which I take a proprietary interest. They are inconsequent things, and catholic enough in style to meet the tastes of very varied patrons. Besides this, tea-gardens, more than any other sort, have affected and influenced the arrangements of other grounds. It will be remembered that Sen-no-Rikiu, Kabori Enshiu, and other great landscape artists were primarily masters of the tea ceremonies (Cha-no-yu). As they evolved and laid down laws for the one, they developed the other to correspond. The foundation of the art of tea-garden making is that of all the others—Nature! But where temple grounds can be serene, grand, imposing, or elegant, tea-gardens must be modelled on Nature’s homelier moods—where with wildness there is also found comfort, with rusticity quiet and tender charm. Flowers there should be, and running water, and the life and gaiety of darting carp or goldfish, or of domesticated birds, and these one always finds.
My first experience of Japanese tea-gardens was at Nagasaki, and I have never forgotten that panting climb, on a perfect May morning, with the big paper fish swinging in the sky at the tops of the masts, the flutter of petals and the scent of the Azaleas and of dried fish in the air. And how distinct is the memory of the faint amber-hued tea, so delicate and refreshing, brought to us in the tiny, dainty bowls the Japanese use as teacups, by the brightest-faced and most bubbling of nésans; and I can
