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me always. The flowers were two blossoms of the night blooming cereus. As I stood before their wonderful translucent whiteness which seemed to radiate delicate tremulous waves of light, they seemed to me like celestial beings, and I understood why our atmosphere must be too heavy for them and why their stay with us must be so brief. In an hour or two they would return whence they came and breathe once more their pure and native ether, but not until they had given us their heavenly message.

It was a beautiful custom of the town in which I lived, for the owner of a night blooming cereus to invite in all the friends and neighbors upon the occasion of its blooming, and I remember well the stillness that was in the room as we moved in line, each stopping a moment in contemplation before those silent flowers. Silent to the outer ear, but full of speech to the inner. A hush fell upon the assembly, the room was a shrine and within it was the Holy Presence. An indescribable longing swept over me to fall on my knees before those messengers from a celestial sphere and implore a fuller revelation, for there seemed so close at hand a glory to be revealed. But convention held me and I passed on silent and wistful, while the calm, sweet flowers seemed saying: Peace! Have faith! There is nothing hidden