122 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



their details into picturesque ruins. I remember 

 one coolie dwelling which was dirtier and less 

 habitable than the meanest stable, and all around 

 it were hundreds upon hundreds of frangipanni 

 blooms — the white and gold temple flowers of 

 the East — giving forth of scent and color all that 

 a flower is capable, to alleviate the miserable blot 

 of human construction. Now and then a flam- 

 boyant tree comes into view, and as, at night, the 

 head-lights of an approaching car eclipse all else, 

 so this tree of burning scarlet draws eye and 

 mind from adjacent human-made squalor. In 

 all the tropics of the world I scarcely remember 

 to have seen more magnificent color than in these 

 unattended, wilful-grown gardens. 



In tropical cities such as Georgetown, there 

 are very beautiful private gardens, and the pub- 

 lic one is second only to that of Java. But for 

 the most part one is as conscious of the very 

 dreadful borders of brick, or bottles, or conchs, as 

 of the flowers themselves. Some one who is a 

 master gardener will some day write of the pos- 

 sibilities of a tropical garden, w^hich will hold 

 the reader as does desire to behold the gardens of 

 Carcassonne itself. 



