第5部分(第4/7 頁)

eams；　waters　the

hills　abundantly；　makes　the　furrows　soft　with　showers　for　the　seed；

elicits　a　perfume　which　I　cannot　breathe　deep　enough。　Spring　rain　is

beautiful；　impartial；　lovable。　With　pearly　drops　it　washes　every　leaf　on

tree　and　bush；　ministers　equally　to　salutary　herbs　and　noxious　growths；

searches　out　every　living　thing　that　needs　its　beneficence。

The　senses　assist　and　reinforce　each　other　to　such　an　extent　that　I　am

not　sure　whether　touch　or　smell　tells　me　the　most　about　the　world。

Everywhere　the　river　of　touch　is　joined　by　the　brooks　of

odour…perception。　Each　season　has　its　distinctive　odours。　The　spring　is

earthy　and　full　of　sap。　July　is　rich　with　the　odour　of　ripening　grain

and　hay。　As　the　season　advances；　a　crisp；　dry；　mature　odour

predominates；　and　golden…rod；　tansy；　and　everlastings　mark　the　onward

march　of　the　year。　In　autumn；　soft；　alluring　scents　fill　the　air；

floating　from　thicket；　grass；　flower；　and　tree；　and　they　tell　me　of　time

and　change；　of　death　and　life's　renewal；　desire　and　its　fulfilment。

FOOTNOTE：

＇B＇　George　Arnold。

SMELL；　THE　FALLEN　ANGEL

VI

SMELL；　THE　FALLEN　ANGEL

FOR　some　inexplicable　reason　the　sense　of　smell　does　not　hold　the　high

position　it　deserves　among　its　sisters。　There　is　something　of　the　fallen

angel　about　it。　When　it　woos　us　with　woodland　scents　and　beguiles　us

with　the　fragrance　of　lovely　gardens；　it　is　admitted　frankly　to　our

discourse。　But　when　it　gives　us　warning　of　something　noxious　in　our

vicinity；　it　is　treated　as　if　the　demon　had　got　the　upper　hand　of　the

angel；　and　is　relegated　to　outer　darkness；　punished　for　its　faithful

ser