it did I manage to get more than the end of my nose between 
the bars of its gates. Waving Palms and Bamboo I could see, 
and two flowered banks where new plants were bedded out each 
week. It appears that the Baron does not feel that his garden 
is doing itself justice since the war, and the gardener is for- 
bidden, on pain of death, I think, to admit visitors. But since 
the story is current that before the war the gardener and guests 
of a certain Miss Rothschild who has a villa near Grasse were 
never admitted, the aversion to visitors would seem to date from 
the Franco-Prussian rather than a more recent war. I assured 
friends of the gardener that even if I could appropriate plants 
and ideas I neither would nor wished to do so, but it got me 
nowhere. Might we as a Garden Club bestow our Achievement 
Medal on the first member to penetrate the fastnesses of the 
Villa Rothschild? 
A little farther along the Route de Frejus is the Villa Ele- 
onore, built and planted by Lord Brougham about ninety years 
ago. You will remember that Lord Brougham was delayed at 
Cannes by government formalities in a time of plague and, 
liking it well, set up there his winter residence. The growth 
of the town dates from that day. 
The Villa Eleonore is completely charming. In its gardens 
grow all the exotics and the natives, too, and the most magnificent 
Roses ever seen. These grow out-doors on great spreading 
trellises perhaps two feet from the ground. Their stems, or 
rather trunks, are a foot thick and their spread thirty or forty 
feet. The flowers bloom in masses but are long-stemmed and 
large as the best of our commercially-grown hot-house Roses. 
Almost all are seedlings originated at the Villa. No cuttings 
have ever been distributed, and one, the Eleonore, is held sacred 
and picked only by the owner. The present owner, alas, has 
not seen his roses for seven years. He is the third Lord 
Brougham of Villa Eleonore, and a very old man. Like so 
many others, he cannot afford to keep his pleasure villa and its 
expensive garden, so they are for sale and he remains in 
England. One old gardener who came from England thirty 
years ago cares for it as best he can, but its former glories have 
departed. The Roses and Wistarias and Magnolias are as 
beautiful as ever, and the Bamboo thickets that border the 
drive have not suffered; Jasminum primulinum, Banksia Roses 
and Rosa sinica climb over everything, and every sort and kind 
of flower seem to bloom. But the Roses are to be "put on the 
market," and unless a purchaser comes soon many treasures- 
will be lost. This garden is easy to find and to visit. The fact 
that the villa is for sale insures a hospitable welcome, which in 
any event the old gardener accords to a fellow-gardener. 
The Pines and Live Oaks on the lies des Lerins, which are 
reached by public motor boat from the Port at Cannes are well 
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