is best, even when a little inward voice tells him plainly not to be too sure of that. I like this fine British scorn for any art that, even if it has not arisen on its island soil (and what art did?) has not the sanction at least of long use there. It has taken thirty years for Whistler,—an American by birth and the acrid strength of him, though claimed by France for his art methods, and by England for his long residence there,—with his great power with the brush, and his stinging wit, to open the British eyes to the wonderful suggestion and beauty that lie in Japanese methods of painting; and it will surely take more than another thirty years (unless such another prophet shall arise) before any writer or painter can do the same for Japanese gardens.
Already in America our great landscape artists—whether directly influenced by the Japanese or no I cannot pretend to say—have gone to the same authority—Nature—for inspiration. Central and Morningside Parks in New York, the Fens in Boston, as well as the Fells, a little farther away towards Maiden, and a dozen other garden spaces in and about that city. Riverside Park in Philadelphia, and many others in the Western Cities, could be named as having bits of them arranged according to such ideals, even if their designers were not directly influenced by the study of Japanese garden principles. I say it steadily, and with a fairly
