FRAGRANCE AND FRUIT 49 



flowers in clusters give a most becoming adornment. 

 Big and beautiful as they are, scent is their most con- 

 spicuous feature. Even in the open air it is rich almost 

 to cloyness. It hangs about the tree while the wind 

 is still, and the slightest movement of the air wafts it 

 hither and thither. It stings sensitive folk with its 

 intensity at close quarters, but when diffused is fragrance 

 of ethereal delight. All day long birds frolic in the 

 trees, some to cull the nectar, some to search for insects 

 attracted for like purpose, some to nibble and discard 

 white petals. All the moist soil beneath is strewn with 

 snowy flakes, for at night flying foxes blunder among 

 the branches, destroying more blooms than they eat. 

 But why grumble ? Birds which nip off petals and 

 musty foxes which brush down whole posies in their 

 clumsiness are but positive checks to overproduction. 

 Do they not avert the unthankful task of carting away 

 dozens of barrow loads of superfluous fruit ? Last 

 night at dusk there was a sensation of the coming of 

 rain, though the air was still and the sky clear. I 

 paused under the trees to expand my lungs with their 

 scented breathings. A semi-intoxicated bird twittered 

 drowsily among the branches, 



" His happy good-night air, 

 Some blessed hope, whereof he knew, 

 And I was unaware." 



Dozens of sphinx moths big torpedo-shaped bodies 

 carried by wings of soft brown and dull red floated 

 about, sipping where and when and as long as they 

 liked. Sometimes the sphinx has almost an aggressive 

 tone in his flight hasty, important, brooking no inter- 

 ference. Last night's note was of supreme content. A 

 rich and overflowing feast was spread and the insects 

 hovered over the posies and sipped and fluted like 



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