SWEET EGLANTINE 



is connected with certain grassy alleys piercing deep the grand 

 old- world park, or rather forest, of St. Cloud, which were my 

 favourite playgrounds in the early sixties of the last century. 

 <There is something distinctly suitable to the status of 

 Grandpa, albeit merely "brevet" rank as in my case, in 

 memorising thus about a past century !> 

 I can see the five-year-old arrested short upon the turf, in 

 the midst of the hot pursuit of a blue butterfly, by his first 

 whiff in life of Rosa Rubiginosa : so might a setter halt and 

 stiffen, having got the wind of a grouse.~The source of the 

 fitful stream of fragrance was hidden among 

 clumps of forbidding brambles. Besides, 

 there was no following the trail : it seemed 

 ubiquitous. Like some Puck in his most 

 tantalising mood, it would lead up and down, 

 up and down luring now to right, now to left, 

 now straight ahead, anon seemed to whisk 

 past from behind, until, in a kind of " dwam," 

 the child would give up the baffled purpose and 

 pensively trot home by the nurse's side. 

 For days the ambrosial fragrance dwelt in 

 his little turned-up nose. It haunted the 

 sensitive child-mind much as, later, in budding 

 manhood, the remembrance of some enchant- 

 ing face seen for an instant and then lost 

 to sight. He had at last to confide his 

 hopeless passion to his mother. It smelt 

 <he explained) like the Pomme Reinette of 

 the dessert plates, but oh, so much, so much 

 better ! The reference to the well-known and 

 excellent variety of apple left no doubt about 



