THE ODORS OF ARABY 



A JOURNEY into the walled heart of a town, a 

 night spent where every vista leads to chimneys or 

 to the glittering allurements of city amusements, -is most 

 salutary when the demon of restlessness stays the hand 

 from weeding. Who can measure the gladness of the re- 

 turn "? Who can picture that longing to be great enough 

 to command, and rich enough to create, hanging gardens, 

 wooded squares, and flowery terraces here and there and 

 everywhere in the labyrinth of houses'? 



Praying that an enlightened age may hasten the day 

 when it shall be so, let us hasten to find a seat on the 

 shaded side of the car whence the view will open on the 

 park where the avenues of catalpas are holding aloft 

 their bouquets of blossoms, and the lindens are opening 

 their waxen bells for the honeybees. Along the way is a 

 clover field, small clumps of blushing Alsatian clover, 

 acting as forerunners to the acres of white across the 

 road, where cattle stand knee deep in the perfection of 

 June pastures. 



And then comes "improved property." Why "im- 

 proved," we wonder, with suburban homes touching 

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