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a good deed. It is one of nature's harmo- 

 nies, where form is allied to color, 



"Like perfect music unto noble words." 



Whoso shall fitly voice it will stand forth 

 acknowledged of his fellows poet by right 

 divine. 



This flower, so darkly crimson it is black 

 in shadow, is a new Inferno, full of the pain 

 and passion of lost souls. Close at hand 

 you see a big, blowzy, red-and-white blos- 

 som ; ungraceful flaunting it may be, yet, 

 for all that, a flower of peace one of Eng- 

 land's "blended roses bought so dear." It 

 takes you back to Queen Bess, in whose 

 coronation pageant there came images of 

 "her Majestie's grandmother, of York, in 

 a fayre white rose, her Majestie's grandsire, 

 of Lancaster, in one all royal red, and her 

 Majestie's self, in one strip't red and white." 

 Here be monthly roses, love songs one and 

 all, pink persistent glories beset with many 

 thorns. . Cinnamon roses, too. And what 

 artist shall so paint for you farm-house gar- 

 dens and quaint, deep door-yards, or coun- 

 try churches with simple folk trooping in 

 on Sunday mornings ? The breath comes 

 clean and sweet and uplifting. Care steps 

 away. You stand open-eyed, at peace with 



