ON THE MANUSCRIPTS OF GOD 



ing log in the fireplace. Then all these items 

 are filed away under the sesame label of 

 "Odor of Arbutus" Afterward, years and 

 decades pass; but let Gregory catch but an 

 infinitesimal whiff of the fragrance of ar- 

 butus, or hear the word spoken, and the 

 curtains of memory will rise on the old scene, 

 with the instantaneous flashlight that follows 

 the turn of an electric switch. 



However veiled are the devices of dear old 

 dame nature, sooner or later her children 

 are sure to find her out. When she gives 

 us an organ and says, "Use this to fill your 

 lungs," we know that it is only her Socratic 

 way of asking us to find out what else can 

 be done with a nose. 



Then, like so many of her other gifts, we 

 find this one a veritable Aaron's rod in its 

 power to bud and branch into all manner 

 of undreamed-of possibilities. 



Even while its possessor is yet a child, this 

 poet-sense begins its work. Like a bee, it 

 sips something from every fragrant blossom 

 and stores it up in the honey-cells of 

 memory. And as the flavor of honey made 



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