IN OLD PONKAPOAG 43 



is the bloom of the wild caraway. Here is a mist 

 of delicate thought which speaks to you with lace- 

 like beauty. Nor does the closest inspection reveal 

 any fault. The bloom appeals as a delightful bit 

 of sentiment, at first glance. It is only as you 

 examine it minutely that you marvel at its exquisite 

 workmanship. However carefully you pick it to 

 pieces you find each part perfect and as admirable 

 in its ingenuity as in its appeal to the imagina- 

 tion. And after you have done this you pass on, 

 touched with the white purity of it and bearing 

 far a gentle, aromatic pungency which is the 

 essence of the parent stem that bore the bloom. 



