at the Casino at Monte Carlo in the evening. Alas this jaunt 
would cover some five hundred miles, so if your time in the 
south is short, do not hope to see too many details. But no 
matter how short your time do not confine yourself to the mar- 
ginal Palms and Cacti, but take one walk up into the hills. 
Look out as you drive for the pink and purple splotches of flowers 
against the cliffs, the Pines on the red Esterels, the Olives and 
Acacias and Rosemary. Mentone is the most flowery neighbor- 
hood, and more embowered in green, but the stretch of road 
between A gay and St. Raphael where the tiny villas lie between 
the road and the sea, with gardens ending in fringes of deep red 
jagged rock, white foam and unbelievably blue water, is the 
most picturesque. 
Unfortunately there is no good guide book for "The Midi," 
but Flowering Plants of the Riviera, by H. Stewart Thompson 
(Longmans, Green and Company), is an excellent illustrated 
book on the flora of the region. It is difficult to find out the 
location, visiting days and even existence of the gardens, but 
with persistence it can be done. Tourists follow the main routes, 
but gardeners will turn to the right and to the left and discover 
many hidden beauties. 
K. L. B. 
In Praise of Peaches. 
One of the gardener's joys in life is that happy time of year 
when the peaches hang upon the trees, warm and golden in the 
summer sun. 
When these days come, I go from tree to tree, picking and 
eating on the spot the fragrant, juicy, fairy fruit that always 
seems to be too exquisite to be real. A stone drops here and a 
stone drops there as I finish peach after peach, and go to dabble 
my honey-dripping fingers in the lily pool. 
The following year, in the most unexpected places, little 
peach trees spring up, the happy sign-posts of these gustatory 
amblings. Today I found one in a rose-bed. I remember that 
peach distinctly ! My little Chow puppy and I were wandering 
around eating peaches. At least I was eating the peaches and 
Yong-lo was listening to my rapturous remarks. I held a 
Reeves' Favorite close to the roses, harmonizing their glowing 
colors. The effect was so enchanting that I ate the peach then 
and there, and almost ate the rose too. "When I found the little 
peach tree growing I remembered that happy day last year. But 
today there was no tiny Yong-lo. He has gone to join his 
ancestors, and the garden and I sorely miss his sweet obedient 
presence. 
I have just been budding these casual little trees, always safe 
by royal decree from the gardeners' devastating passion for 
cleaning up, and, finishing my pleasant task, I remember a book. 
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