THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 
stepson, Eugene de Beauharnais, carried out the em¬ 
peror’s plans when affairs of moment called the latter 
away. These gardens stretch along the water’s edge 
in half-tropic loveliness, the paths shaded by lindens, 
mimosas, orange- and lemon- and magnolia-trees, with 
palms and palmettos boldly placed. There is a charm¬ 
ing garden cafe with music every afternoon, there are 
formal flower beds and green grass, and, though small, 
the place is very effective. But the flower spot of 
Venice is the Eden Garden, where each morning the 
boats come to the water-gate for their day’s supply to 
be sold in the piazzas and calles. The flowers are 
unbelievable ; solid squares of bloom, sheets of color. 
Surely such a mass of flowers was never collected in so 
small a space elsewhere on earth. The roses, hanging 
curtains, loads under which the bushes fairly stagger, 
or standards cut back to bring a single marvelous 
blossom to perfection. The perfume from the lily beds 
makes the head swim, and the carnations crowd together 
drunk with their own loveliness. 
There is many another public garden that might be 
mentioned. The beautiful ones in Paris and at Ver¬ 
sailles ; those in Berlin and Dresden, and many here in 
our own country, though we have not yet attained the 
perfection of those abroad, being naturally many years 
behind the oldest and the finest. But these are enough 
to show how deep is our debt to the early “physick 
garden ” of the Middle Ages, with its small collections 
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