MAY 103 



have no name but the name of the flower itself. 

 To read "The Arabian Nights" properly one 

 must read the stories where riot these blos- 

 soms, which carry in their scent all that they 

 have to tell ; and where, lifting half-conscious 

 eyes from the page, one can see the butter- 

 flies hovering over the blossoms as they hover 

 nowhere else, palpitating, wavering, poising 

 drifting ! 



It is singular that this flower, steeped in 

 Eastern sensuousness, should have been the 

 chosen one of the Pilgrim women of Puritan 

 days, but it is so. Whatever else they were 

 forced to leave behind or to forego, they had 

 always lilacs springing up about the doors of 

 the habitations in the wilderness to which they 

 brought their longing thoughts of the homes 

 they would see no more. Generation after 

 generation, the lilacs have followed the family 

 fortunes, lilacs, and sweetbriar roses outlining 

 the very name of the dwellers in the deserted 

 houses beside which they stand on faithful 

 guard, until at last there is nothing left to 

 tell of the gentle souls who cared for the 

 flowers, but their yearly appeal for sympathy. 



Next after the lilac and the sweetbriar, in 



