VIII APOLOGIA PRO BAMBUSIS MEIS 201 
they seem to take a delight in setting at defiance every one of 
those canons which Nature has laid down so unmistakably 
for those who will be at the pains to read them. The Japanese 
garden is a mere toy that might be the appanage of a doll’s 
house. Everything is in miniature. There is a dwarf forest 
of stunted Pines, with a Lilliputian waterfall running into a 
tiny pond full of giant gold fish,—the only big things to be 
seen. There is a semblance in earth and stones of the great 
mount Fuji, and in one corner is a temple to Inari Sama, the 
god who presides over farming, and is waited upon by the 
foxes. Stone lanterns of grotesque shape spring up here and 
there, and the paths are made of great flat stepping-stones 
set well apart so as not to touch one another; shrubs, Cycads, 
and dwarf Conifers are planted, not without quaint skill and 
prettiness, but there are no broad effects, no inspiration of 
Nature. It is all spick and span, intensely artificial, a miracle 
of misplaced zeal and wasted labour. Attached to some of 
what were the Daimios’ palaces in the old days there were 
some fine pleasure grounds, well laid out, rich in trees, and 
daintily kept. The gardens of the Mikado, by the shore of 
the bay of Yedo, are beautiful. But the average Japanese 
garden is such as I have described it,—a mere whimsical 
toy, the relic of an art imported from China, and stereo- 
typed on the willow pattern plate. 
In my little garden at Tokiyd—such a lovely spot over- 
looking the bay !—there was a small pond in which myriads 
of mosquitos used to live and love, bringing up innumerable 
families, and making life almost intolerable. At last I could 
bear it no longer, so I filled up the pond and made a sort of 
bog garden of it, the chief feature of which consisted of great 
