THE PROCESSION OF FLOWERS FROM SPRING TO FALL 9 7 



is being rapidly filled. We have already originated six new ones of 

 these Intermediates, which are of exquisite beauty varying in color 

 from purest gold to royal purple. Fifth: It is the most heroic flower 

 of all. For two years we have had fearful weather; last summer 

 we had thirty days with the mercury soaring to 100 and up. The 

 hot winds were blowing like the blast of death. Pansies wilted, 

 phloxes fainted, but though we had but two inches of rain in five 

 months, the brave iris never winched. We dig and ship in August. 

 The ground was perfectly dry bu't the iris roots were fleshy and plump. 

 They had the faculty of gathering the moisture and holding them. 

 The Japanese are worthless in the west, let them alone. The German 

 and closely allied group are fully as beautiful, and need no coddling 

 either summer or winter. There is an increasing family of the Sib- 

 erian type. There are thirty kinds in this group, and more to 

 follow. 



One great trouble in introducing them is they belong to the flag 

 family. A woman bought some, and berated the florist because they 

 were nothing but flags, just the kind that grew in the swanps back 

 east, and in Minnesota marshes. A very wise woman says "I love 

 flowers, but don't want to be imposed on. If an iris is a flag, I don't 

 want it. You a horticulturist and can't see that they are nothing 

 but flags." You show her the Macraathas, with glistening purple 

 petals, three inches across, introduced from Asia-Minor; you tell 

 her of the Grand Monsignor, which is a perfect marvel of splendor, 

 with its combination of colors; you show her the Fairy, a queenly 

 teauty an^ every bloom opening a vial of perfume, and loads all the air 

 with a delicate odor of peach blossom. You show her the radiant 

 Perfection, the marvelous Cypriana, and yet she says, "Can't you 

 see?" "They are nothing but flags, they grow in swamps." Not all, 

 only a few. Most of them would die in a week in water. In the 

 Black Hills, I saw some beautiful ones, growing on stony hill tops, 

 where the mercury often falls to forty below zero, and the hills 

 swept bare of snow. But these flowers are bound to win. Their fas- 

 cinations are resistless. I am a busy man, but when my iris are in 

 bloom I go visiting them, drawn day by day by their matchless 

 beauty and they seem glad to see me, and put on robes of splendor, 

 fairer by far, than the raiment of princes. We keep 180 to 200 kinds, 

 and know something about them. 



The peony is the next. This flower was named from Dr. Paun, 

 a famous physician, who ministered to the heroes at the siege of Troy. 

 He first used the roots for medicine. There are about 3 native sorts. 

 Our modern ones are mostly from the Chinese alba flora peony. I 

 need not speak of this wonderful beauty. A fleld in full bloom is 

 one of the flnest spectacles the world affords. It is like a section of 

 paradise let dov/n to earth. Those glorious blooms seem to weave a 

 carpet of splendor fit for the touch of angels feet, while over the 



