me to pray before the grave of Oishi Chikara. Having finished
his prayers, he deliberately performed _hara-kiri_,[8] and, the belly
wound not being mortal, dispatched himself by cutting his throat. Upon
his person were found papers setting forth that, being a Ronin and
without means of earning a living, he had petitioned to be allowed to
enter the clan of the Prince of Choshiu, which he looked upon as the
noblest clan in the realm; his petition having been refused, nothing
remained for him but to die, for to be a Ronin was hateful to him, and
he would serve no other master than the Prince of Choshiu: what more
fitting place could he find in which to put an end to his life than
the graveyard of these Braves? This happened at about two hundred
yards' distance from my house, and when I saw the spot an hour or two
later, the ground was all bespattered with blood, and disturbed by the
death-struggles of the man.

[Footnote 8: A purist in Japanese matters may object to the use of the
words _hara-kiri_ instead of the more elegant expression _Seppuku_. I
retain the more vulgar form as being better known, and therefore more
convenient.]

THE LOVES OF GOMPACHI AND KOMURASAKI

Within two miles or so from Yedo, and yet well away from the toil and
din of the great city, stands the village of Meguro. Once past the
outskirts of the town, the road leading thither is bounded on either
side by woodlands rich in an endless variety of foliage, broken at
intervals by the long, low line of villages and hamlets. As we draw
near to Meguro, the scenery, becoming more and more rustic, increases
in beauty. Deep shady lanes, bordered by hedgerows as luxurious as any
in England, lead down to a valley of rice fields bright with the
emerald green of the young crops. To the right and to the left rise
knolls of fantastic shape, crowned with a profusion of Cryptomerias,
Scotch firs and other cone-bearing trees, and fringed with thickets of
feathery bamboos, bending their stems gracefully to the light summer
breeze. Wherever there is a spot shadier and pleasanter to look upon
than the rest, there may be seen the red portal of a shrine which the
simple piety of the country folk has raised to Inari Sama, the patron
god of farming, or to some other tutelary deity of the place. At the
eastern outlet of the valley a strip of blue sea bounds the horizon;
westward are the distant mountains. In the foreground, in front of a
farmhouse, snug-looking, wi