This genus, _Primula_, is the type of the family and contains about one hundred and fifty species from which have been produced, both in nature and under cultivation, many hybrid forms, one investigator claiming to have found more than twenty in the Alps alone. The species are found distributed throughout the cooler regions of Europe and Asia and a few are natives of North America. The common or English primrose (_Primula vulgaris_), by careful culture, produces a wonderful number of variations. The wild forms produce only yellow single flowers while from those under cultivation are developed numerous varieties, both single and double, which vary greatly in color--red, pink, white, purple, and many shades of each. The cowslip primrose (_Primula veris_) is also a native of England. The flowers are yellow and nodding, and the plants emit a strong odor of anise. The Himalaya Mountains are probably more rich in beautiful and interesting species and varieties than any other locality. Here is found the most beautiful of all the primroses, the delicate rose-colored form (_Primula rosea._) This species of primrose should not be confounded with the evening primrose, of which there are about twenty species, all American. The yellow flowers of the latter appear in the summer, opening at night, the thin and delicate petals withering the next day. [Illustration: PRIMROSE. 6/7 Life-size. CHICAGO: A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER. COPYRIGHT 1900, BY NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.] THE EGRET'S YOUNG. ELIZA WOODWORTH. Beside a quiet stream the egrets build, And, friendly, crowd their nests of wattled sticks In clustered trees, then patient keep unchilled Their sea-blue eggs, and hear the first faint pricks Against the shells; and soon each wistful brood Beneath the mother's breast will doze or wake; And soon each parent pair will wing with food From waded shallows brown, and marsh and brake. Between the flights they rest and tranquil look Far down the glade from boughs or dusky nests, And see the deer that wend beside the brook, And partridge coveys, with their freckled breasts. Oh, lives like sunny hours! Oh, peaceful glade, Where glow the early flowers! What hunters steal Along the stream, with rifles softly laid At hand, while slips the skiff on noiseless keel? The shots half-blind the air with curling haze, And from his lookout perch the watcher falls; The nested mother lifts her head to gaze, And wounded, flutters down with hollow calls. And, bleeding prone, perchance she mourns her young, And hears, as far away, their startled cries, And longs for pleasant haunts she lived among, While in an anguished dream she slowly dies.