Osmanthus absolute(Osmanthus fragrans)-China

Osmanthus absolute(Osmanthus fragrans)-China

Osmanthus absolute extracted from the flowers of the Osmanthus fragrans tree cultivated in China is a viscous orangish-brown liquid displaying an immensely, sweet rich, fruity, floral bouquet with a leathery, spicy undertone. The complexity and depth of the bouquet requires careful study over a long period of time to appreciate its unique nuances. The tenacity is excellent. Small amounts(1-5%) can exert a powerful influence in the compositions into which it is incorporated. It has a very commanding olfactory presence

In natural perfumery, works well in culinary bouquets, sacred essences, high class florals, fruit notes, Oriental bouquets, geographical perfumes, incense creations

Blends well with
agarwood eo and co2
aglaia odorata abs
amber eo
ambrette seed eo, co2 and abs
Amyris eo
anise star eo and co2
angelica root eo, co2 and abs
arnica abs
Aruacaria eo
beeswax abs
bergamot eo
black currant abs
blood orange eo
bois de rose/rosewood eo
boronia abs
calamus eo and co2
cardamon eo, co2 and abs
carnation abs
carrot seed eo, co2 and abs
cassia bark eo, co2 and abs
cassie abs
champaca abs
cinnamon bark eo, co2 and absolute
clary sage eo and abs
clover sweet abs
costus eo and co2
davana eo, co2 and abs
elderflower abs and co2
fenugreek eo, co2 and abs
fir balsam abs
frangipani abs
frankincense eo, co2 and abs
coriander eo, co2 and abs
galangal eo
guiacawood eo
ginger eo, co2 and abs
hay abs
helichrsysum eo and abs
jasmin sambac abs
jonquil abs
karo karounde abs
lemon eo
lovage root abs
mandarin eo
marigold abs
mate abs
myrrh eo, co2 and abs
narcissus abs
opoponax eo and abs
orange blossom abs
orris root eo, co2 and abs
petitgrain mandarin eo
petitgrain combava eo
petitgrain bigrade eo
petitgrain bergamot eo
petitgrain bigarade eo
rose leaf abs
rose bourbonia abs
rosa damascena abs, co2 and abs
rosa centifolia abs
saffron co2
sage clary eo and abs
tea black abs
tea green abs
tonka bean abs
tuberose abs
vanilla co2 and abs
vetiver eo, co2 and abs
violet leaf abs
ylang eo, co2 and abs
yuzu eo and abs
zdravetz eo and abs

Ambrette Essential Oil and Ambrette CO2 select extract

Ambrette Essential Oil and Ambrette CO2 select extract

Ambrette seeds are one of the few natural botanical materials which contain some of the compounds found in animal musk. The richness and beauty of this essential oil bestows upon compositions in which it is used a lift and unique radiant roundness.
The essential oil is a white to pale yellow liquid displaying a delicate, sweet, floral-musky bouquet with a leathery, dried fruity, slightly animalic woody undertone

Ambrette seed co2 select extract is clear to light yellow liquid soft balsamic, floral-musky bouquet with a soft, sweet fruity, animalic undertone

The overall bouquet of both is quite similar with the co2 extract maintaining a bit more of a rounded warm balsamic sweetness deep into the dryout than the essential oil which leans more towards a animalic, woody note

Another important factor in determining which to use in a composition is that co2 extracts tend not to be totally alcoholsoluble whereas the essential oil is alcohol soluble. CO2 extracts work best in oil bases

Both of the above work wonderfully in high class florals, musk bases, incense perfumes, sacred essences, precious woods notes, amber bases

Blends well with
agarwood eo and co2
aglaia odorata abs
amber eo and co2
amryis eo
angelica root eo, co2 anda bs
arauacaria eo
basil holy eo and co2
bay leaf eo and abs
birch tar eo
bois de rose eo
cabreuva eo
cade eo
calamus eo and co2
cananga eo
cassie abs
cedarwood eo's and abs
champa abs
choya nakh
choya loban
choya ral
cinnamon bark eo
cistus eo
clove eo, co2 and abs
clover sweet abs
coriander eo and co2
costus eo and co2
frangipani absolute
frankincense eo, co2 and abs
guiacawood eo
gurjun balsam eo
henna leaf co2
hay abs
howood eo
jasmine absolutes
jonquil abs
kewda eo/ruh
labdanum eo and abs
lawang eo
lovage root eo, co2 and abs
mimosa abs
nagarmotha eo, co2 and abs
orange blossom abs
poplar bud abs and eo
osmanthus abs
rose eo, co2 and abs
sandalwood eo, co2 and abs
seaweed abs
siamwood eo
spikenard eo and co2
tonka bean abs
tuberose absolute
vetiver eo, co2 and abs
ylang eo and abs

Fragrance Quote for March 31st, 2012- The woods and by-ways of New England By Wilson Flagg

Fragrance Quote for March 31st, 2012- The woods and by-ways of New England By Wilson Flagg

The beauty of a summer landscape is greatly enhanced by its alliance with the agreeable odors that constantly emanate from herbs and flowers; for the sight of a grove or woody pasture invariably suggests the idea of fragrance. The rising mists of the valley, tinged with the ruddy hues of dawn, derive interest from their relation to the fragrance of morning. And it may be remarked, on the other hand, that odors are indebted to other charming influences of nature for a great share of their own pleasantness. For nature has so combined all the objects of creation, that they are made to reflect a portion of their own light, beauty, and agreeableness upon each other.
The woods and by-ways of New England
By Wilson Flagg

Elderflower/Sureau(Sambucus nigra) Absolute/France

Elderflower/Sureau(Sambucus nigra) Absolute/France

Elderflower absolute is a dark brown, almost black viscous liquid displaying an deep, rich, sweet,herbaceous, coumarinic, fruity-floral bouquet with a honeyed, balsamic, slightly spicy undertone. Its complexity, richness, and smoothness are a delight to explore.
In natural perfumery can be used in high class florals herbaceous bouquets, sacred p...erfumes, mythological essences, chypre, fougere

Blends well with;
Aglaia seed abolute
Ambrette seed eo, co2 and abs
araucaria eo
anise star eo and co2
beeswax absolute
black currant absolute
boronia absolute
broom/genet absolute
cananga eo
carrot seed eo, co2 and absolute
Cassie absolute
Champa absolute
chamomile eo, co2 and absolute
davana eo
erigeron eo
Fennel eo and co2
fenugreek eo, co2 and absolute
Fir Balsam absolute
Geranium eo and abs
Hay Absolute
Henna Leaf C02
Helichrysum eo and absolute
Hop co2
Jonquil absolute
Mate absolute
Mimosa absolute
Narcissus absolute
Patchouli absolute, eo and co2
Rose Leaf Absolute
Rosa bourbonia absolute
Rosa damascena eo and absolute
Rose white eo and abs
Tansy blue eo
Tonka bean absolute
Violet leaf absolu
Yarrow eo and co2
Ylang absolute, co2 and eo

Coffee Bean Absolute(Coffea arabica)

Coffee Bean Absolute(Coffea arabica)
The absolute of coffee is a thick dark brown paste with an intense, deep roasted, nutty, earthy, bouquet with a sweet carmelic, woody undertone. To my nose the bouquet is many times more intense than the coffee co2 or coffee essential oil

In natural perfumery is used in culinary perfumes, amber bases, earthy accords, forest notes, fougere, Oriental bases, m...usk essences. Trace amounts of coffee absolute are all that required to produce very unique warm, roasted, nutty aroma in a great variety of compositions

Blends well with:
agarwood eo and co2
angelica root eo, co2 and abs
amber eo and co2
anise star eo and co2
aglaia odorata absolute
birch tar eo
cade eo
cardamon eo, co2 and abs
cassia eo and co2
cedarwood eo's and absolutes
cinnamon eo, co2 and abs
clove bud eo, co2 and abs
elecampagne eo and abs
fennel eo and co2
fenugreek eo, co2 and abs
galangal eo and co2
ginger eo, co2 and abs
lovage eo, co2 and abs
massia bark eo and co2
myrrh eo and co2
oakmoss absolute
opoponax eo and abs
patchouli eo, co2 and abs
peppermint eo, co2 and absolute
nagarmotha eo, co2 and absolute
seaweed abs
tonka bean abs
vetiver eo, co2 an abs
zdravetz eo and abs

Tonka Bean absolute 30% in 70% perfumers alcohol

Tonka Bean absolute 30% in 70% perfumers alcohol

Colleagues in France are beginning to increase the availability of a number of difficult to work with absolutes by diluting them in perfumers alcohol.
Tonka bean absolute in its pure state is a solid crystalline mass and needs to be heated before it can be diluted in alcohol or carrier oils. In perfumers alcohol it is a golden brown flowable liquid... displaying an incredibly rich, intensely sweet, carmelic, warm-coumarinic, balsamic bouquet with a dried fruity, powdery herbaceous undertone. It is an altogether delightful material and in this natural dilution reveals even more of its complex nature because it is "decompressed" from its solid form thus stretching out its olfactory qualities for easier olfactory assimilation.

In natural perfumery has wide application for its excellent fixative value. Its warm, suave, sweet smoothnes finds use in fougere, chypre, new mown hay, Oriental bases, incense perfumes., high class florals, precious woods, herbal bouquets, amber bases

Blends well with:
agarwood eo and co2
ambrette seed eo, co2 and abs
aglaia odorata seed abs
angelica root eo, co2 and absolute
balsam tolu absolute
balsam peru eo and absolute
beeswax absolute
benzoin absolute
bergamot eo
boronia abs
broom/genet absolute
cassie absolute
chamomile eo's, co's and absolutes
clary sage eo and abs
clove bud absolute
clover sweet absolute
fenugreek eom, co2 and abs
fir balsam absolute
frangipani absolute
frankincense eo, co2 and abs
hay abs
helichryusm eo and abs
jasmine ruhs/essential oil, co2 and abs
jonquil absolute
kewda eo/ruh
lavender eo, co2 and abs
lavindin eo and absolute
lovage eo, co2 and abs
mandarin eo
mimosa absolute
myrrh eo, co2 and abs
narcissus abs
oakmoss absolute
opoponax eo and abs
osmanthus absolute
patchouli abs, co2 and eo
petitgrain mandarin
petitgrain bergamot
petitgrain combava
rosemary eo, co2 and abs
rose eo''s, co2 and absolute
sandalwood eo, co2 and abs
seaweed absolute
tuberose absolute
styrax eo and abs
violet leaf abs



Rose Leaf Absolute(Rosa damascena)/South Africa

Rose Leaf Absolute(Rosa damascena)/South Africa

Rose leaf absolute is a way green mass with an intriguing green-leafy, sweet herbaceous, honeyed-waxy bouquet with a delicate roseaceous, woody,

It is valued in high class florals, herbaceous bouquets, fougere, chypre, and sacred perfumes, forest notes, new mown hay

Blends beautifully with
amyris eo
araucaria eo
ambrette eo, co2 and absolute
basil eo, co2 and absoltue
beeswax absolute
broom/gnet absolute
chamomile eo, co2 and abs
clover sweet absolute
frangipani absolute
gardenia absolute
guiacawood eo
hay absolute
helichrysum absolute and eo
hop eo and absolute
Jonquil absolute
mate absolute
Narcissus absolute
palmarosa eo
rose eo, co2 and absolute
sandalwood eo, co2 and absolute
saffron co2
tarragon eo and abs
tea absolute and co2
tonka absolute
tagetes eo and abs
tuberose absolute
violet leaf absolute
ylang absolute

Fenugreek Seed Absolute(Trigonella foenum-graecum)-French extracted

Fenugreek Seed Absolute(Trigonella foenum-graecum)-French extracted

The absolute of Fenugreek seeds is a dark brown very viscous liquid to solid waxy mass displaying a potent, sweet, spicy, courmarinic-balsamic-maple bouquet with a dried fruit, rooty undertone of good tenacity.

In natural perfumery it is appreciated for its unique complexity which in trace quantities produces fine effects in culinary bouquets, Oriental bases, new mown hay, chypres, fougeres, fruit notes, amber bases, forest notes

blends well with
agarwood eo and co2
aglaia odorata seed abs
angelica root eo, co2 and abs
anise star eo and co2
amber eo and co2
balsam peru eo and abs
balsam tolu absolute
balsam copaiba eo
beeswax absolute
broom/genet absolute
cabreuva eo
calamus eo and co2
cananga eo
cassie absolute
cassia bark eo
chamoile eo's, co2's and absolute
cinnamon bark eo, co2 and abs
champa absolute
clove bud eo, co2 and abs
clover, sweet absolute
coriander seed eo and co2
currant black absolute and co2
costus eo and co2
davana eo, co2 and absolute
fennel sweet eo and co2
frangipani absolute
galangal eo
ginger eo, co2 and abs
hay absolute
helichrysum eo, co2 and abs
henna leaf co2
hop eo and co
hyssop eo
jasmine absolutes
kewda eo/ruh
jonquil absolute
lawang eo
lovage root eo, co2 and abs
mimosa absolute
nagarmotha eo and co2
narcissus absolute
orris root eo, co2 and abs
opoponax eo and abs
osmanthus absolute
patchouli eo, co2 an absolute
sandalwood eo, co2 and absolute
seaweed absolute
spikenard eo and abs
tuberose absolute
valarian eo and abs
yarrow eo
ylang eo, co2 and absolute

Fragrance Quote for March 30thth, 2012- Through Spain and Portugal By Ernest C. Peixotto

Fragrance Quote for March 30thth, 2012- Through Spain and Portugal By Ernest C. Peixotto

THESE drives in central Portugal are truly delightful. The little open carriage, the horses' steady pace, the soft fragrance of the air, the ever-changing and ever-pleasant pictures along the way, make an ideal mode of travel, far from the noisy railway and the dust of automobiles. The scenery is not spectacular in any way—just lovely country, peaceful and idyllic. Rows of oaks and eucalypti ranged against the sky, cork-trees by the roadside, vineyards perched on rocky terraces, vales of olive groves, and, most of all, pine woods, sun-drenched and balsamic, on the risings—such are the features of the landscape. Villages seem few for populous Europe, but the farms, when you come upon them, are homelike, freshly painted, and clean.

For some hours we drove along, crossing many steep ridges until, toward noon, Ourem's Castle came in sight, perched high on a fat, round hill. This we skirted, through vineyards and olive orchards, until we entered the long street of a town, Villa Nova d'Ourem, where we drew up before a very modest hospedaria. Notwithstanding its humble appearance, we found a neat, cool room up-stairs and had a good, plain luncheon.

As soon as the noonday glare had somewhat subsided we were off again for another two hours. Then, at a turning, Thomar's church and castle suddenly rose before us. It seemed too late to climb the hill that evening, so we loitered instead in the fragrant gardens that skirt the Nabao, a little stream that seems to run right through these pleasure grounds, feeding numerous picturesque wheels that dip its water into sluices and carry it off to the thirsty fields.

Fragrance Quote for March 29th, 2012- Sylvan spring By Francis George Heath

Fragrance Quote for March 29th, 2012- Sylvan spring By Francis George Heath

When the breath of Spring, on the mountain sides where Pyrus aucuparia finds its habitats, mixes with the delicious perfume of this beautiful tree, the exquisite fragrance is oftentimes wafted far away. Who, indeed, can tell where the perfume of wild flowers is carried? How often, when wandering through the woods, have we stopped almost involuntarily, momentarily enraptured by some sudden gust of sweetness, the source of which the most careful search has not enabled us to detect? Every one can recognize the delicious perfume of the Hawthorn blossom; and oftentimes, doubtless, in hilly country, when we think we have scented the fragrance of the beautiful flowers of that thorny tree, it may be that we are inhaling the sweet breath of the Mountain Ash, brought to us as the air from the uplands is blown down into the valley.

Fragrant Quote for March 28th, 2012-In God's out-of-doors By William Alfred Quayle

Fragrant Quote for March 28th, 2012-In God's out-of-doors
By William Alfred Quayle

In an elect moment, Whittier made music for the winds to make their meaning clear:

"Yet on my cheek I feel the western wind,
And hear it telling to the orchard trees.
And to the faint and flower-forsaken bees.
Tales of fair meadows green with constant streams.
And mountains rising blue and cold behind
Where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams,
And starred with white the virgin's bower is twined.
So the overwearied pilgrim as he fares
Along life's summer waste. at times is fanned
Even at noontide by the cool, sweet airs
Of a serener and a holier land."

And winds laded with odors—you can not escape their sweet comradeship. And winds blowing across a field where haycocks exhale fragrance, who can escape their witchery? Such winds know how to spoil waters and fields and forests of spikenards and balsams. I have inhaled fragrance from winds blown fresh from the sea through moors of purple heather, and can I forget the poetry of it even in heaven? I pray I may not.

Winds of spring, apple-scented and with earth-smell in them! And walking through woods at night when dew drips from the leaves and the score or more of odors saturate the air, and the frog's song sings up from marshes and ravines as if that were audible odor, and starlight plays hide-and-seek with you through the foliage, when there puffs in your face the musk of many odors mixed, then you could catch the Wind and kiss her on the cheek like a girl, for sheer delight. Then when lilacs blow, and spring hastens on to June and white clover chokes the air with heavy perfumes, and roses tell in the dark where they are blooming by the fragrance they lent the breeze as it strayed indolently through their dear delights, or later, when harvests spill their essences to the languorous winds, and later still, when winds bear their sad freightage of autumn leaves falling, or fallen, and faded. O the wind is the poet laureate of autumn; and the lonely, tearful music and autumnal fragrance of leaf-distilled perfumes fairly drug the senses of the spirit till perforce the winds make us poets against our will and reason.
In God's out-of-doors
By William Alfred Quayle

Ancient Art of Making Mitti Attar

Ancient Art of Making Mitti Attar

Mitti-The Fragrance of the Earth

Mitti-The Fragrance of the Earth
by Christopher McMahon

Part 1: Monsoon in Rajasthan

"I am the taste in the water, the light of the sun and the moon, the sound in the ether, the ability in the man, the fragrance of the earth, the life of all that lives, the strength of the strong, the intelligence of the intelligent, and the original seed of all existences."
Bhagavad Gita(c. BC 400)

In the Bhagavad Gita, when Lord Krishna reveals his true idenity to Arjuna, he uses the lovely phrase, "the fragrance of the earth", to describe his essential nature. This fragrance is very dear to the Indian people as it is associated with the coming of the monsoon rains which is the life-giver. In many places there is no other water source for irrigating the crops than that which comes from the sky. When the monsoon season approaches the farmers throughout the country search the horizon for signs of the moisture-laden clouds with fervent prayers that this years rains will be sufficient to grow the crops which will feed their families, communities and country. The feelings that get awakened at that time are very intense and one must realize that the entire livelihood of millions of people is tied up with the amount of rain that falls in any given year. When the first drops of rain fall upon the parched earth, it gives off an intoxicating aroma that is inhaled by the country folk in deep satisfying draughts. It is a cause for singing, dancing, and tears of joy because if all goes well in a few short months the fields will be full of nourishing crops.

When I was in my early twenties, I went to live on a small farm in South India that became my home for six months a year from 1971-1976. Living amongst the simple farming people my life underwent a gradual change where I began to sense the powerful effect nature exerts upon those who have lived in close proximity to her for thousands of years. In the hearts of the current generation of rural Indians live the feelings, emotions and experiences of all their ancestors. It is a collective awareness based upon certain commonly shared values that have changed little in the course of the centuries. The coming of the monsoon rates as one of the most important events of the year and the hearts and minds of the people become united with the intense longing to see, taste, hear, smell and feel the benefits of the rain. Indeed it may be said that the identity of the people is so closely linked with the earth that they feel what the earth might feel when finally it is reinvigorated with the the raindrops falling from the sky.

This July, I had the opportunity to visit Rajasthan as the monsoon season approached. It was very exciting to be moving through the countryside sharing in the intense feelings of the farming people once again. As my eye drank in the sublime beauty of that ancient landscape, I became so grateful that my life had become intertwined with a part of India that is little known to people from other parts of the world. I was traveling with my fragrance mentor, Mr. Ramakant Harlalka of Mumbai, and we were exploring another dimension of the great aromatic traditions that are dear to the hearts and minds of the Indian people. The countryside was alive with activity in spite of the tremendous heat which proceeds the rains. The earth had been or was being plowed so that the broken crust could easily receive the precious drops of rain. Plows were being mended, hoes sharpened, shovels made, for the intense work that would follow should nature be kind and the rains abundant. But most of all one could feel the call of the earth and all her creatures for the rains to come.

It was the best possible time to understand the importance of "mitti" attar which is still being made in North India today. An attar is an Indian perfume having a sandalwood base in which one or several essences of botanical origin become absorbed through hydro-distillation. The "mitti" or "earth" attar is that perfume which is actually a distillation of the earth. In some past time, the perfumers of Kannauj put their attention on producing a fragrance that would portray the odor given off by the earth when first touched by the monsoon rains as it was loved so much by the people. I had found mention of this attar in perfumery literature some years before and instantly became interested in finding out more about it. In February 1995 I had the opportunity to visit a distillery in Kannauj where this attar was being produced and since that time with the help of my Indian colleagues had made a good photographic documentation on this perfume.

The real significance of the attar was only revealed to me though when we were in Rajasthan as it had been many years since I was in India during the monsoon season. Seeing the sun baked earth upturned and waiting to receive the rains and feeling the longing of the people for the return of the monsoon connected me once again to the"reason" behind the existence of the attar. This odor was for the people a reminder of one of the most sacred and important events of their lives. Ramakant also explained to me that from the scientific level when the earth becomes depleted of moisture the soil organisms, numbering 10 million to the teaspoon, become inactive but as soon as the soil receives the rain they are activated again and this activity is most likely the cause for the sublime aroma that is dear to those who love the earth. This exquisite rich, deep, mysterious smell created by the activity of the micro-organisms, invisibly charges the air with its positive influence and one can easily imagine that the earth is in turn thanking the clouds and rain for showering their cooling draughts so that life can return to the land and all nature can rejoice.

Part 2: Making Mitti Attar

How then is this fragrance "captured" by the perfumers of Kannauj? The perfumers know that each earth has its own distinct odor. Through experimentation they found that the earth extracted from dried up lakes, ponds or wells was the finest for producing the aroma they wanted. Working with picks and crow bars, local people go to the selected site and take out the caked earth and load waiting bullock carts or tractor trailers for transport to the area of the city where the potters live. The potters work in an open area surrounded by mounds of earth, bricks and brick ovens. The potters assistant sits and pounds the large pieces of dried earth into pieces that can be moistened and formed into a dough which the potter then molds into coarse vessels. Squatting on the ground, they manually set their wheel revolving with a spinning stick, and in quick succession create cups or plates for firing. Nearby are many small ovens having a central concave opening that is meant for holding the vessels. The vessels are stacked in this opening. When all vessels are in place bricks are stacked several tiers high around the perimeter of the oven. Straw is packed above the vessels to the top of the bricks and the whole thing is then sealed with clay. A fire is ignited beneath the vessels and they are gently half-baked at which point they are removed and transported to the distillery.

At the distillery, the half-baked vessels are transported to the large copper "degs"(cauldrons) that are supported above the ground by a brick and earth structure. As many as 10 degs sit in on a row and beneath each one is a small opening that will receive the fuel(cow-dung or wood) when the distilling process begins. At this point the degs contain no water. Once the earthen vessels have been placed inside, workers encircle the lip of the deg with a moist clay snake upon which the "sarpos", a lid is placed. This permits a tight seal to be formed between the lid and the cauldron. There are two wholes in the copper lid. Into the larger of the two holes fits the "chonga" a bamboo pipe covered with a type of grass twine which acts as an insulating material. The pipe is wrapped with cotton cloth at the place where it enters the cauldron so that a tight seal is formed between the two. The other end of the pipe is connected to a "bhapka" a long-necked copper receiver which contains 5 kilos of pure sandalwood oil. A tight seal is formed here also by an interface of cotton between the bamboo and the vessel. The copper receiver sits in a water-filled basin so that it remains cool allowing condensation to occur during the distilling process. Only when all the different parts in securely in place is the water poured into the second whole in the lid. The reason for this is very important and is one of the first known instances of recognizing the importance of "head-space" aromatic molecules.

Part 3: Labor Intensive Industry

"Head-space" aromatic molecules are the most subtle and refined of all the fragrant molecules exhaled by a plant during the course of its life. The heat of even the most refined steam or hydro-distillation invariably destroys the finest of these molecules as they exist only at normal enviromental temperatures and even then at a certain time of day. So in their own unique way the perfumers of Kannauj recognized this basic fact and did their best to insure that the subtle componets of the earth fragrance would be preserved to the greatest extent possible. They knew that once the water touched the earth the micro-organisms would become active without the presence of heat. By placing the water in the chamber sealing it at the last minute, they forced these aromatic molecules to pass into the bamboo pipe and onto the sandalwood oil where traces of the essence could become absorbed. Only then does is heat applied to the cauldron and the rest of the aromatic material extracted.

For two hours the cauldron is subjected to direct heat and then the material gathered in the receiver is allowed to sit till the cool of the following morning. At that time the water and oil have completely separated and the water can be drained off from a small hole in the bottom of the receiver. This process is repeated twenty times over the next several weeks at the end of which time the sandalwood oil becomes charged with the fragrance of the earth. This charged oil is then placed in special leather bottles where the oil matures and takes on its full richness.

Obviously the process of making such an attar is labor intensive. We need to think about all the effort that goes into ints production with great appreciation and gratitude. First nature provides the fragrant earth for us to distill. Then it has to be dug out, fashioned into clay vessels, brought to the distillery and made into the perfume here described. The lives of the people involved in this and other aspects of the industry are very simple. A lot of cottage industry level skills are utilized here. The perfumers possess the knowledge of how to make the attar but for their work they need the copper vessels, the earthen pots, the bamboo pipes, leather bottles, and so many other things. Many people are able to practice traditional crafts in home enviroments due to the existence of the attar industry. I have had the good fortune to see many of these crafts and processes first hand and also to witness the lives of the people envolved in them. By Western standards their work may appear menial, lacking in glamor or unsophisticated but a little closer examination may show us that there is a lot there worth caring for in nurturing. It is truly amazing to see how with simple tools and native ingenuity they are able to fashion out of locally available materials items that play a valuable role in bringing such a delightfully fragrant product into ones hands. They are able to live in their homes in small villages where a lot of care is given to personal relationships and cultivating the family life. It is true that they do not make huge sums of money and cannot afford the modern technological wonders that we take for granted but in many cases they have everyday ties of friendship and love that are certainly valuable in terms of the quality of life.

It is my hope that in some small way I can be instrumental in helping preserve the art and craft of the perfumer and the many cottage industries related to it. The pressures of the modern world are certainly being felt by everyone involved in this work as little value is placed in the modern world on such labor intensive activities. It is now quite easy for traditional Indian perfume houses to procure all the sophisticated aromatic chemicals that are available to perfumers throughout the world and they can, at a much cheaper cost, produce attars through adding these chemicals to sandalwood oil, liquid paraffin or a combination of the both. This in fact has become a major trend and it is estimated that over 85% ov the so-called attars now produced are either wholely are partially adulterated with synthetic chemicals.

Still there are some bright possibilities as the world-wide interest in natural fragrant materials increases amongst perfumers, aromatherapists, aromachologists, and herbalists. Mitti attar is just one of the lovely essences in the Indian perfumers reprotoire. Gulab(Rosa damascensa), Keora(Pandanus odoratissimus), Hina(a combination of many herbs, spices and oils), Champa(Michelia champaca), Bakul(Mimopsus elengi), Parijatak(Nycanthes arbortristis), Chameli(Jasmin graniflorum), Motia(Jasmin sambac), Genda(Tagetes erecta), Ratrani(Cestrum nocturnum), and Kadam(Anthocephalus cadamba) are a some of the other attars that are still being made. An repected Kannauj perfumer also intimated to me that in the old days many other natural perfumes were produced such as lotus(Nelumbo nucifera) but as there was no longer patronage from India's royalty or overseas buyers, especially the Middle East, these were no longer being produced and the knowledge of how to do them properly was gradually disappearing.

It is my hope that an independent facility can be set up where true attars can be produced of the highest quality which can be certified pure and authentic through modern quality control analysis equipment. This would give researchers the opportunity to examine the reputed medicinal properties of the oils as propounded by the Ayurvedic and Unani systems of medicine. In such an enviroment it would also be possible to make those innovative alternations in traditional equipment that would increase yield, improve quality, decrease fuel consumption for firing the stills, etc. Ramakant, as a highly trained engineer and successful owner of a large modern distilling facility outside Bombay, has already noted several very simple, cost effective changes that could be made that would help in these areas. The whole idea would be to improve things in such a way that perfumers and rural craftsmen alike could find a market for their goods so that they could continue living in small villages and towns where they can remain close to the land and their families as opposed to moving to big cities life is much more difficult and uncertain. It is my opinion that a model operation needs to be set up where technologies of both ancient and modern worlds is implemented so that India can emerge is a leader in this fascinating and interesting fragrance domain.

Images of Mitti(Earth) Attar Preparation

Images of Mitti(Earth) Attar Preparation

Perfuming the Linen Chest

Orris-root, which is deliciously pure and fresh when dried, with a fragrance closely resembling the violet, has always been and always will be much used by women of good taste to give sweetness to their linen and writing paper. Ordinarily it has been put into small silken bags to be scattered about lavishly. Now more frequently, large flat sachets which cover the entire shelves and drawers are used, and wardrobes are lined from top to bottom with similar sachets not invariably impregnated with orris, but instead with the particular scent which the fair owner especially affects.
Current literature, Volume 16

Perfuming the Linen. The fancy for perfuming the family linen continues to grow. It was the custom in our grandmothers' day to lay sprays of sweet basil, lavender, a few rose leaves or a bunch of sweet herbs in the linen chest to give it a fragrant odor. That was in the day when the snowy piles were all hemmed by hand and initialed during long evenings under the lamplight, and each piece carefully numbered so that all could be accounted for.
But to-day, when the chest has grown into big linen closets with cavernous shelves, it requires an expert to do the perfuming, and the cost thereof would have made those same grandmothers' hair rise straight up from their heads. But this is an extravagant generation, so why quibble over one small item?
The perfumes the expert uses are the delightful, oldfashioned ones, such as sweet clover, lemon verbena, lavender, peach leaf, and clove pink. They are made into wonderful sachets of lingerie-covered silk, which are put into the centerpiece rolls, doily cases, napkin bags, and in the satin covered elastic bands which bind them. The blotters behind each shelf are also perfumed.
Mrs. Norton's cook-book: selecting, cooking, and serving for the home table
By Jeanette Young Norton

SOME of us have old chests among our heirlooms—old chests visited so seldom that whenever we do open them a faint sweet fragrance wafts up out of their depths from the lavender-bags, orris-root, clove-apples and tiny sheaves of manilla clover that have lain for many a year among the textile treasures garnered there.

The textile treasures, alas, have changed their fashion, or the fashion has changed them, until they are no longer of any service except to feed our curiosity about the dead and gone past; what was purple has browned to puce, and now the only vital enduring thing about the chest, the only thing still instinct with a living human interest, is the odor that steals up into the room. It is like the scent of the lavenderbed we sprinkled yesterday, or the manilla clover we crushed in our last night's canter, only it is these familiar odors poetized by age and time and tender associations.
Table talk, Volume 7

A hundred happy memories filled the little low room as Alma Pflugel showed me her treasures. The cat purred in great content, and the stove cast a rosy glow over the scene as the simple woman told the story of each precious relic, from the battered candle-dipper on the shelf, to the great mahogany folding table, and sewing stand, and carved bed. Then there was the old horn lantern that Jacob Pflugel had used a century before, and in one corner of the sitting-room stood Grossmutter Pflugel's spinning-wheel. Behind cupboard doors were ranged the carefully preserved blue-and-white china dishes, and on the shelf below stood the clumsy earthen set that Grosspapa Pflugel himself had modeled for his young bride in those days of long ago. In the linen chest there still lay, in neat, fragrant folds, piles of the linen that had been spun on that time-yellowed spinning-wheel. And because of the tragedy in the honest face bent over these dear treasures, and because she tried so bravely to hide her tears, I knew in my heart that this could never be a newspaper story.
Dawn O'Hara: the girl who laughed
By Edna Ferber

But the parlor! All Arabia breathed from that parlor, and it seemed to me that every country had contributed to its contents. There were exquisitely carved things in sandal-wood and ivory; there were inlaid fire-screens, tables, and cabinets, silken cushions embroidered with gold and silver threads,—all sorts of treasures. The captain's wife opened her heart to me when she saw how great my pleasure was, and she showed me her linen chest. When she opened the drawers, piles of finest and whitest linen were revealed, and the hall was filled with the odor of sweet lavender. How proud she was of her store! How proud I was to be privileged to see it! The captain's wife was very picturesque as she stood there. She was faded, tall, and thin, and her manners were refined. She wore a spotless print gown, and spoke in quiet, even tones. She had been in almost every port in the world, but I had known her years before she did me the honor to speak of her travels. The captain himself was ruddy and cheerful and rather more talkative than his wife: we had had many a ride up the road in his blue wagon before we saw that parlor.
The Unitarian register, Volume 83
By American Unitarian Association

Fragrant Quote for March 26th, 2012 from .. Complete Works of Guy de Maupassant By Guy de Maupassant

Fragrant Quote for March 26th, 2012 from .. Complete Works of Guy de Maupassant
By Guy de Maupassant

The paddle-wheels struck the water, disturbing its torpor, and a long track of foam, like the froth of champagne, remained in the wake of the boat, reaching as far as the eye could see. Jeanne drank in with delight the odor of the salt mist that seemed to go to the very tips of'her fingers. Everywhere the sea. But ahead of them was something gray, not clearly defined in the early dawn; a sort of massing of strange-looking clouds, pointed, jagged, seemed to rest on the waters.
Presently it became clearer, its outline more distinct on the brightening sky; a large chain of mountains, peaked and weird, appeared: it was Corsica, covered with a light veil of mist. The sun rose behind it, outlining the jagged crests like black shadows. Then all the summits were bathed in light, while the rest of the island remained covered with mist.
The captain, a little sunbrowned man, dried up, stunted, toughened, and shriveled by the harsh salt winds, appeared on the bridge; and in a voice hoarse after twenty years of command, and worn from shouting amid the storms, said to Jeanne:
"Do you detect it, that odor?"
She certainly noticed a strong and peculiar odor of plants, a wild, aromatic odor.
"It is Corsica that sends out that fragrance, Madame," said the captain; "it is her peculiar odor of a pretty woman. After being away for twenty years, I should recognize it five miles out at sea. I belong to it. He, down there, at Saint Helena, he speaks of it always, it seems, as the odor of his native country. He belongs to my family.''
And the captain, taking off his hat, saluted Corsica, saluted down yonder, across the ocean, the great captive Emperor who belonged to his family.
Jeanne was so affected that she almost wept.
Then, pointing toward the horizon, the captain said: "Les Sanguinaires."
Julien was standing beside his wife, with his arm round her waist, and they looked into the distance to see to what he was alluding. At length they perceived some pyramidal rocks, which the vessel rounded presently to enter a vast, peaceful gulf surrounded by lofty summits, the base of which was covered with what looked liked moss.
Pointing to this verdant growth, the captain said: "Le maquis."
.. Complete Works of Guy de Maupassant
By Guy de Maupassant

Fragrant Quote for March 25th, 2012 from Afoot through the Kashmir valleys By Marion Doughty

Fragrant Quote for March 25th, 2012 from Afoot through the Kashmir valleys By Marion Doughty

From Vernag I determined to push on to Atchibal, in spite of the fact that I was hardly able to put my feet to the ground, the result of the rough, scorched tracks; in such a condition were they that they might have been correctly described " as blisters and a sandal." The sparkle in the air, however, and the early freshness, the soft green of the wayside trees, the tranquil beauty of the villages, set about with vast clumps of the great sweet-smelling iris, purple, mauve, and white, would have succeeded in putting heart of grace into a stone. I. was soon oblivious to all small discomforts, and as thoroughly at one with my surroundings as if my whole existence had been passed between a rose bush and an iris patch like the cheery little butterflies and twittering birds that kept up a continuous chorus of "good mornings" from the near bushes. What a world of colour it was! The sheer gaudiness would have frightened a painter, who would never have found spectators sufficiently credulous to put faith in his portrait. The sun poured threads of light into every purple bloom and glossy leaf, till they vied with the gold-shot robes of the saints in the early Italian pictures. Hillside, rushing stream, shady trees, all quivered with light and life; even the sad-featured labourers relaxed and stopped their work for a little talk, while their womenkind, usually so silent and reserved, questioned me as to my destination and doings, and held up pretty dimpled babies, clad in red caps and insufficient shirts, for me to praise and admire. A low range of hills had to be crossed, and the heat made the path slippery and tiring, but the descent was cheaply bought at the price of a little fatigue and some rough walking. In a few minutes I had passed from a gaudy flower carpet of crimson roses, yellow berberis, violet iris, to a world in white, Kashmir in her spring wedding garment, veiled in snowy blossoms, to a whiteness turned to silver by the sunny glow, a veritable Easter garden, full of sweet perfumes, an altogether unforgettable vision of loveliness. Hawthorns, a white viburnum, guelder roses, cluster roses, soft, loose peonies, spikes of eremurus, a small honeysuckle (Lonicera spinosa), and a drapery of clematis montana were answerable for the taller masses. Beneath, a carpet of tiny treasures, white arabis, strawberry flowers, shepherd's purse, and oxalis was spread out, while graceful Solomon's seals and a white comfrey filled all spaces between the upper and the lower ranks. With such a wealth of treasures it seemed ridiculous to attempt the carrying off of a few miserable specimens, so I sat still and tried to make notches in my memory, that at least their numbers and variety might remain with me when their perfume and freshness had passed out of mind with so many more lovely things. But my men collected a great garland. It was part of a system of bribery they had found to work admirably, for when my tent or room was wreathed with blossoms, it was an impossible deed to find any fault with the skilful decorators on other grounds. I do not know why that particular hillside was so consistent in its flower scheme; perhaps the long winter months, with their snow coverings, bleach the flowers; maybe the slopes, unaccustomed to all save white, refuse the gayer blooms. Whatever the cause, that descent mid the pale blossoms, with the mingled scent of honey and fresh spring growth, will remain as one of those visions which, years after, return amid widely different surroundings, bringing, with the vivid impression of colour and scent, a heartache akin to that felt on opening a letter written by a hand that never can hold pen again, or entering a room once inhabited by a dear presence since passed away.

Concerning the Lavender Ladies by Halliwell Sutcliffe

Lavender Image Concerning the Lavender Ladies by Halliwell Sutcliffe

Scent of the Moors in Literature

Furze and Gorse There is a little Breton village not far from the city of L'orient, which is conceded by those who love it best to be very much out of the world. Perched high upon a rocky fastness of the moor, like the topmost stone of a diadem, it looks forth upon ridge after ridge of billowing moorland, of which each summit is strewn with rock, each slope made green with wire grass and furze. When the wind blows from the south, a faint breath of the sea mingles with the scent of heather and gorse, for away to the south, so far away that the grey of its waters melts indistinguishably into the grey horizon, lies the great, unquiet s.ea, which here beats fiercely on its shores.
Médoc in the Moor
By Georgia Willis Read

Sitting upon the dwarf wall adjoining the garden he smoked in peace, watching the yellow-brown of gorse-strewn hills against blue sky counterchange their colouring until they stood out misty blue against a yellow sunset. Then night shut down, and its wondrous stillness magnified distant sounds to importance. Far down the valley some nightjar's endless whirr replaced the cuckoo's husky note of June; amongst the rocks and bushes by the stream a fox barked hoarsely, and up the hill behind the house a leveret squealed in fear. His tobacco soothed him; the air was sweet with gorse and heather bloom, and a downward waft brought the brave smell of wood-smoke from his new-lit fire. Every sound and scent of the night recalled his boyhood, and he was filled with silent thankfulness for rest; but through all nature's voices he heard again that softer voice that had pleaded for him the night before, and each new star that, faintly twinkling in the blue, waxed slowly as the night drew on, recalled the brightness of a pair of eyes.
Lethbridge of the moor
By Maurice Drake

Now after a tedious two miles of stiffish collarwork we emerged right on the top of the moors, and a goodly prospect was before us. It was a glorious bit of moorland—a glowing expanse of purple heather, bestrewn with weather-scarred rocks, all grey and lichen-stained; and here and there we noticed a brilliant yellow flower, whose name was unknown to us, and many a bright bit of gorse, whose 'deathless bloom' told out well amongst the green, and grey, and purple around. The peculiar odour of the gorse, too; how fragrant it seemed! wafted to us on the open air (though so sickly in a room)—an odour I can only liken to a mixed scent of cocoanut and pineapple. As we drove along we noticed many bilberry wires, with their wax-like leaves and wine-stained fruit—a fruit in tarts not to be despised.
A drive through England; or, A thousand miles of road travel
By James John Hissey

Let us stand one little moment longer, before we say farewell to it, at the dark edge of Haworth Moor. Again old thoughts come thronging back on one—old thoughts, and with them the sounds and scents of many yesterdays. The whistle of the North-Wester as it sweeps through the dried husks of last year's ling -the tongues of flame that start from the red mouth of the storm-sky—the thunder crash that dies in stifled growls among the black moor hollows—the reckless, sun-smitten glory of the August heather—the sob of rain-winds in November—the grey forlornness of the hill-mists—the ceaseless patter-patter patter of the drops upon the red-rust of the bracken—all these rise from the buried years and live for us again as we look out across the heath. These, and the bittersweet scent of the marshes, the lush reek of mistals, the savour of sweet upland grass as it falls in grey-green swathes to the music of the moor men's scythes. Scents, more than any sound or sight, are apt to stir the heart of a man—a magic and a charm they have to awaken slumbering memories and half-forgotten dreams; and, as we stand at the moor-edge here, it is the crisp of the marshland breath, soft-creeping from the heath, that brings dead Haworth back to us with swift and overmastering distinctness. We have had the last backward glance we craved; and it has grown harder still to say good-bye. Glamour of wind and rain and changeful sky —glamour of story, of hates and loves that were reared in the wind-wild open—how can one leave this memory haunted corner of the moors?
By moor and fell: landscape and lang-settle lore from West Yorkshire
By Halliwell Sutcliffe

Redmoor is the vast plateau of heathery waste, underneath whose southern promontory nestle Redcombe Village and Manor. A health-giving and glorious spot at all times — for even in winter the fir-woods (thanks to old Walter Stanhope of Curlew Hall) on north and east enable one to stand and admire the wide prospect in comparative shelter — but in summer-time the moor is rare and beautiful indeed. The soft, strong air that is almost always abroad upon it, is then laden with the scent of the fir, and sweeps over a prairie of purple and (where the gorse grows) of gold. The highway, along which we accompanied Anthouy Blackburn on his return to his old home, divides this gorgeous table-land in twain; but now that the coaches are off the road, and all the world is drawn to and from Mosedale by the steam-horse, it has become but a local track, and there are but few passengers. When the two girls had reached the top of the winding hill that led up from the village, and could command the whole expanse of the moor, there was not a moving speck upon this road to be seen. In the extreme distance rose the circular embankment, that ought by rights, in order to have harmonized with the general tone of the landscape, to have been a Roman encampment, but which we have seen to attract old Anthony's notice as an erection of quite a modern date. On the east lay the vast plantation in the centre of which stood Curlew Hall; but from their present stand-point the house could not be seen, nor, save for the faint smoke-wreath that hung over distant Mosedale, was there a sign of human habitation anywhere.
The living age, Volume 102
By Eliakim Littell, Robert S. Littell

It was a glorious afternoon in late July. The hum of insect life seemed to flood the whole moor; the scent of mown hay and wild thyme, and late hawthorn blossom from the trees on the edge of the moor, was heavy in the air, and the sun was very hot, and still high in the heavens. The hills that bordered the moor drowsed and brooded, like ancient gods, clothed in a lordly radiance that was slowly consuming them as they meditated upon their coming oblivion.
The underworld: the story of Robert Sinclair, miner
By James C. Welsh

The moor is wild and vacant enough, however, and he who loves solitude may have his fill of it, if he keeps out of a few beaten paths, like the Doone Valley. As far as he can see, nothing appears to him but the moor, swelling with the softest curves and dressed with heather, gorse and the trembling plumes of bracken; the sprinkled gold of the gorse is lost sight of in the rich flood of purple heather, but the scent of both is blown through the air by the sea wind, for the moor ends on its nothern edge in a wall of cliffs. White mountains of clouds float over him; he hears the bleating of sheep, and sees the gulls circling from the shelves of the precipice. He may have all this world to himself day after day, and thus be nursed by the wind and the clouds. Nothing will break his isolation but the bark of a collie, or, towards evening, the chatter of some fruit gatherers who are going home with baskets of blackberries and whortleberries.
The New England magazine, Volume 10

We have no other combination of British flowers which gives one such a sense of freedom as the wild fragrance of a heath or moor in full heather bloom! Eliza Cook's lines express the feelings of many who love the breezy hills :—

"Wild blossoms of the moorland, ye are very dear to me;
Ye lure my dreaming memory as clover does the bee;
Ye bring back all my childhood loved, when freedom, joy
and health
Had never thought of wearing chains to fetter fame and
Wild blossoms of the common land, brave tenants of the earth,
Your breathings were among the first that helped my spirit's
For how my busy brain would dream, and how my heart
would burn,
Where Gorse and Heather flung their arms above the forest
Mountain and moor
By John Ellor Taylor

Fragrance Quote for March 24th, 2012- The ink-stain (Taché d'encre) By René Bazin

Melons Fragrance Quote for March 24th, 2012- The ink-stain (Taché d'encre) By René Bazin

The peace that enveloped this country presbytery was indescribable. The parish was small, middling honest, easy-going, accustomed to the priest that had directed it for thirty years. The village ended at the presbytery, which stood on the border of the meadows sloping toward the river, from which mounted, during the hot season, the varied song of the fields mingled with the perfume of the grasses. Behind the rambling old house, a vegetable-garden encroached upon the meadow. It caught the first ray of sunshine, and held the last. Cherries might be seen there in May, and gooseberries even earlier, and usually a week before Assumption one could not pass within a hundred yards of the garden without inhaling between the hedges the heavy perfume of ripening melons.

Fragrance of France

The next moment he re-entered the shadow of the fir woods, but the mere glimpse, crossing the clearing, of the night as it grew luminous, served to recall the beauty of the world about him, and he felt a thrill of pleasure. The air was (-old and still; a little mist rone from the ravines, but it was not yet laden with the perfume of jonquils and wild strawberries; it bore only that other fragrance which has neither name nor season, the smell of the pines and dead leaves, of springing grass, of old bark cracking above the new skin of the trees, and the breath of that immortal flower, the forest moss. The traveler loved this fragrance and drank in deep draughts of it, and accustomed though he was to this nightly fete of the forest, the gleams of the sky, the odor of the earth, the quiver of its silent life, he cried half to himself: "Well done, winter! Well done, Vosges mountains! They cannot spoil you! He even put his stick under his arm so as to make less noise on the sand and pine needles of the winding path, and looked behind him to say, "Trot softly, Fidele; this is too beautiful!"
A February Night in Alsace by Ene Bazin

If you pass this way during the season of the vintage, the air will be laden with the odour of the over-ripened grapes, and the vines will fairly shake out at you the fragrance of Chambertin, Pommard, or Volnay, until your senses swim as though in truth you had been drinking, but today in May there is only the fragrance of green leaves and the smell of the rich yellow earth wafted to us as we rush onward.
Winged wheels in France
By Michael Myers Shoemaker

The weather has all to do with one's impressions of a country. I always associate France with a golden sunlight, for so many times I have left London, stifling under its black fogs, and literally sailed into the sunshine on the coast of France. So especially does sunshine form a part and parcel of Southern France, somewhat too strong and blinding in summer, but in the spring with its blossoms of fruit trees and in the autumn with its splendour of color and the dreamy odor of over-ripened fruits, the sunlight of France is,— well, just the sunlight of France, and those who have seen it will remember it always. To-day in the high tide of spring all nature rejoices. These ruins gleam white and pure, the city, like an ancient dame of high degree, bears a gracious aspect, the river dances and sparkles, and the long highways stretch off and off until lost in the midst of olive groves and blossoming fruit trees.
Winged wheels in France
By Michael Myers Shoemaker

After the view, down the hillside again, through
the shady garths of the little bosket of the Sacre
Coeur, along inclined walks that zigzag from one
picturesque flight of dirt steps to another. Birds
fill the trees with song ; a fountain tinkles pleasantly ;
the sunlight, streaming through the branches, makes
a brilliant patchwork of the warm, moist earth, and
the air is redolent with woodsy fragrance. Small
terra-cotta monuments of the Dolorous and Joyous
Mysteries, and granite Stations of the Cross, dot
the path all the way through the miniature wood.
France from sea to sea
By Arthur Stanley Riggs

All about the hills are charming walks, and the
stony height across the river, which gives a splendid
view of town and fortress, is a veritable paradise
of every imaginable kind, size and color of wild
flower, the air saturated with their rich fragrance.
On from Sisteron the scenery is striking and varied.
Near Annot, the rock formations are especially novel.
Big, isolated boulders perch insecurely in all sorts
of impossible places on the hillsides. In a number
of places walls have been built, making a house of
the niche or cavern under the rock.
France from sea to sea
By Arthur Stanley Riggs

AS you step from the railroad station upon
the broad, clean Avenue Feucheres, Nimes
turns brightly toward you a sun-kissed
southern visage of ancient splendor and present pros-
perity : wide streets full of trees ; formal gardens
with sweet-smelling shrubs ; promenades of the most
lavish sort; bits of Roman architecture as precious
and beautiful as rare scarabaei ; wooded heights
spangled with flowers and bristling with odoriferous
firs. The city is so perfumed, with a subtle, elusive,
fragrant freshness, you open your nostrils to it in
sheer eagerness of life. You breathe in the essence
of the German poet's line, 'Weisst du das Land wo
die Citronen bluehn?^' Very different it is from the
heavy, cloying sweetness of tuberose and jasmine,
and perfumes in the making, as at Grasse.
France from sea to sea
By Arthur Stanley Riggs

However, the most fascinating object in town is
the ancient Porte du Croux, a great, square tower,
with all the loopholes and traces of medieval defense
so picturesque and so useless now. Dripping with
delicate vines, and scarred with the wounds of time,
it suggests in every graceful but sturdy line the
fourteenth century, of which it is so beautiful a rep-
resentative. The street leading through it winds out-
ward between stout walls to a noble barbican, or
outer defense; and to see Nevers at its best, go
through them both, and a little beyond, of a June
afternoon, just before sunset. There, in the slowly
fading glory of the scented afternoon, lies the town,
its roofs and pinnacles, chateau and Cathedral, gate-
ways and spires, all a blaze of liquid gold, conjuring
the ghosts of another day to people anew each storied
house and tower.
France from sea to sea
By Arthur Stanley Riggs

One of the loveliest walks in any French city
to-day is in Nimes, along the Quai de la Fontaine,
with its little canal to Fountain Park. Ten or fif-
teen feet below the level of the quai runs the clear
green stream, mirroring back long, quivering, silky
vistas of the proud old trees that line the banks
above, arching their necks and whispering to the
scented breeze that the heavy, inartistic houses flank-
ing them are modern excrescences, not without some
dignity, but certainly creatures of no character.
Crossing streets make the eff'ect of the stream that
of a series of very long and deep but narrow tanks
or basins, full of glorious reflections.
France from sea to sea
By Arthur Stanley Riggs

TO many places one must go in the spring to
see the country at its best; not so La Belle
France. Surely no other name of affection
for a land was ever better deserved than this. From
the golden sands of Picardy to the blue shore of the
Mediterranean, every province is lovely, and every
one has its own special form of loveliness, its definite
characteristics : golden sands, apple orchards and bil-
lowing fields of grain; black rocks, gray weather,
the Miserere of the sea for the music of life — and
death ; brilliant rivers that wind in sinuous coils, and
dark, sullen streams that force their way to the sea
with savage impetuosity ; placid canals and milky
highroads bordered by slender trees ; endless vine-
yards, where bursting grapes drink deep of the golden
sun ; the sky-piercing fence of the Alps, saw teeth
full of snow, and bristling with pine and fir ; vast,
solemn gorges, suggestive of the Canon of the Colo-
rado ; barren deserts of gray or tan, and wide marshes
with blue lagoons ; air full of shimmering heat waves,
of myriad colors and the subtle perfume of rose and
olive and oleander, linden and jasmine and whispering
palm. Blue the sky and blue the shore — but why go
on forever?
France from sea to sea
By Arthur Stanley Riggs

Fragrance of Narcissus

Fragrance of Narcissus

When Hilda Lathrop was a little thing, not more than ten years old, she used .to wonder why it hurt so much to be very happy that one could not bear the pain, and had to run away. She remembered one special day in particular long afterward, when she was a grown woman. She and her mamma of the beautiful, mourning eyes were walking with another lady in a narrow road that led between moss-grown, ferny walls, above the head of the lake of Geneva. The child felt dimly the presence of the wonderful blue below, gleaming like the turquoise ring on her wee finger, of the soft violet tones through which played the green of Alpine pastures in the distant Alps of Savoy, of the battlemented Dent du Midi, that rose, a serrated, snow-flecked rampart, cutting into the sky at the extremity of the lake. But, child-like, though she noticed these things she took more conscious glee in the fairy delicacy of the fern-clusters nestling on the old stone wall. Suddenly, however, the wall opened, and they stepped out into the wide free meadows that sloped downward to the water. The ladies exclaimed with delight; for in the fine deep grass there swayed gayly on vigorous stem radiant hosts, not of golden daffodils such as Wordsworth saw, but of starry narcissus. Fragrance, penetrating, elusive, filled the air; the small Hilda stood knee-deep in flowers; they danced on a bank above her, a white glory against the violet hills, they swept as far as eye could see, glistering leagues of distance beneath the white shining of the snows.
A listener in Babel
By Vida Dutton Scudder

There are five kinds of places where narcissi may be naturalized by the thousand— orchards, woods, shrubberies, meadows, and the banks of streams, lakes or ponds. In such places, the grass need not be cut until June, if at all, and by that time the leaves of the narcissus have decayed, showing that the bulbs are ripening. If the grass is cut before, the bulbs will be weakened. The cheapest and best variety for naturalizing is the Pheasant's Eye. Indeed it is the most important plant for wild gardening now generally available. Some of the most splendid floral pictures that have been painted in America in the last ten years have been made by planting these bulbs by the thousand. I expect to see the day when people will make pilgrimages to New England to see the'March and April flower shows. Her gaunt old hillsides will be suddenly transfigured by the apparition of countless fragrant white flowers— miles and miles of them—like the stars of the Milky Way for multitude!
Garden & home builder, Volumes 1-2
By Wilhelm Miller, Leonard Barron

. . . "The Narcissus wondrously glittering, a noble sight for all, whether immortal Gods, or mortal men; from whose root a hundred heads spring forth, and at the fragrant odour [thereof] all the broad heaven above, and all the earth laughed, and the salt-wave of the sea."
"Hymn To Demeter."

As I write, a narcissus, with lovely white blossoms scented with a most delicate and elusive fragrance, lifts its head over me as if in benediction. A little while ago all its subtle grace and aroma slept in the dark recesses of a bulb. If the soul of the narcissus could have uttered, in articulate speech, its grievance, I think it would have protested against the darkness and joylessness of its prison, but, really, the incarceration of the soul of the narcissus in its dungeon of ugliness and shadow was the decree of an inerrant wisdom, for it was only through confinement in the bulb that the narcissus could distill its fragrance and realize the perfect beauty of its blossom. The bulb was not a sepulcher; it was a nursery. Its finality was not its own darkness, but the dainty loveliness of the flower that now looks down upon me in benignant ministry.
Everyman's world
By Joseph Anthony Milburn

Volatile Oil Plants of the United States-Bulletin, Issue 195

Volatile Oil Plants of the United States-Bulletin, Issue 195

Fragrance quote for March 23rd, 2012- Annals of a quiet neighbourhood By George Macdonald

Fragrance quote for March 23rd, 2012- Annals of a quiet neighbourhood
By George Macdonald
BY slow degrees the summer bloomed. Green came instead of white; rainbows instead of icicles. The grounds about the Hall seemed the incarnation of a summer which had taken years to ripen to its perfection. The very grass seemed to have aged into perfect youth in that "haunt of ancient peace;" for surely nowhere else was such thick, delicate bladed, delicate-coloured grass to be seen. Gnarled old trees of may stood like altars of smoking perfume, or each like one million-petalled flower of upheaved whiteness—or of tender rosiness, as if the snow which had covered it in winter had sunk in and gathered warmth from the life of the tree, and now crept out again to adorn the summer. The long loops of the laburnum hung heavy with gold towards the sod below; and the air was full of the fragrance of the young leaves of the limes. Down in the valley below, the daisies shone in all the. meadows, varied with the buttercup and the celandine; while in damp places grew large pimpernels, and along the sides of the river, the meadow-sweet stood amongst the reeds at the very edge of the water, breathing out the odours of dreamful sleep. The clumsy pollards were each one mass of undivided green. The mill-wheel had regained its knotty look, with its moss and its dip and drip, as it yielded to the slow water, which would have let it alone, but that there was no other way out of the land to the sea.
Annals of a quiet neighbourhood
By George Macdonald

Fragrant Quote for March 22nd, 2012 from Heidi by Johanna Spyri

Fragrant Quote for March 22nd, 2012 from Heidi by Johanna Spyri

Heidi now awoke and was surprised to see Clara dressed, and already in the grandfather's arms ready to be carried down. She must be up too, and she went through her toilette with lightning- like speed. She ran down the ladder and out of the hut, and there further astonishment awaited her, for grandfather had been busy the night before after they were in bed. Seeing that it was impossible to get Clara's chair through the hut-door, he had taken down two of the boards at the side of the shed and made an opening large enough to admit the chair; these he left loose so that they could be taken away and put up at pleasure. He was at this moment wheeling Clara out into the sun; he left her in front of the hut while he went to look after the goats, and Heidi ran up to her friend.

The fresh morning breeze blew round the children's faces, and every fresh puff brought a waft of fragrance from the fir trees. Clara drew it in with delight and lay back in her chair with an unaccustomed feeling of health and comfort.

It was the first time in her life that she had been out in the open country at this early hour and felt the fresh morning breeze, and the pure mountain air was so cool and refreshing that every breath she drew was a pleasure. And then the bright sweet sun, which was not hot and sultry up here, but lay soft and warm on her hands and on the grass at her feet. Clara had not imagined that it would be like this on the mountain.

"O Heidi, if only I could stay up here for ever with you," she exclaimed happily, turning in her chair from side to side that she might drink in the air and sun from all quarters.

"Now you see that it is just what I told you," replied Heidi delighted; "that it is the most beautiful thing in the world to be up here with grandfather."

The latter at that moment appeared coming from the goat shed and bringing two small foaming bowls of snow-white milk--one for Clara and one for Heidi.

"That will do the little daughter good," he said, nodding to Clara; "it is from Little Swan and will make her strong. To your health, child! drink it up."

Clara had never tasted goat's milk before; she hesitated and smelt it before putting it to her lips, but seeing how Heidi drank hers up without hesitating, and how much she seemed to like it, Clara did the same, and drank till there was not a drop left, for she too found it delicious, tasting just as if sugar and cinnamon had been mixed with it.

"To-morrow we will drink two," said the grandfather, who had looked on with satisfaction at seeing her follow Heidi's example.

Fragrance Quote for March 21st, 2012- A Fair Exile by Hamlin Garland

Fragrance Quote for March 21st, 2012- A Fair Exile by Hamlin Garland

The train was ambling across the hot, russet plain. The wind, strong and warm and dry, sweeping up from the south, carried with it the subtle odor of September grass and gathered harvests. Out of the unfenced roads the dust arose in long lines, like smoke from some hidden burning which the riven earth revealed. The fields were tenanted with thrashing crews, the men diminished by distance to pygmies, the long belt of the engine flapping and shining like a ribbon in the flaming sunlight.

Fragrance Quote for March 20th, 2012- Count Kostia: by Victor Cherbuliez

Fragrance Quote for March 20th, 2012- Count Kostia: by Victor Cherbuliez

Our castle is a long series of dilapidated buildings, of which we occupy the only one habitable. I am lodged alone in a turret which commands a magnificent view, and I have a grand precipice under my window. I can say 'my turret,' 'my precipice!' Oh, my poor Parisians, you will never understand all there is in these two words: MY PRECIPICE! 'What is it then but a precipice?' exclaims Madame Lerins. 'It is only a great chasm.' Ah, yes! Madame, it is 'a great chasm'; but imagine that this morning this chasm was a deep blue, and this evening at sunset it was--stay, of the color of your nasturtiums. I opened my window and put my head out to inhale the odor of this admirable precipice, for I have discovered that in the evening precipices have an odor. How shall I describe it to you? It is a perfume of rocks scorched by the sun, with which mingles a subtle aroma of dry herbs. The combination is exquisite.
Count Kostia: A Novel, a novel by Victor Cherbuliez

Fragrance of the Alps in Literature

Fragrance of the Alps in Literature

The path leads through thick woods, (broken, here and there, by patches of upland meadow) which clothe the side of the mountain for about the first two thousand feet. The overhanging branches and tangled underwood showed how little it was used, and we had sometimes a difficulty in clearing a passage for the rider as well as the horse. This part of the excursion was exquisitely beautiful. For the first thousand feet or so, the woods were composed chiefly of splendid beeches, but mingled with them was a sprinkling of ash, chesnut and walnut, which gave a pleasant variety of form and colour. Through their interlacing branches, we caught unexpected views of the Lakes of Thun and Brientz and the smiling plains which nestle beneath the shelter of the many ranges converging upon' Interlaken. These glimpses came so suddenly upon us, ever and anon, from some opening in the wood, and in the bright sunshine all nature was so radiant and lovely, that we seemed to be taking furtive peeps into fairyland. We wound our way amongst the stems of noble trees, and through rocks green with a rich carpet of moss, or by the side of a bank of wild flowers, laden with heavy dew and scenting the air with their grateful fragrance.
After the beeches came a belt of pines, firs and larches, separated from the lower strip of less mountainous trees by a broken line of verdant meadow-land where the wild flowers bloomed with great purity and loveliness. We were struck with the great beauty of a very familiar little flower—the common milkwort, which grows in remarkable strength and abundance; parts of the meadow looked quite blue with it. We found also, the large yellow fox-glove (digitalis grandiflora), which had a very brilliant effect. The air was fragrant with beds of wild thyme. The tall yellow sage (salvia viscosa) was conspicuous, from its size and the clearness of its colour. In the lower woods, on many of the banks, and clustered against many of the large stones, were quantities of the delicate asplenium ruta-muraria, (rue-leaved spleenwort) splendidly fruited. Beyond the meadows, near the upper skirts of the fir-woods, I gathered a noble specimen of the dark blue mountain centaury, growing in solitary pride.
Wandering among the high Alps
By Sir Alfred Wills

Indeed it is in this region that one finds the essence of Alpine scenery. Alp, as everybody knows, means in the mountains, simply a lofty pasturage. The peasant of course considers the hills simply as providing food for his cattle; and montagne in French, is used in a precisely equivalent sense. But though the use of the word implies a rather utilitarian view of things in its first properties, there is a meaning in the view that here is the essence of the Alps, for persons of a more romantic turn. Between the forests and the snows lies the most poetical of the mountain regions. There, when climbing upwards, you first feel that the bundle of earthly cares rolls off your shoulders, and that you have finally cleared the 'slough of despond '. There, in the early months, you walk knee-deep in flowers, every one of which is a bit of embodied poetry. When the snow has just departed, the fragile cup of the Soldanella makes a purple carpeting amidst turf which seems to have been scorched by the frost. Its delicate beauty suggests'that it is made rather of air than of earthly elements, and yet it ventures where no plant of grosser frame dares to rival it. To gather it seems to be sacrilegious; and you are forced to justify yourself for cutting short its career by the general argument of oppressors, namely, that, if you don't commit the crime, some less appreciative sinner, probably a coarse-minded cow, will commit it instead. And the Soldanella is only one amongst a throng of beauties to which justice could only be done by the author of the Midsummer Nighfs Dream. When descending from the sterner heights above, the Alp is equally delicious. There you hear the first sound that tells of life, the music of the cattle-bells which, to some unfortunately constituted person, at least, is the only music in the world not rather disagreeable than otherwise—probably because it makes no attempt at a tune. Most bells indulge in rather querulous reproach. It is time to get up, to go to church, or to come to dinner, they seem to be saying; and in another minute you will be too late. But the sound of the cow-bells, bursting out for a moment as a faint puff of air lends it wings, or the cattle make a slight movement, and then dying away fitfully and accidentally, dispels for a time the belief that such a thing as hurry exists. The words which set themselves to such music would be, 'take your time,' 'chew the cud,' 'think of nothing,' ' breathe fresh air,' and ' crop sweet herbage.' What can be more delicious than the regions with which such sensations are associated; the delicate beauty of the most exquisite flowers, the sound of cow-bells, and the fragrance of cow's breath: the softness of mountain turf, and the freshness of the mountain air; the rounded slopes of pasture in the foreground, and behind a rugged peak or two, fading into a mere flat shadow in the distance? Why not lie down on one's back, and enjoy the sleep of the hills in their loveliest recesses?
A Bye Day in the Alps by Leslie Stephen

"This sea of ice, which embosoms in its farthest recesses a little living flower-garden, whither the humble-bees from Chamouny resort for honey, is also bordered by steep lonely beds of the fragrant rhododendron, or rose of the Alps. This hardy and beautiful flower grows from a bush larger than our sweet-fern, with foliage like the leaves of the ivory-plum. It continues blooming late in the season, and sometimes covers vast declivities on the mountains at a great hight, where one would hardly suppose it possible for a handful of earth to cling to the rocky surface. There, amid the snows and ice of a thousand winters, it pours forth its perfume on the air, though there be none to inhale the fragrance, or praise the sweetness, save only 'the little busy bees,' that seem dizzy with delight, as they throw themselves into the bosom of these beds of roses.
The wonders of the world: a complete museum, descriptive and pictorial
By John Loraine Abbott

The path leads through thick woods, (broken, here and there, by patches of upland meadow) which clothe the side of the mountain for about the first two thousand feet. The overhanging branches and tangled underwood showed how little it was used, and we sometimes found a difficulty in clearing a passage for the rider as well as for the horse. This part of the excursion was exquisitely beautiful. For the first thousand feet or so, the woods were composed chiefly of splendid beeches, but mingled with them was a sprinkling of ash, chesnut and walnut, which gave a pleasant variety of form and colour. Through their interlacing branches, we caught unexpected views of the Lakes of Thun and Brientz and the smiling plains which nestle beneath the shelter of the many ranges converging upon Interlaken. These glimpses came so suddenly upon us, ever and anon, from some opening in the wood, and in the bright sunshine all nature was so radiant and lovely, that we seemed to be taking furtive peeps into fairyland. We wound our way amongst the stems of noble trees, and through rocks green with a rich carpet of moss, or by the side of a bank of wild flowers, laden with heavy dew and scenting the air with their grateful fragrance.
Wanderings among the high Alps
By Alfred Wills (sir.)

If you wish to see what nature can do in the way of rock-gardens, you should go to Switzerland in early spring. It is then that blue gentians spread out vast girdles of blossom over the Alpine pastures; then that the green slopes on the mountain sides are yellowed by globe flowers; then that the poet's narcissus stars with its white petals, and scents with its sweet perfume, the rich meadows on the spurs of the lesser ranges. Higher up, sheets of creeping rockplants, close clinging to the uneven surface, fall in great cataracts of pink and blue over the steep declivities. As the snow melts, upward, the flowers open in zones, one after another, upon the mountain sides, so that you can mark your ascent by the variations in the flora, and the different successive stages of development reached by the most persistent kinds at various levels.
Current literature, Volume 22
edited by Edward Jewitt Wheeler

Fragrance Quote for March 19th, 2012- A Breath Of April by John Burroughs

Fragrance Quote for March 19th, 2012- A Breath Of April by John Burroughs

One may brush away the April snow and find this finer snow beneath it. Oh, the arbutus days, what memories and longings they awaken! In this latitude they can hardly be looked for before April, and some seasons not till the latter days of the month. The first real warmth, the first tender skies, the first fragrant showers--the woods are flooded with sunlight, and the dry leaves and the leaf-mould emit a pleasant odor. One kneels down or lies down beside a patch of the trailing vine, he brushes away the leaves, he lifts up the blossoming sprays and examines and admires them at leisure; some are white, some are white and pink, a few are deep pink. It is enough to bask there in the sunlight on the ground beside them, drinking in their odor, feasting the eye on their tints and forms, hearing the April breezes sigh and murmur in the pines or hemlocks near you, living in a present fragrant with the memory of other days. Lying there, half dreaming, half observing, if you are not in communion with the very soul of spring, then there is a want of soul in you. You may hear the first swallow twittering from the sky above you, or the first mellow drum of the grouse come up from the woods below or from the ridge opposite. The bee is abroad in the air, finding her first honey in the flower by your side and her first pollen in the pussy-willows by the watercourses below you. The tender, plaintive love-note of the chickadee is heard here and there in the woods. He utters it while busy on the catkins of the poplars, from which he seems to be extracting some kind of food. Hawks are screaming high in the air above the woods; the plow is just tasting the first earth in the rye or corn stubble (and it tastes good). The earth looks good, it smells good, it is good. By the creek in the woods you hear the first water-thrush--a short, bright, ringing, hurried song. If you approach, the bird flies swiftly up or down the creek, uttering an emphatic "chip, chip."
In wild, delicate beauty we have flowers that far surpass the arbutus: the columbine, for instance, jetting out of a seam in a gray ledge of rock, its many crimson and flame-colored flowers shaking in the breeze; but it is mostly for the eye. The spring-beauty, the painted trillium, the fringed polygala, the showy lady's-slipper, are all more striking to look upon, but they do not quite touch the heart; they lack the soul that perfume suggests. Their charms do not abide with you as do those of the arbutus.
Title: A Breath Of April
Author: John Burroughs

Mokusei/Osmanthus in Japanese Literature

Mokusei/Osmanthus in Japanese Literature

Early afternoon had waned, and with it the gentle showers had ceased, so that the grounds of Ayame lay glistening like a blaze of jewels where a golden sun lingered on the raindrops. A lane of burnt umber tints ran mingling with a thousand variant greens on this palette of nature, untouched here by the scalpel of man, and the scent of mokusei was damp and sweet as the breathing of a little child—a little lisping child with the bloom still fresh upon it.
The lords of dawn: a novel
By George Turner Marsh, Ronald Temple

Upon reaching the third floor, Shizuo drew the curtains back from the window and flung it open:
"Will you come here?" she said, "You will have a very fine view."
"Oh, what a lovely view of Fuji, and what a delicious scent, have you mokusei* in the garden?"
The air was pure and refreshing, as it often is in autumn, with that feeling of exhilaration and buoyancy ; the rays of the sun shone on the figure oi the lady; and she looked like a pure white flower set in a vase which enhanced her beauty.
The gold demon
By Kōyō Ozaki, Mary von Fallot Lloyd

The ground is everywhere hidden by a fine thick moss of so warm a color, that the brightest foliage of the varied shrubbery above it looks sombre by contrast; and the bases of walls, the pedestals of monuments, the stonework of the bell-tower, the masonry of the ancient well, are muffled with the same luminous growth. Maples and pines and cryptomerias screen the facade of the temple; and, if your visit be in autumn, you may find the whole court filled with the sweet heavy perfume of the mokusei ^blossom. After having looked at the strange temple, you would find it worth while to enter the cemetery, by the black gate on the west side of the court.
Exotics and retrospectives
By Lafcadio Hearn

O MOKUSEI, mokusei blooming faithfully in the absence of the master, piercing sweet is your subtle fragrance, pervading my soulwith the quickening pain of remembrance! Vividly I remember one evening when the master and I went to the temple fair near by and together brought you back with joy. As we passed along the street, carrying you home in a jinrikisha, all the people turned to see whence came the unexpected breath of fragrance permeating the dimly lighted roadway.
"O the sweet scent!" they exclaimed. "O the sweet scent! It is the mokusei, the mokusei!"
The next morning we planted you in the garden near the front veranda with the hope of enjoying you in the years to come.
Since then year by year in the autumn you have more than fulfilled the hope you gave. Your tiny starlike blossoms, orange-hued, almost hidden under the clustering dark green leaves, have bloomed in dainty fragile beauty and filled our guest-room and garden with the sweetest of perfume....
The Golden Mokusei by Yukio Ozaki

In parks and temple courts the purple and white wistaria also furnish a grand display. We have seen one vine, the favourite retreat of sullen-faced old monks, covering an arbour forty feet square, on the under side of which hung in profusion and indescribable splendour the purple racemes, sometimes four feet long, till the whole looked like a waving mass of silken ribbons. But in springtime, nature, unaided, offers this priceless treat to the passerby from beautiful trailers which festoon the thickets of roadside and woodland. But space forbids to more than mention the crape myrtle, the sweet-scented magnolia and mokusei (Osmanthus fragrans); the lotus which transform a slimy pond into a paradise; the iris—in various shades of blue, purple, pink and yellow, as well as white; the great blue campanula; the beautiful hydrangea, which in the process of blooming are successively arrayed in light green, white, pink, purple and blue.
By Nippon's lotus ponds: pen pictures of real Japan
 By Matthias Klein

Scent of Rain in Prose and Poetry

Auf dem Heimweg
Scent of Rain in Prose and Poetry

That night it began to rain. Nedda, waking, could hear the heavy drops pattering on the sweetbrier and clematis thatching her open window. The scent of rain-cooled leaves came in drifts, and it seemed a shame to sleep. She got up; put on her dressing-gown, and went to thrust her nose into that bath of dripping sweetness. Dark as the clouds had made the night, there was still the faint light of a moon somewhere behind. The leaves of the fruit-trees joined in the long, gentle hissing, and now and again rustled and sighed sharply; a cock somewhere, as by accident, let off a single crow. There were no stars. All was dark and soft as velvet. And Nedda thought: 'The world is dressed in living creatures! Trees, flowers, grass, insects, ourselves—woven together—the world is dressed in life!
Scribner's magazine, Volume 58
By Edward Livermore Burlingame

Roses in the Rain

THE winding meadow-paths are deep,
And, like a faint-remembered strain,
There comes, as o'er dim seas of sleep,
The scent of roses in the rain.

The drift of delicate perfume
Causes my eyes to blur with tears;
I sense, when roses are in bloom,
The pain and pathos of the years.

It brings, though but a fleeting breath,
A moment here, then gone again,
The poignancy of time and death—
The scent of roses in the rain!

Everywhere there is an abundance of motion and change on this bright and windy morning; the far ranges of hills are dappled with yellow sunlight and purple cloud-shadows; torn shreds of white stretch across the pale blue sky; a deeper blue stirs and trembles in the driven water of the loch. The flowers are all nodding and bending before the breeze; sometimes a few drops of rain begin to mark the lilac-gray pebbles at her feet; sometimes there is a brief gloom overhead; then the bit of a shower drifts over; the warm sunshine spreads itself around; the petals of the flowers are glittering now, and the pendulous branches of the willows rustling; while the air is freshened with the scent of rain-wet roses and sweetbrier.
In far Lochaber, Volume 1
By William Black

Outside, not even to be gainsaid by Sixth Avenue, the night was like a moist flower held to the face. A spring shower, hardly fallen, was already drying on the sidewalks, and from the patch of Bryant Park across the maze of car-tracks there stole the immemorial scent of rain-water and black earth, a just-set-out crescent of hyacinths giving off their light steam of fragrance. How insidious is an old scent! It can creep into the heart like an ache. Who has not loved beside thyme or at the sweetness of dusk? Dear, silenced laughs can come back on a whiff from a florist's shop. Oh, there is a nostalgia lurks in old scents!
Gaslight sonatas
By Fannie Hurst

THE sky was covered with low-hanging clouds ; it was not quite dark, and the ruts shone dimly in front of the carriage; but on both sides all was wrapped in mist, and the outlines of the different objects melted into large, shapeless patches. It was a dull, unsettled night; the wind blew in little, damp puffs, bringing the scent of rain and of vast wheat fields.
Virgin soil
By Īvan Sergeevīch Turgenev

The crashing thunder that had seemed like an avalanche of boulders shattered and flung earthward by the fury of the storm, began to spend itself, and close following on the peals and flashes came the damp earth-scent of rain-wetted dust as the big drops came down. By and by the thunder died away in distant grumbling, and the fiery zigzags went out. There was the sound of splashing hoofs pounding along the road; and the warm, wet smell of horses' steaming hides blown back by the night wind.
Harper's magazine, Volume 134

Presently a few heavy drops splashed through the thick, warm air. These were succeeded by others, and a fresh scent of rain began to blow through the rose-trees at the window. Then a low peal of thunder rolled over the meadows, and a sharp vivid streak of pale fire played for an instant across the bosom of a black cloud. The cloud grew darker and the peals louder and fuller, until the lightning streaks, and the thunderous volleys seemed to awe every living thing to silence.
Once a week
edited by Eneas Sweetland Dallas

They were following the road that the cavalry had taken an hour in advance of them. Listening now, they rode on without words. Now and then a bush at the roadside flipped a stirrup, now and again Banjo's little horse snorted in short impatience, as if expressing its disapproval of this journey through the dark. Night was assertive in its heaviness, but communicative of its mysteries in its wild scents — the silent music of its hour.
There are those who, on walking in the night, can tell the hour by the smell, the taste, the elusive fine aroma of the quiet air. Before midnight it is like a new-lit censer; in the small hours the smell of old camp fires comes trailing, and the scent of rain upon embers.
The rustler of Wind River
By George Washington Ogden

It was dark when he reached the Nagasaki station. He picked a riksha from a row of them standing outside with hoods up, for it had been raining slightly, and looking absurdly like a row of tiny, unhorsed hansom cabs, and told the man to take him to the House of the Clouds.
He came up the hill-path, and as he came the wind, blowing against him, brought a perfume with it, the perfume of rain-wet azaleas. During the day and the previous night dozens of blossoms had broken forth, filling the garden with their fragrance and beauty; dozens more would be born ere the morrow under the light of the silvery moon now gliding up over the hill-tops behind a tracery of flying, fleecy clouds.
The crimson azaleas: a novel
By Henry De Vere Stacpoole

The evening breezes chilly blow
Adown the mirk and eerie river;
Beneath the willows on the shore
The rushes quiver.

Between the tree-tops darkly green
The summer stars are whitely shining;
A cloud before the rounded moon
Shows silver lining.

Like tiny cymbals fairy-wrought
The ruffled waves are shoreward chiming,
With pulsing beats that come and go
In wordless rhyming.

The dusky leaves of watching trees,
With breeze blown palms to heaven lifted,
Wave out entreaties to the rain
Where clouds have drifted.

And sigh for rain; the mosses green
Are gray within the dew-less dragging
Of heated hours whose weary march
Is slow and lagging.

But hark I Upon the shadowed air
Awakened bird is lightly trilling
Its joyous song with clear low strains,
The woodland filling.

A rain song: linking note by note
The sweet, instinctive, airy madness
That prophesies the coming shower
With tuneful gladness.

And dark across the blinded moon
The ragged clouds are slowly trailing,
As hastening down the woodland way.
The wind is wailing.

The welcome drops leap down the sky
And dapple all the flowing river;
And fall like kisses on the leaves
That bend and quiver.

The bird is gone; in some safe nook
To listening mate is softly calling;
While hour by hour the fragrant rain
Is gently falling.
—Georgia Roberts.

"It was the close of April. . . . Suddenly, one night, a mild, warm rain began to fall, and from that moment all went as if by magic. It was as if a secret power of effervescence lay hidden in the fine, fragrant rain. . . . Yesterday everything had been black and naked, and now it looked as if a thin light green veil had been thrown over all. Neither was the air the same as yesterday. The fragrance was quite different, and it was so easy to breathe! All nature was smitten with a real spring fever. The birches had already clothed themselves in a fine transparent network of leaves, light and delicate as lace. From the poplars' big, swelling buds fell balsamic scales that filled the air with a strong intoxicating perfume. . . . The spruces shot out long, palegreen cones, straight as candles, which showed strangely against the brown ones of last year. Only the oak still stood naked and surly, as if he had no thought of spring."
VERA VORONTZOFF. By Sonya Kovalevsky

The rain increaseth. All the morning, great gray clouds have been flying to us from the Bellever country. First they let fall a few haphazard drops. Then they gradually lowered, opened, embraced the tors, and now we are swathed in fragrant rain-shot mist that is soaking the whole moor.
As I look through the window, all is movement. Not one tiny object is still. Every grass blade is a-quiver upon the Tweed Dog's bank; every ivy leaf in the cheepery is dancing on its stalk; every bare twig and bough in the hedge is waving against the dove gray of the sky.
Through a Dartmoor window
By Olive Katharine Parr

Now, looking out, I saw that the needful watering was not coming from a passing shower. The clouds were leaden from horizon to horizon; the rain fell with the gentle steadiness of a quiet summer storm, and had evidently been falling some hours already. The air was so fragrant that I threw wide open the door and windows. It was a true June incense, such as no art could distill; and when, at last, we all sat down to breakfast, of which crisp radishes taken a few moments before from our own garden formed a part, we felt that nature was carrying on our work of the past week in a way that filled our hearts with gratitude. The air was so warm that we did not fear the dampness. The door and windows were left open that we might enjoy the delicious odors and listen to the musical patter of the rain, which fell so softly that the birds were quite as tuneful as on other days.
St. Nicholas, Volume 12, Part 1
By Mary Mapes Dodge

And darkness came on steadily. There were no stars anywhere; and the violent winds folded their hands in quiet; and the air began to smell of rain; and somebody said aloud—it was a child—"There's a rain-drop;" and he spoke truly; and the night is come; and the slow rain begins its placid falling. It is raining. And all the evening through, all the night through into dull morning, on to noon, now into afternoon, it is raining.
The prairie and the sea
By William Alfred Quayle