A GARDEN IN VENICE 



place every half-dozen years, and in fresh soil 

 grow so grandly that we have often heads of 

 fifteen, sixteen, and even twenty flowers on a 

 single stem, of sometimes 5^ feet high. 



We used to fill our borders and other beds 

 with summer plants and annuals. This we have 

 given up, as we migrate in July with the swallows 

 to the mountains. Coming back to the late part 

 of our vintage we strive to be reconciled for the 

 cutting of our grapes by the money they bring 

 in, and to accept as the glory of the garden the 

 white and pink flowers of the raking cosmos, the 

 scarlet of the amaranthus and salvias, the autumn 

 roses, and the chrysanthemums that grow in 

 glorious profusion of all colours. 



There has been a great improvement in the 

 rruit of Venice since we've known it, in obedience 

 to the law of constant progress that happily pre- 

 vails despite the doubts of the soured or unhappy. 

 A pear was unknown other than the small brown 

 native which ripened and decayed in August. 

 Now from trees brought from Milan we gather 

 grand fruit of the names best known in exhibi- 



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