“ Where thick thy primrose blossoms play, 
Lovely and innocent as they, 
O’er coppice, lawns, and dells, 
In hands the village children stray, 
To pluck thy honied bells: 
Whose simple sweets, with curious skill, 
The frugal cottage dames distil, 
Nor envy France the vine; 
While many a festal cup they fill, 
Of Britain’s homely wine.” 
From Mr. Baxter's excellent work, British Flowering Plants. 
The properties of the primulaceee, says Mr. Burnett, are insignificant, nature having thus as it were 
secured some of her prettiest flowers from rapine, and spared us kindly the pain of destroying those most 
delicate specimens of her handy works. Swine who never look up to the tree from whence falls their food, 
nor lick the hand that feeds them, are the only animals which claim any of the Precice for their especial 
sustenance. The cowslip is reputed to possess a mild narcotic power, and hence it is used to flavor and 
heighten the intoxicating effects of fermented liquors. 
There are many brief incidents and apparently trivial events in our lives, that at the moment of occur- 
rence are almost unnoticed ; but which, from some association, make an impression on the memory at many 
periods of after-life, or may be remembered through existence with undiminished freshness ; when others, of 
the most seeming interest at the time, fade from our recollections, or become abraded from the mind by a 
constant collision with the passing transactions of our days. It is in early life, chiefly, perhaps entirely, 
that deep and indelible sensations of regard and affection are made; and impressions in those days are often 
recorded upon an unsullied tablet, that admits in after hours of no erasement or superscription. How deep 
are our school-boy reminiscences ! and the kindnesses received, and the friendships formed, at such periods, 
commonly constitute more enduring characters on our minds than all the after-occurrences, half-heartless 
transactions, perhaps, of later hours; when darker passions arise — ambition, avarice, self-interest, and cold 
reality, banish for ever the elysian ideas of youthful romance. There is a flower, the common cowslip of the 
fields, which by reason of associations, for thirty years of my life I never saw without emotion; and though 
I might sanctify this feeling, I confess my belief that it has not contributed to the general happiness of my 
life : from reverence at first, it gradually became a disease, induced a morbid indifference, and undermined 
and destroyed the healthful sources of enjoyment. 
Towards the close of a most lovely spring day — and such a lovely one, to my fancy, has never beamed 
from the heavens since — I carelessly plucked a cowslip from a copse side, and gave it to Constance. *Twas 
on that beautiful evening, as, seated on a mossy bank, she dissected, with downcast eyes, every part of the 
flower; chives, pointal, petal, all were displayed; though I am sure she never even thought of the class. My 
destiny through life I considered as fixed from that hour. Shortly afterwards I was called, by the death of 
a relative, to a distant part of England; upon my return, Constance was no more. The army was not my 
original destination; but my mind began to be enfeebled by hourly musing upon one subject alone, without 
cessation or available termination ; yet reason enough remained to convince me, that, without change and 
excitement, it would degenerate into fatuity. 
The preparation and voyage to India, new companions, and ever-changing scenes, hushed my feelings, 
and produced a calm that might be called a state of blessedness — a condition in which the ignoble and in- 
ferior ingredients of our nature were subdued by the divinity of mind. Years rolled on in almost constant 
service; nor do I remember many of the events of that time, even with interest or regret. In one advance 
of the army to which I was attached, we had some skirmishing with the irregulars of our foe; the pursuit 
was rapid, and I fell behind my detachment, wounded and weary, in ascending a ghaut, resting in the jungle, 
with languid eyes fixed on the ground, without any particular feeling but that of fatigue, and the smarting 
of my shoulder. A cowslip caught my sight! my blood rushed to my heart — and, shuddering, I started on 
my feet, felt no fatigue, knew of no wound, and joined my party. I had not seen this flower for ten years! 
but it probably saved my life, — an European officer, wounded and alone, might have tempted the avarice of 
some of the numerous and savage followers of an Indian army. In the cooler and calmer hours of reflection 
since, I have often thought that this appearance was a mere phantom, an illusion — the offspring of weak- 
ness : I saw it but for a moment, and too imperfectly to be assured of reality; and whatever I believed at 
the time seems now to have been a painting on the mind rather than an object of vision; but how that 
image started up, I conjecture not — the effect was immediate and preservative. This flower was again seen 
in Spain : 1 had the command of an advance party, and in one of the recesses of the Pyrenees, of the 
romantic, beautiful Pyrenees, upon a secluded bank, surrounded by a shrubbery so lovely as to be noticed 
by many — was a cowslip. It was now nearly twenty years since I had seen it in Mysore : I did not start ; 
but a cold and melancholy chill came over me; yet I might possibly have gazed long on this humble little 
flower, and recalled many dormant thoughts, had not a sense of duty (for we momentarily expected an 
attack) summoned my attentions to the realities of life: so, drawing the back of my hand across my eyes. I 
cheered my party with, ‘Forward, lads/ and pursued my route, and saw it no more, until England and all 
her flowery meadows met my view : but many days and service had wasted life, and worn the fine edge of 
sensibility away; — they were now before mein endless profusion, almost unheeded, and without excitement: 
I viewed not the cowslip, when fifty, as I had done with the eyes of nineteen. Time’s Telescope. 
