down as with flowers, as the Japanese say—the Flowers of the Snow.
To one who loves them it is hard to say when they are best, these Japanese gardens: pearly with spring, green and cool in the heat of summer, ardent and flaming with the exhilaration of autumn, or pure and undefiled in winter snow. Each time, each season has its message, its particular excellence, and we find in the garden, beautiful or dull, fair or grim, that which is already in our own hearts. We may search the world for beauty, for tranquillity, for joy, and search in vain, unless we take it with us on our travels in the strong box of our own souls. In every garden in Japan those three things are planted, and we may enjoy them as freely as their owners, if we have the sun in our hearts to make the flowers bloom.
