ons of the
book, "Mirror of the Beauties of the Green Houses," Yedo, 1776, and
Shunsho's illustrations of "The Book of Sprouting Weeds." Frederick
called one of Hokusai's prints "the golden poem of summer." It was a
deep-blue heaven with Fujiyama to the left and golden grain beneath,
persons sitting on benches, heat, radiance, joy! One of Hiroshige's
prints he dubbed "the great poem of the moon." On wide, moist, melancholy
meadows, scant-leaved trees, like weeping willows, their branches
drooping in the mirror of an idly flowing stream, barges loaded with turf
passing by, a floating bridge propelled by Japanese raftsmen, the water
blue in the evening twilight, a great, pale moon, veiled by pale, bloody
tints, rising above the distant edge of the melancholy plain.

In addition to his tsubas and prints, Willy had a collection of so-called
netsuke, some in boxwood, some in ivory, small, dice-like carvings,
representing with remarkable animation all sorts of real and fantastic
scenes.

Among the finest of Willy's possessions was a Japanese figure carved in
wood not more than a foot high, a woman selling oysters. Each least
detail was most precisely rendered. It was the attempt of a more recent
Japanese master to portray feminine beauty. In this one rare instance he
had succeeded, having produced one of those precious objects adapted to
make thieves of their lovers.

Willy, who mingled in American sporting circles, had also found occasion
to collect a few Indian curiosities. He showed Frederick the feather
adornment of an Apache chief, a wampum belt, Indian knives and bows and
arrows. He had made the acquaintance of Buffalo Bill, the famous hunter,
and some Indian chief and cowboys in his troupe, men in whom natural
instincts are combined with a Barnum and Bailey business sense, and real
excellence with the actor's vanity. Willy's especial friend, whom he had
been very eager for Frederick to meet, was a well-known acrobat who had
jumped from the Brooklyn Bridge into the East River.

"Willy," said Frederick, "since you have so profitably employed your time
in America, you won't be going back to Europe empty-handed."

"The devil!" replied Willy. "What else is to be got out of this damned
country?"

XXIII

The next morning Frederick went down alone to the train. He had taken
final leave of his friends the night before, telling them expressly not
to let his departure interfere with their day's routine. After plac