WHEN BEES COURT THE CLOVER 



A GROUP of double pink hollyhocks, blushing on the 

 outer petals, deep rose at the hearts, set on stately 

 stalks amid velvety leaves of richest green, nodding above 

 a thatched beehive, compose as pretty a picture as one can 

 find in all the floral books painted by landscape architects. 



The association of bees and hollyhocks in this instance 

 was one of those fortunate accidents brought about by a 

 benign goddess of affairs who feared mischance would 

 follow our reasoning. The giant snapdragon had been 

 thought of to fill the corner behind the hive, the pentste- 

 mons, the Canterbury bells, and foxgloves, but none at- 

 tained the height of the hollyhock, nor did any own its 

 air of remoteness and self-sufficiency. It seemed to have 

 a sense of maintaining a decorative position. 



It alone of all the hardy plants seemed to put in no 

 plea for neighborly attention, and, for all we knew, was, 

 in its flowery ways, pluming itself on being equal to 

 loneliness and the exigencies of solitude gifts not 

 granted the common lot. 



Lest the imp of discontent should creep in, as it may in 

 exclusive society, it is well to have a note of life, and here 

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