I suppose nine-tenths of all who love flower scents would give Violets as their favorite fragrance; yet how quickly, in the hothouse Violets, can the scent become nauseous. I recall one formal luncheon whereat the many tables were mightily massed with violets; and though all looked as fresh as daybreak to the sight, some must have been gathered for a day or more, and the stale odor throughout the room was unbearable. But it is scarcely fair to decry a flower because of its scent in decay. Shakespeare wrote:-- "Lilies festered smell far worse than weeds." Many of our Compositae are vile after standing in water in vases; Ox-eye Daisies, Rudbeckia, Zinnia, Sunflower, and even the wholesome Marigold. Delicate as is the scent of the Pansy, the smell of a bed of ancient Pansy plants is bad beyond words. The scent of the flowers of fruit-bearing trees is usually delightful; but I cannot like the scent of Pear blossoms. I dislike much the rank smell of common yellow Daffodils and of many of that family. I can scarcely tolerate them even when freshly picked, upon a dinner table. Some of the Jonquils are as sickening within doors as the Tuberose, though in both cases it is only because the scent is confined that it is cloying. In the open air, at a slight distance, they smell as well as many Lilies, and the Poet's Narcissus is deemed by many delightful. [Illustration: Old "War Office."] I have ever found the scent of Lilacs somewhat imperfect, not well rounded, not wholly satisfying; but one of my friends can never find in a bunch of our spring Lilacs any odor save that of illuminating gas. I do wish he had not told me this! Now when I stand beside my Lilac bush I feel like looking around anxiously to see where the gas is escaping. Linnaeus thought the perfume of Mignonette the purest ambrosia. Another thinks that Mignonette has a doggy smell, as have several flowers; this is not wholly to their disparagement. Our cocker spaniel is sweeter than some flowers, but he is not a Mignonette. There be those who love most of all the scent of Heliotrope, which is to me a close, almost musty scent. I have even known of one or two who disliked the scent of Roses, and the Rose itself has been abhorred. Marie de' Medici would not even look at a painting or carving of a Rose. The Chevalier de Guise had a loathing for Roses. Lady Heneage, one of the maids of honor to Queen Elizabeth, was made very ill by the presence or scent of Roses. This illness was not akin to "Rose cold," which is the baneful companion of so many Americans, and which can conquer its victims in the most sudden and complete manner.