with great black sashes brocaded in
tender shades, and puts nothing in her hair but amber-colored
tortoise-shell pins. If she were of noble descent she would wear
embroidered on her dress in the middle of the back a little white
circle looking like a postmark with some design in the center of
it--the leaf of a tree generally; and this would be her coat of arms.
There is really nothing wanting but this little heraldic blazon on the
back to give her the appearance of a lady of the highest position.

In Japan the smart dresses of bright colors shaded in clouds,
embroidered with monsters of gold or silver, are reserved by the great
ladies for home use on state occasions; or else they are used on the
stage for the dancers and the courtesans.

Like all Japanese women, Chrysantheme carries a quantity of things in
her long sleeves, in which pockets are cunningly hidden. There she
keeps letters, various notes written on delicate sheets of rice-paper,
prayer amulets drawn up by the bonzes; and above all a number of
squares of a silky paper which she puts to the most unexpected
uses,--to dry a tea-cup, to hold the damp stalk of a flower, or to
blow her quaint little nose, when the necessity presents itself. After
the operation she at once crumples up the piece of paper, rolls it
into a ball, and throws it out of the window with disgust.

The very smartest people in Japan blow their noses in this manner.

XL.

_September 2nd_.

Chance has favored us with a friendship as singular as it is rare:
that of the head bonzes of the temple of the _Jumping Tortoise_, where
we had witnessed last month such a surprising pilgrimage.

The approach to this place is as solitary now as it was thronged and
bustling on the evenings of the festival; and in broad daylight one is
surprised at the deathlike decay of the religious surroundings which
at night had seemed so full of life. Not a creature to be seen on the
time-worn granite steps; not a creature beneath the vast sumptuous
porticoes; the colors, the gold-work are dim with dust. To reach the
temple one must cross several deserted courtyards terraced on the
mountain side, pass through several solemn gateways, and up and up
endless stairs, rising far above the town and the noises of humanity
into a sacred region filled with innumerable tombs. On all the
pavements, in all the walls, lichen and stonecrop; and over all the
gray tint of extreme age spreads everywhere like a fall of ash