The Rescue of an Old Place 



Beauty of a especial charm ; everything is sweeter and 

 hower. r fresher, even in its often bedraggled con- 

 dition. I have a passion for dabbling in 

 water-coloring of this description, and can- 

 not keep my hands from the weeds and 

 flowers, when I venture forth to see how 

 my favorites have borne the storm. It is 

 a delight to put one's arms about a boun- 

 cing peony, with its red cheeks all cold 

 and dripping, and tie a string around it 

 to keep its bright faces clean. The for- 

 ward flowers kiss you as you struggle to 

 encircle them ; the wet leaves box your 

 ears, as if you were taking a liberty. It is 

 some time before you can accomplish your 

 purpose, and you arise from the encounter 

 quite breathless and dripping, with the 

 pink and white faces, huddled up together, 

 all laughing at your condition. 



It is June, and the last of the Fleur-de-lis 

 are quite broken down, their pearly petals 

 draggled in mud and defaced by water. 

 This delicate French beauty will put up 

 with no plebeian touch, but withers and 

 dies if brought in contact with the earth. 

 The Roses stand up, after their bath, quite 

 fresh and shining, but the buds, which are 

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