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all his works. Luckily, he seemed to have 

 confined his attentions to the upper garden 

 terraces, and the open patch outside the entrance 

 gates. Perhaps the great size of the lower 

 garden had discouraged him, and so saved the 

 old-fashioned fruit trees and flowers. \ For by 

 the borders of the long canal, here, at last, was a 

 real Indian garden. Here were the roses and 

 pearl-flowered jasmine, with zinnias and mari- 

 golds, scattered among them, leaning over the 

 water's edge to kiss their own reflections. Tall 

 palms were planted at intervals, their leaves 

 nearly meeting across the stream, where the 

 slender fountains shot up through them, falling 

 back in diamond spray. In the borders the 

 green spears of the narcissus just showed above 

 the ground — the sweet-scented flowers which 

 Babar loved and planted in his new gardens at 

 Agra, together with roses " regularly and in beds 

 corresponding to each other." His orange trees, 

 too, of the Garden of Fidelity, — with which he 

 was so pleased, — here they were and citron trees, 

 their boughs bending with their load of pale yellow 

 fruit. Below each waterfall day-lilies grew, their 

 green leaves trailing in the little ripples. A soft 

 mist of blue ageratum lay in wreaths under the 



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