer 

 in colour, more varied, and yet sweet, in the garden. 

 As the Cowslip is not a garden flower, we need not 

 thresh out the vexed question of its popular name, 

 which still remains unexplained. There is a natural 

 association between "cows" and "lips," since it grows 

 in the pastures, and this derivation satisfies most people, 

 although so great an authority as Dr. Prior will have 

 none of it. We must leave it to the children and the 

 fairies, for the flower belongs to them. 



" Where the bee sucks there lurk I, 

 In a Cowslip's bell I lie." 



The Tempest. 



The true Oxlip has pale yellow flowers. It is accepted 

 as a good species by botanists, but the Oxlips of our 

 gardens are probably hybrids. Shakespeare refers to 

 the Oxlip several times, and few lines about flowers are 

 more familiar than those from " A Midsummer Night's 

 Dream " 



" I know a bank whereon the wild Thyme blows, 

 Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows," 



