Near the point of Croisette, there is a large orange garden which has been dignified with the name of the garden of the Hesperides. The oranges are cultivated for sale, and the trees are covered with the yellow fruit. In all the private gardens orange trees grow, and sometimes, though rarely, lemons, which I understand do not flourish at Cannes so well as elsewhere in the Riviera—a symptomatic sign indicative of a colder climate; for the lemon is a very delicate tree, requiring warmth and shelter, and being injured or killed by frost. There are also many arbutus trees in the gardens, bearing rich red soft berries nearly an inch in diameter, which are edible, and become ripe about November or December, and are sometimes, I have been informed, put down as dessert at hotel tables. The oranges do not ripen till February, although the fruit is on the trees all the year round. At Croisette there is a depôt for the sale of the earthenware, tinted with a peculiar blue or with a livid green, of which many fancy articles are made in the neighbouring town of Vallauris; but the stuff is brittle, and it is not advisable to purchase for bringing home any articles with slender handles—they break so easily off, while they can be bought at home in china shops. * * * * * One of the favourite drives is to California, upon the slope of which some new large hotels have been built, from which the views must be fine; but the situation, though healthy, is rather inconveniently distant from the town, and involves a pull up hill, which perhaps puts walking up beyond the power of invalids. We drove there on the 18th November. The sun had risen gloriously in the morning. There was not a speck of cloud on the sky. The day was broiling hot, and it was difficult to realize that we were no longer in July, but in a time of year when at home we should have had cold wintry weather. So warm, indeed, had we felt it at Cannes, that we were under the necessity of throwing off the extra clothing we had donned at Paris and Lyons. The road is steep, and the ascent fatiguing to horse and man, to the point where the reservoir, which supplies Cannes with water, is placed. Here we left the carriage and climbed to the top of the hill over above, the view from which amply repaid the exertion. Had we gone to a farther height, we should have seen the Alpes Maritimes; but from the height at which we arrived, the view was magnificent, the Estrelles lying straight out to the west, Antibes to the east, and the Lerins lying, to appearance, almost below us to the south. In a glowing sunshine such as we then had, the Mediterranean is always of a brilliant deep blue, while the sky is also of a rich blue of a lighter shade. One can hardly realize the beauty of the scenery beheld on such a day without having previously witnessed another like it. Such days would live in our recollection even more than they do, were they not, during several