e. In the center is a miniature Festiva
Maxima--blood drops and all. How can those roots send up the golden
tints, the snowy white and the red, and never have the colors mixed?
Close by is a Plutarch, deep brilliant red. The roots intermingle. How
is it possible to pick out of the dull soil, Nature's eternal drab, that
brilliant color for your peony? There are your iris, the new sorts
absolutely undescribable. There are a dozen different shades in a single
bloom. But those blind artists at work in their subterranean studios
never make a mistake. The standards must have just such colors, the
falls just such tints, and where did they get that dazzling radiant
reflex such as you see on Perfection, Monsignor and Black Knight? But it
is always there shimmering in the sunlight. There is a fairy--a pure
snowy queen. How was that sweetness and purity ever extracted from the
scentless soil? Every bloom uncorks a vial of perfume which has the odor
of the peach blossom.

Did you ever sit down in your kingdom and see what a royal throne you
occupied? What a reception your flowers give you! The ambrosia and
nectar of the feasts of the deities of fable are overshadowed by the
fragrance and sweetness of your worshippers. It would seem that every
flower, like a royal subject, was bent on rendering the most exalted
honor to her king. No company of maidens preparing for nuptials were
ever arrayed like these. Each one is striving to do her best. The
highest art ever displayed in the palaces of kings is no comparison to
the beauty and splendor of your reception. By divine right you are
supreme. The fertile soil puts her tributes at your feet; for you all
the viewless influences of nature are at work; for you the sun shines
and the showers fall. So brothers, don't creep but mount up as on
eagle's wings. Invoice yourself and see how great you are! Don't live
all the while in the basement--spend some time in the upper story of
your calling!

You are not making the earth weep blood. You are not spreading on the
fields a carpet of mangled forms. You are not dropping ruin and death
from the skies or polluting God's pure waters with submarines. You are
not turning all your energies into the work of destruction, despoiling
the treasures of art and the pride of the ages and turning the fairest
portions of the earth into desolations. You are not changing yourselves
into demons to gloat over starvation and ruin. You are soldiers of
peace. Behind yo