cially as Captain Brinkley, who has resided in Japan for many years,
and is a Japanese scholar of high attainment, acted as interpreter
between Kiyosai and myself.

Kiyosai, I may say, is known all over Japan. From the highest noble to
the lowest ragged child in the streets, all know the artist and love his
work, for the pictures of a popular painter get abroad in Japan much as
they get abroad here--Kiyosai's pictures and sketches being reproduced
and published in the Japanese papers just as they would be published in
Western magazines. When any drawing by Kiyosai appears a rush is made
for the paper. These drawings of his are really superb work, and I could
not help feeling how great a privilege it was to come into contact with
such a man.

[Illustration: IN FRONT OF THE STALL]

I arrived at my host's quite early in the morning, for I was to have a
whole day with my Japanese fellow-worker. I was introduced at once to an
old man, grave and very dignified in bearing, and I found it difficult
at first to realise that this was the painter of whom I had heard so
much. He was sitting on the floor smoking, while his assistant was busy
stretching silk and preparing colours. As a rule, to see a Japanese
smoke is to get at once a clue to the nature of the people. But Kiyosai
was peculiar even in this. He was one of the few men who would take only
one draw from his pipe; in the most dignified manner possible he would
take that one whiff and then knock out the contents of his pipe,
repeating the process as long as he continued to smoke. He had the most
remarkable hands, too, ever seen, with long and slim thumbs--more
sensitive, artistic, capable hands, from the chiromancer's point of
view, could hardly be. He was enthusiastic, but prodigiously dignified,
and used his hands just a little, yet in the most impressive way. He
never rose from his sitting posture, and every time I said anything that
was at all complimentary he received it with charming ceremony, by
bowing to the very ground.

No sooner was I introduced than his face seemed to light up, his eyes
became intensely brilliant, and his conversation not less so. He was
enthusiastic in his desire to learn about English painters and English
art generally, and eager to tell me his own views of art, and all he
felt about it. To my pleased confusion, he seemed to regard me with an
interest equalling mine for him. He put many questions about English
art, and told me much that wa