In one broad space imitating a lake, was a lotus pond,
lined with iris, in which the fins of gold fish and silver carp flashed
in the sunbeams. Here and there the nose of a tortoise protruded, while
on a rugged rock sat an old grandfather surveying the scene with one or
two of his grand-children asleep on his shell and sunning themselves.

The fame of the tea-house, its excellent fare, and special delicacy of
its mountain trout, sugar-jelly and well-flavored rice-cakes, drew
hundreds of visitors, especially poetry-parties, and lovers of grand
scenery.

Just across the river, which was visible from the verandah of the
tea-house, stood the lofty firs that surrounded the temple of the Tendai
Buddhists. Hard by was the pagoda, which painted red peeped between the
trees. A long row of paper-windowed and tile-roofed dwellings to the
right made up the monastery, in which a snowy eye-browed but rosy-faced
old abbot and some twenty bonzes dwelt, all shaven-faced and
shaven-pated, in crape robes and straw sandals, their only food being
water and vegetables.

Not the least noticeable of the array of stone lanterns, and bronze
images with aureoles round their heads, and incense burners and holy
water tanks, and dragon spouts, was the belfry, which stood on a stone
platform. Under its roof hung the massive bronze bell ten feet high,
which, when struck with a suspended log like a trip-hammer, boomed
solemnly over the valley and flooded three leagues of space with the
melody which died away as sweetly as an infant falling in slumber. This
mighty bell was six inches thick and weighed several tons.

In describing the tea-house across the river, the story of its sweetest
charm, and of its garden the fairest flower must not be left untold.
Kiyo, the host's daughter, was a lovely maiden of but eighteen, as
graceful as the bamboo reed swaying in the breeze of a moonlit summer's
eve, and as pretty as the blossoms of the cherry-tree. Far and wide
floated the fame of Kiyo, like the fragrance of the white lilies of
Ibuki, when the wind sweeping down the mountain heights, comes
perfume-laden to the traveler.

As she busied herself about the garden, or as her white socks slipped
over the mat-laid floor, she was the picture of grace itself. When at
twilight, with her own hands, she lighted the gay lanterns that hung in
festoons along the eaves of the tea-house above the verandah, her bright
eyes sparkling, her red petticoats half visible thro