es with his grandfather
at Nikko, are buried at Uyeno.

The shrines are of exceeding beauty, lying on one side of a splendid
avenue of Scotch firs, which border a broad, well-kept gravel walk.
Passing through a small gateway of rare design, we come into a large
stone courtyard, lined with a long array of colossal stone lanterns,
the gift of the vassals of the departed Prince. A second gateway,
supported by gilt pillars carved all round with figures of dragons,
leads into another court, in which are a bell tower, a great cistern
cut out of a single block of stone like a sarcophagus, and a smaller
number of lanterns of bronze; these are given by the Go San Ke, the
three princely families in which the succession to the office of
Shogun was vested. Inside this is a third court, partly covered like a
cloister, the approach to which is a doorway of even greater beauty
and richness than the last; the ceiling is gilt, and painted with
arabesques and with heavenly angels playing on musical instruments,
and the panels of the walls are sculptured in high relief with
admirable representations of birds and flowers, life-size, life-like,
all being coloured to imitate nature. Inside this enclosure stands a
shrine, before the closed door of which a priest on one side, and a
retainer of the house of Tokugawa on the other, sit mounting guard,
mute and immovable as though they themselves were part of the carved
ornaments. Passing on one side of the shrine, we come to another
court, plainer than the last, and at the back of the little temple
inside it is a flight of stone steps, at the top of which, protected
by a bronze door, stands a simple monumental urn of bronze on a stone
pedestal. Under this is the grave itself; and it has always struck me
that there is no small amount of poetical feeling in this simple
ending to so much magnificence; the sermon may have been preached by
design, or it may have been by accident, but the lesson is there.

There is little difference between the three shrines, all of which are
decorated in the same manner. It is very difficult to do justice to
their beauty in words. Writing many thousand miles away from them, I
have the memory before me of a place green in winter, pleasant and
cool in the hottest summer; of peaceful cloisters, of the fragrance of
incense, of the subdued chant of richly robed priests, and the music
of bells; of exquisite designs, harmonious colouring, rich gilding.
The hum of the vast