ed granite lanterns,
became uplifted above ordinary thoughts. One may be in the midst of a
city, and yet feel as if he were in the forest far away from the dust
and din of civilisation. Great was the ingenuity displayed by the
tea-masters in producing these effects of serenity and purity. The
nature of the sensations to be aroused in passing through the roji
differed with different tea-masters. Some, like Rikiu, aimed at utter
loneliness, and claimed the secret of making a roji was contained in the
ancient ditty:

"I look beyond;
Flowers are not,
Nor tinted leaves.
On the sea beach
A solitary cottage stands
In the waning light
Of an autumn eve."

Others, like Kobori-Enshiu, sought for a different effect. Enshiu said
the idea of the garden path was to be found in the following verses:

"A cluster of summer trees,
A bit of the sea,
A pale evening moon."

It is not difficult to gather his meaning. He wished to create the
attitude of a newly awakened soul still lingering amid shadowy dreams of
the past, yet bathing in the sweet unconsciousness of a mellow spiritual
light, and yearning for the freedom that lay in the expanse beyond.

Thus prepared the guest will silently approach the sanctuary, and, if
a samurai, will leave his sword on the rack beneath the eaves, the
tea-room being preeminently the house of peace. Then he will bend low
and creep into the room through a small door not more than three feet
in height. This proceeding was incumbent on all guests,--high and low
alike,--and was intended to inculcate humility. The order of precedence
having been mutually agreed upon while resting in the machiai, the
guests one by one will enter noiselessly and take their seats, first
making obeisance to the picture or flower arrangement on the tokonoma.
The host will not enter the room until all the guests have seated
themselves and quiet reigns with nothing to break the silence save the
note of the boiling water in the iron kettle. The kettle sings well, for
pieces of iron are so arranged in the bottom as to produce a peculiar
melody in which one may hear the echoes of a cataract muffled by clouds,
of a distant sea breaking among the rocks, a rainstorm sweeping through
a bamboo forest, or of the soughing of pines on some faraway hill.

Even in the daytime the light in the room is subdued, for the low eaves
of the slantin