88 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



The magic of the rose, its thousand legends, answer to 

 the spell cast by the aroma of an opened rose jar diffus- 

 ing its presence like the shade of a beneficent genie from 

 the land of Aladdin. Its memories give us privilege to 

 moralize as we sift our rose leaves and spices. We are 

 reminded that it is well to snatch sunny moments from 

 the pleasure hunt of youth, and fill rose jars of remi- 

 niscences to make brightness in the winter of life. Ah, 

 but who can think of winter when the wild rose is 

 abloom*? Away with all shadows set in motion to a 

 minor strain by the hour among slugs and red spiders ! 



The old spell of the rose is upon us. It is the same 

 weaving of wizardry that gives dreams of the Persian 

 gardens, where nightingales and dewdrops sing and die 

 for the love of a rose. It is this perfume that over- 

 powers the brain, and the sense goes meandering in the 

 mysterious ways of poesy. Close your eyes, and with the 

 rose close to your lips yield to the charm. 



It is all yours, this wealth of the world the glamour 

 of moonlight, the tinkle of a fountain, the song of a 

 nightingale above the gentle twanging of a lute, and the 

 fragrance of rose gardens in that far-away land of 

 dreams be it Persia or that one little garden hidden 

 cherished in the memories of your heart. 



All this with the incense that rises from the crushed 

 petals on the altar of the rose ! 



Let us bury behind the books that unblushing 



