The creators of northern gardens strive primarily for color; here, amid the glare of the sun and the desert, the chief object sought is _shade_. Almost wholly absent are the velvety stretches of close-cropped lawn, the brilliant “flower-beds,” the formal avenues and exactly trimmed hedges to which we are accustomed. There are flowers, of course—great clumps of geranium, hedges of red and white hibiscus, cascades of bougainvillea, purple and crimson, clambering roses, and unfamiliar plants and vines with gorgeous blooms—but instead of being set out in formal rows or geometrical designs, as European gardeners are so fond of doing, they peep out unexpectedly from amid a bewildering tangle of bamboos, palms of every known variety, and citrus-trees, for in that fierce heat they can exist only by taking advantage of the shade. Winding through the wilderness of verdure go broad white walks, stamped and rolled until they are as smooth as asphalt and then sprinkled with a thin layer of sand. Everywhere bare-legged Arab gardeners are at work preserving the immaculate tidiness of the gardens. So conscientious are they that a footprint on the sanded walks is instantly erased, not a dead leaf is to be seen. Entering the cool green tunnels from the intolerable glare and heat of the sun, hearing the pleasant splash and gurgle of water coursing through the network of leafy channels, lounging beneath pergolas smothered in jasmine and bougainvillea, or from the outer promenade gazing across the illimitable sea of sand whose yellow waves break impotently against the retaining-walls of the garden, one marvels at the miracle which has wrought such surpassing beauty from a region so discouraging. Nowhere else have I seen such bold and successful defiance of the desert; here “the wilderness becomes like Eden, and the desert like the garden of the Lord.” The wonder and fascination of the place grow on the visitor hour by hour. Hidden away in the heart of the gardens is the owner’s villa, a rambling, one-story building which lays no claim to architectural pretensions. The interior is a curious _mélange_ of Moorish and mid-Victorian, the Oriental rugs and hangings, the marbles and paintings, the ornate crystal chandeliers, the broad divans piled high with embroidered cushions, the Empire tables and over-stuffed chairs upholstered in brocaded satin combining the unbridled opulence of the East with the dignity and restraint of the West. Not far away is a charming little pavilion, furnished in the Oriental style, where Count Landon takes his guests after dinner for coffee and cigarettes.