THE ODORS OF ARABY 87 



In the little herb garden behind the sweet Williams 

 the rosemary spreads its branches next a graceful rue, the 

 pennyroyal and fennel are side by side, the old-man is 

 sacred from desecrating hands, and thyme grown from 

 seeds sent from Hymettus invites American bees. A 

 silver sage, the purple-tipped lavender, and sturdy catnip 

 make as pretty a group as any in the flower garden, and 

 the mints, savory, basil, and balm have each a place. 



The perfumes arising from the peonies, iris, and 

 syringas culminate in the roses. Every blossom, how- 

 ever humble mignonettes, verbenas, alyssum makes 

 an offering filling the nights and the days with a fore- 

 taste of scented breezes of a fairer world than ours. Go 

 forth into the twilight and listen and wait in the stillness 

 of the eve, and mayhap, like Socrates, you will fall upon 

 your knees and pray: "O Pan, and all ye gods that 

 haunt this place, give me beauty in the inward man" 

 nor dare there be any who will accuse you of irreverence 

 to any in creation's plan. 



It hints of self-denial to steal a morning from the days 

 appointed for roaming the clover fields to spend it on a 

 shady porch filling rose jars with dried leaves to sweeten 

 the atmosphere of January. If in summer the senses are 

 elevated to the seventh heaven of delight by the odors 

 wafted from hay fields, in winter they rise to an exhil- 

 aration of exquisite pleasure upon entering a rose-scented 

 room. 



