nct or blurred, that is thought
to be an omen of sickness or death. But this superstition has its
industrial value: it has compelled photographers to be careful about
their work,--especially in these days of war, when everybody wants to
have a good clear portrait, because the portrait might be needed for
another purpose than preservation in an album.

During the last twenty years there has gradually come into existence
the custom of placing the photograph of a dead parent, brother,
husband, or child, beside the mortuary tablet kept in the Buddhist
household shrine. For this reason, also, the departing soldier wishes
to leave at home a good likeness of himself.

The rites of domestic affection, in old samurai families, are not
confined to the cult of the dead. On certain occasions, the picture
of the absent parent, husband, brother, or betrothed, is placed in
the alcove of the guest-room, and a feast laid out before it. The
photograph, in such cases, is fixed upon a little stand (_dai_); and
the feast is served as if the person were present. This pretty custom
of preparing a meal for the absent is probably more ancient than any
art of portraiture; but the modern photograph adds to the human poetry
of the rite. In feudal time it was the rule to set the repast facing
the direction in which the absent person had gone--north, south, east,
or west. After a brief interval the covers of the vessels containing
the cooked food were lifted and examined. If the lacquered inner
surface was thickly beaded with vapor, all was well; but if
the surface was dry, that was an omen of death, a sign that the
disembodied spirit had returned to absorb the essence of the
offerings.

* * * * *

As might have been expected, in a country where the "play-impulse" is
stronger, perhaps, than in any other part of the world, the Zeitgeist
found manifestation in the flower displays of the year. I visited
those in my neighborhood, which is the Quarter of the Gardeners. This
quarter is famous for its azaleas (_tsutsuji_); and every spring
the azalea gardens attract thousands of visitors,--not only by the
wonderful exhibition then made of shrubs which look like solid masses
of blossom (ranging up from snowy white, through all shades of pink,
to a flamboyant purple) but also by displays of effigies: groups
of figures ingeniously formed with living leaves and flowers. These
figures, life-size, usually represent famous inci