again. It is the only thing that has ever reconciled me to my sad lack in not having seen the splendid flora of California!
As I said at the beginning of this chapter, practically every garden in Japan is a landscape garden, but I have concluded that the description of one is as good as the mere naming of a hundred. Frankly, too, I do not care for those most strict and exalted classic models. I admire Lord Fuji, the ethereal vision (the Japanese make this sacred mountain masculine), too much to care to see him made petty and pretty out of a miniature mound of earth, decked out with dwarf trees. I have too great a respect for the Che Kiang (China Sea), on which I have tossed and suffered, to care to view it in miniature in a temple garden. I love Japan’s own beautiful scenery too dearly to want it served up to me like a decorated wedding-cake. Where its gardening rules are properly applied, China forgotten, the source of their inspiration (Nature) unpolluted, she has given us gardens incomparable, landscapes in little, but in truth.
