Robin Hood's Barn 



white and purple iris, for the thridding of spiced 

 pinks and tufted pansies that is my signal of 

 success. 



Better still I like to have her come upon my 

 favorites, so inevitably do they prove her own. 

 No hybrid perpetual in the market can compare 

 in fineness with the damask rose. Let Frau Karl 

 Droschky hft her wax white petals. She is too 

 immoderate and too soulless in her chastity. So 

 is the Lady Ahce Stanley too arrogant in her re- 

 serves. Even Opheha will go mincing beside this 

 thoroughbred of old colonial gardens, with her 

 light yielding grace and frank simplicity of heart. 

 Surely, too, it is not the flavor of a name that 

 gives its bravery to York and Lancaster. With 

 what a swagger, it displays its badge of blood! 

 At the same time, my friend feels as I do my- 

 self, that roses I could best spare from my gar- 

 den. Much would it lose of richness. But to do 

 without campanula would be to extinguish all its 

 starry lights. Without the columbine it would 

 lose all its dancing gayety, and without the lark- 

 spur, aspiration. For sense of humor it must 

 have the chuckle of the violas. And how might 



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