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plant, snatching at the flowers and crushing 

 them between his fingers as if he were taking 

 snuff. Presently a Persian, in flowing robe of 

 blue, and on his head his sheep-skin hat, would 

 saunter in, and stand and meditate over every 

 flower he saw, and always as if half in vision ; 

 and when the vision was fulfilled, and the ideal 

 flower he was seeking found, he would spread 

 his mat and sit before it, and fold up his mat 

 again and go home. And the next night, and 

 night after night, until that particular flower 

 faded away, he would return to it, and bring his 

 friends in ever-increasing troops to it, and sit 

 and play the guitar and lute before it, and they 

 would all together pray there, and after prayer 

 still sit before it, sipping sherbet and talking late 

 into the moonlight ; and so again and again 

 every evening, until the flower died. Some- 

 times, by way of a grand finale, the whole 

 company would suddenly rise before the flower 

 and serenade it with an ode from Hafiz, and 

 depart." 



I suppose we could not do without the June 

 Pyrethrum, it is so floriferous, and has such 

 feathery, deep-green foliage. Nevertheless, I see 

 no excuse for littering up a garden with some 

 of its crimson-magentas or magenta-crimsons. 

 Weeded of its bad colors and bad centers, it is 



