CHAPTER IV 
BOX EDGINGS 
“ They walked over the crackling leaves in the garden, between 
the lines of Box, breathing its fragrance of eternity ; for this is one 
of the odors which carry us out of time into the abysses of the 
unbeginning past ; if we ever lived on another ball of stone than 
this, it must be that there was Box growing on it.” 
— Elsie Vernier , Oliver Wendell Holmes, 1861. 
O many of us, besides Dr. Holmes, 
the unique aroma of the Box, 
cleanly bitter in scent as in taste, 
is redolent of the eternal past ; it 
is almost hypnotic in its effect. 
This strange power is not felt by 
all, nor is it a present sensitory 
influence; it is an hereditary mem- 
ory, half-known by many, but fixed in its intensity 
in those of New England birth and descent, true 
children of the Puritans; to such ones the Box 
breathes out the very atmosphere of New England’s 
past. I cannot see in clear outline those prim gar- 
dens of centuries ago, nor the faces of those who 
walked and worked therein ; but I know, as I stroll 
to-day between our old Box-edged borders, and in- 
hale the beloved bitterness of fragrance, and gather 
a stiff sprig of the beautiful glossy leaves, that in 
truth the garden lovers and garden workers of 
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