HOUSE AND GARDEN 
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161 
trating symbolism of the far East. 
The sleeping rooms, by the way, 
have a manner of seeming to be rus¬ 
tically primitive while meeting you at 
the essential points with the proffer 
of a modern luxury which most of us 
are weak enough to welcome even in 
a log cabin. There is no litter of 
things, no restless clutter here or 
elsewhere, to produce the effect blunt¬ 
ly described by the artists as “noisy.” 
The peaceful brown of the logs that 
make the main walls is punctuated by 
a fragment of illuminated text that 
is a low-voiced greeting to you. It is 
a little matter, but when on another 
visit the low voice sounds the differ¬ 
ent note of another day, you have a 
deepened sense of Kipling’s “magic 
of the necessary word.” 
From the windows of this side op¬ 
posite the valley, you look out on a 
thousand apple trees, a thousand cur¬ 
rant bushes, two thousand raspberry 
bushes and a kitchen garden spread 
with the varying greens of every¬ 
thing that will grow in this climate. 
The upland is otherwise alive. Wu, 
the reticent Japanese dog, has learned 
to take peacocks, partridges, squab 
and guinea hens as much for granted 
as blue Andalusians or Rhode Island 
reds. Wu, indeed, produces the 
effect of being past astonishment. 
Also, like every other living thing 
here, he is well fed and content. 
In the clothes-presses of this cabin 
are peculiar treasures that play a part 
in the charm of life as the hostess guides it—captivating kimonos, 
sashes, sandals and fans of the unvarying Nippon fashion, as 
well as a score of Yankee gowns dating from the days when we 
were imitating the Empire and St. James. 
Of an evening after one of those brief mountain twilights, 
these silken things are likely to come forth to transform the com¬ 
pany, and a strangely fascinating scene they make of it. Shades 
of Dan'l Doone and Davy Crockett! 
What a fantasy in the light of the 
roaring hearth! 
I remember one night when the 
host and hostess and men and women 
guests all were called to appear in 
true Japanese garb, and were sup¬ 
plied with the wherewithal to obey 
the command. I remember Rin, the 
little Tokio maid, down before the 
charcoal burner fussing deftly with 
the tori-nabe, her ceremonial proces¬ 
sion through the kneeling group, the 
awkward efforts of the inexpert in 
disposing of their heels, the solemn 
efforts to respond properly to the 
deep salutation of the maid, herself 
as graceful as a geisha, and the but¬ 
ler, wearing a wonderful blue, stand¬ 
ing at the back, only his emotionless 
face caught by the firelight. I re¬ 
member Rin’s epic song, weird and 
strident, full of a strange dramatic 
passion, the guttural twang of the 
samisen, the odd thrill of those East¬ 
ern dissonances, and the hush that 
fell upon us to the close of the recital. 
At the end, we took our candles 
and filed away, leaving only Wu, 
blinking on a Navajo blanket. And 
the cabin, like a great black hen on 
the brink of the wide darkness, closed 
its eyes until the dawn. 
A whimsical poet who has felt the 
spell of Yama-no-uchi ends his screed 
with these stanzas, which may serve 
the same purpose for me: 
“And so, thou Yama fair, I guess, 
We’ll count thy beauty wise, 
And all thy rare No-Uchi-ness 
Religion to the eyes. 
For Beauty finds its proof in Peace, 
And here the sign is sent. 
May fortune grant thee lasting lease, 
Thou Cabin of Content.” 
The stained chestnut half-door, studded with metal, 
welcomes you into the shelter of the long, low roof 
The sleeping-rooms have a manner of seeming prim¬ 
itive while meeting you with the proffer of luxury 
The office, chicken houses and trout hatchery are built as they 
would build in our climate and with our materials 
The tea house that might have been lifted out of Nippon is exact 
in its fidelity to the Japanese type 
