The first glimpse of the village is lovely; that from the bridge that
crosses the river is still more so. We clambered up narrow streets,
with quaint carved houses and overhanging balconies, till we reached a
tea-house, kept by a closely shaven bonze, or priest. He seemed very
pleased to see us, and bowed and shook hands over and over again. He
placed his whole house at our disposal, and a very clean, pretty, and
well-arranged house it was, with a lovely little formal garden,
ornamented with mimic temples and bridges of ice, fashioned by the
hard frost, with but little assistance from the hand of man. Bits of
wood and stone, a few graceful fern-leaves and sprays of bamboo, and a
trickling stream of water produced the most fairy-like crystalline
effects imaginable. If only some good fairy could, with a touch of her
wand, preserve it all intact until a few months hence, what a delight
it would be in the hot summer weather!
To-day the paper house was indeed cold; but even so slight a shelter
from the bitter wind was acceptable, though we regretted the screens
could not be opened to enable us to admire the prospect on all sides.
The luncheon basket being quickly unpacked, the good priest warmed our
food and produced a bottle of port wine, which he mulled for our
benefit.
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