by the Japanese Rozan, which must have a high hillock near, called Rinmon. Mr. Conder also tells us that, in temple grounds, a famous place in the Himalayas furnishes a design for a combination of water and hill scenery. It is known in Buddhist history for its cataract lake, and ‘four rivers issuing therefrom.’ In all these there is much poetical allusion which makes it very enthralling to the well-read Japanese, but in which the garden- and poetry-lover from the West cannot find even an academic interest. The foreigner usually likes far better the representations of the ‘Six Gem Rivers of Japan,’ with their stone-filled baskets strengthening the banks, and their waters hurling themselves headlong among the rocks of their bed—true miniature models of the dashing rivers of the country.
If, as is sometimes the case, no spring, no stream is available for the grounds, then the ghost of one is brought in to haunt the place, and the dry bones of the watercourse suggest the presence of the loved spirit. This ‘Dried-up Water Scenery,’ as it is called, deceives even the unimaginative Briton, the down-right American, who do not intend to be trifled with. They are beguiled by this mysterious art of water suggestion. They say, sympathetically: “Pity you haven’t more rain, this time of year, to fill your brook.” Or, “Jolly fine cascade that must be in the rainy season; I suppose
