they
came from one of the Emperor's palaces at Kyoto."

But the pride of the collection were the conifers and
evergreens--trees which have Japanese and Latin names only, the
_hinoki_, the _enoki_, the _sasaki_, the _keyaki_, the _maki_, the
_surgi_ and the _kusunoki_--all trees of the dark funereal families of
fir and laurel, which the birds avoid, and whose deep winter green in
the summer turns to rust. There were spreading cedar trees, black like
the tents of Bedouins, and there were straight cryptomerias for the
masts of fairy ships. There was a strange tree, whose light-green
foliage grew in round clumps like trays of green lacquer at the
extremities of twisted brandies, a natural _etagere_. There were the
distorted pine-trees of Japan, which are the symbol of old age, of
fidelity, of patience under adversity, and of the Japanese nation
itself, in every attitude of menace, curiosity, jubilation and gloom.
Some of them were leaning out of their pots and staring head downwards
at the ground beneath them; some were creeping along the earth
like reptiles; some were mere trunks, with a bunch of green needles
sprouting at the top like a palm; some with one long pathetic branch
were stretching out in quest of the infinite to the neglect of the
rest of the tree; some were tall and bent as by some sea wind blowing
shoreward. Streaking a miniature landscape, they were whispering
together the tales of centuries past.

The Japanese art of cultivating these tiny trees is a weird and
unhealthy practice, akin to vivisection, but without its excuse. It is
like the Chinese custom of dwarfing their women's feet. The result is
pleasing to the eye; but it hurts the mind by its abnormality, and the
heart by its ruthlessness.

Asako's admiration, so easily stirred, became enthusiastic as Countess
Saito told her something of the personal history of her favourite
plants, how this one was two hundred years old, and that one three
hundred and fifty, and how another had been present at such and such a
scene famous in Japanese history.

"Oh, they are lovely," cried Asako. "Where can one get them? I must
have some."

Countess Saito gave her the names of some well-known market gardeners.

"You can get pretty little trees from them for fifty to a hundred
_yen_ (L5 to L10)," she said. "But of course the real historical trees
are so very few; they hardly ever come on the market. They are like
animals, you know. They want so much attention.