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the Sailing Junks, the Monastery Bell, and the massive exterior rampart of the Breezy Sky, the Rainy Twilight, the sacred enclosure, have been rethe Evening Snow, and the Flight of moved. Four suburb gateways, their Wild Geese. The conventional sub- black gables brightened with gilded jects are adaptations of eight Chinese chrysanthemums, pierce the yellow landscapes, for Japan, though phenom- walls of the spacious area still reenally quick to follow, derives rather tained; the southern gate being rethan originates her pictorial ideas. served for the Emperor, in accordance The fascination of Kyoto grows as the with the Oriental idea of guarding him varied skein of history disentangles it from the evil influences borne on the self, and the manifold associations as northeast wind. English experience sume due proportions in the artistic testifies to the physical ills of the black whole. Religion mingles itself so in northeaster, but to the Oriental the extricably with the story of Japan, fierce blast is only the outward expresthat no clear outline of the past can sion of demoniacal force. The palace be traced until this fact is assimilated. suggests a Shinto temple, for the diNo arbitrary distinction can be drawn vine Mikado must needs be lodged between the sacred and secular interest like a god, under the deep thatch and of the eastern capital, for the palace rough woodwork which retained, in becomes a temple, and the temple a sweeping roof and upcurved eaves rispalace, in that interchange of ideas ing above the surrounding houses, the inseparable from Japanese royalty and immemorial type of a Tartar encamppriesthood, an example of Church and ment. These sweeping curves, originState in uncompromising form.
ally suggested by the folds of MongoThe Nijo castle of the Shogun lian tents, recall a nomadic past beyond Jeyasu, a mass of beetling gables and numerical testimony, when some ebbblackened eaves, is internally resplen- ing of that Western wave which bore dent with gorgeous coloring; forked the tribes of Central Asia towards the boughs of life-sized pines painted on a setting sun floated the aboriginal setgolden background of glittering walls tlers of Japan to the eastern sea enand alternating with bamboo or plum- circling their future home. The hairblossoms, the emblems of long life, met cloth tent of the past takes permanent the Shogun's eye on every side. Suites form in hut, palace, or temple, and reof gilded rooms with red-lacquered mains the ineradicable architectural steps mark the exact gradations of a design imprinted on the native mind. fendal household, and beyond the an- A wild cherry-tree and a wild orangecient stage for the semi-sacred No tree, of fabulous age, flank the enDance stands the Chapel of the Magic trance, and represent two ancient ranks Mirror, known as the Fearful Place of Samurai, long since disbanded, but wbere ominous shadows from the un memorialized by the living effigy of seen world thronged the brooding dark- each military crest. Elaborate symness. The trefoil crest of the Tukoga- bolism marks every detail of the was is everywhere replaced by the rambling edifice. Two tall bamboos, Imperial Chrysanthemum, but the signifying two vanished kingdoms of splendid rooms with their treasures of China, grow outside the Pure and Cool carving and metal work remain sub- Hall, traversed by a brook and dedistantially unchanged in this noble relic cated to ancestral worship. Nothing is of the feudal past. The Mikado's modernized in this palace of hoary palace covered thirty acres of ground, memories, and the shadowy balls, with though the dwellings of the nobles, their red colonnades and sanded courts
LIVING AGE. VOL. XXVI. 1352
teeming with religious associations and cess from the worm on the mulberryChinese influences, seem like vistas of leaf to the floral brocade of some gordreamland. The ancient throne in the geous robe, or the embroidered hang. Audience Hall is but a silken tent, the ings of a Buddhist shrine. Screens heavy folds with their crimson border- and fans, armor and temple paraphering carrying out the traditional idea nalia, offer a rich choice, but the conveyed by palace and temple. The jeweller's art is almost unknown, for hieroglyphics on sliding screens are the the wearing of precious stones was autograph verses of court poets, but the forbidden to the higher classes, and, treasures of porcelain and lacquer were until the Restoration converted Japan removed when Tokyo became the capi- to Western usage, jewels were the intal of the restored monarchy, and the signia of infamy. That is all changed innumerable buildings of the Imperial now, and the Japanese lady succumbs Spread-out-House, covering a larger to the subtle seduction of the diamond area than many a Japanese village, as readily as her European sister. are now only the glittering caskets of Temple ornaments, armor, and banrifled jewels. The painted crapes and mers frequently display the mysterious cut velvets of Kyoto are famed manji or shastika, that hooked cross of throughout the world, and an afternoon Indian Buddhism, chiselled on Chinese in the shops of brocade and embroidery joss-house, Egyptian monument, Etrus. is a valuable lesson in the arts derived can tomb, and Greek altar. The from China, but improved upon until Japanese Samurai bore it on warfan the pupil surpasses the teacher. A and breastplate, entitling his sacred strange charm belongs to the porcelain talisman the Sign of Life, and the Barfactories, where dusky rooms glow baric Norseman carved it on the prow with the rich hues of cloisonné Awata, of his ship as the Hammer of Thor. or Satsuma, and the blue-robed show. Medieval fancy painted it in missals man, not content with exhibiting the or embroidered it on vestments, and finished work, leads the customer Christian thought recognizes in the through quaint gardens of dwarfed mystic symbol a foreshadowing of the pines, rocks, and streams to the little divine Cross which should save the houses with paper screens and lat. world. ticed verandahs, where each process of The pine-clad gorges of the Oigawa, manufacture may be studied. The with their foreground of rosy maples, potter with his wheel, the clay-grinder, frame a rusbing river swollen by tributhe glaze-maker, are visited in turn. A tary streams as it dashes down a deep row of kilns shows the different stages descent between islets and boulders, of firing, and in an open pavilion the with foaming cascades marking the evening light falls on a group of declivities of the rocky stairway. The painters engaged on the floral decora- slight peril of shooting these numerous tion of exquisite vases, while a girl rapids is counter-balanced by the exin a purple robe crosses the flat step- citement of the little experience on this ping-stones of the rippling brook to ideal river of story and song, the theme take a basket of richly gilt cups to the of a hundred ballads belonging to burnishing house, where wet cornelians feudal days, but still chanted to the are used to give the final polish. music of the guitar in the historic teaJapanese communities retain much of houses at the water's edge. The Uji the medieval character which rendered tea-district, famous for Japan's prize every city self-sufficing, and in the silk beverage known as Jewelled Dew, exIndustry we may again watch the pro- tends in green undulations between
Kyoto and Nara, the cradle of Japa- of Nara. Many-colored paper lanterns nese Buddhism and the capital of the on gable and lintel illuminate the narEmpire for seventy years, though the row ways, guitars twang and streetold Imperial city has decayed into a hawkers utter barbaric cries. The sleepy provincial town. Amid the ancient home of the arts, though deforest shadows and ancient temples of serted by the Government, retains the Nara the romance of an older world impression stamped upon it in the cenfinds an ideal resting-place. Antlered turies of occupation by the rival courts deer lie in the deep fern under the of Shogun and Mikado. Descendants mighty trees or bound fearlessly for- of old-world artists practise their ward with doe and fawn, leaning hereditary calling in the abode of their graceful heads against us to be forefathers; the grace of the Kyoto caressed, for since the saintly founder dance dates from the days when court of the first Nara temple in the seventh performances kept up the standard, century rode through the forest on a and the Kyoto Geisha School still gives deer, the sacred herd has been cher- the ideal training in dance and song, ished for his sake. Dim avenues lined
flower-arrangement, and tea-ceremowith moss-grown lanterns lead into the pies. As we bid a regretful farewell heart of the wood, the giant trees to the kindly and polished denizens of roped together with gnarled boughs of the city said to contain the finest silver green wistaria, which climbs flower of the Yellow Race, the radical round the red boles of black crypto- divergence of thought and idea conmeria, and hangs in thick wreaths from vinces us that sympathy and interest the lofty boughs. Buddhist and Shinto fall to bridge the gulf between East worship exist side by side in the dusky and West, or to afford an adequate glades of Nara, and the Goddess of the clue to the contradictory character, at Sun shares her honors with Kwannon, once fantastic and frivolous, subtle and the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy. profound, which underlies the versatile
The streets of Kyoto, full of light charm and plastic genius of the Japaand laughter, awake us from the nese people. dreams fostered by the forest shades
E. A. R. Macmillan's Magazine.
THE LAST TREK.
-Who comes, to sob of slow-breathed guns borne past
In solemn pageant? This is he that threw
Cballenge to England. From the veld he drew
Before the bastions vast
“Pass, friend!” who living were so stout a foe,
Unquelled, unwon, not uncommiserate!
Salutes you, and as once three years ago
The crowd moves hushed and slow,
The long last trek begins. Now something thrills
Our English hearts, that, unconfessed and dim,
Drew Dutch hearts north, that April day, with him
The war of these two wills
What might have been, had these two been at one?
Or had the wise old peasant, wiser yet,
Taught strength to mate with freedom and beget
Gripped close as Bible and gun
He called to God for storm; and on his head
Alas! not his alone—the thunders fell.
But not by his own text, who ill could spell,
Whose dust, lapped round with lead,
Bred up to beard the lion, youth and man
He towered the great chief of a little folk;
Till, once, the scarred old hunter missed his stroke,
Pined for some brackish pan
So ends the feud. Death gives for those cold lips
Our password. Home, then! by the northward way
He trod with heroes of the trek, when they
The dream new worlds eclipse
Bear home your dead; nor from our wreaths recoil,
Sad Boers; like some rough foster-sire shall be
Be honored by our sons, co-heirs made free
And proud that British soil,
Which bore, received him back in obsequy. The Spectator.
F. Edmund Garrett.
“Edward himself," writes Lady worth recording. Moreover, he was Burne-Jones at the beginning of her a personality at once impressive and second volume, “questioned the possi- fascinating, beloved and almost worbility of writing the biography of any shipped by many friends; and to tell but men of action. You can tell the the story of his life in the full and life of those who have fought and won authentic manner in which it is here and been beaten,' he said, because it told is, as it were, to bring a new and is clear and definite-but what is there a wider circle under the charm. Lady to say about a poet or an artist? I Burne-Jones's volumes, following so never want a life of any man whose soon upon Mrs. Creighton's memoir of work I know, for that is his day of her husband, will once more bring forjudgment and that is his doom.' ..ward the question whether those of a Yet he realized in late years that some man's household are likely to prove his memorial of him would certainly be best biographers. There is no general written, and even spoke to me once of answer to the question; each case must the possibility of my doing it. The be judged on its merits. If a wife, reason he gave for wishing this was like Sir Joshua Reynolds, contrives “to uttered almost parenthetically-'For mix her colors with brains”; if her you know': and although he never re- capacity of intellectual detachment is turned to the subject again those words great enough to control her natural give me courage.” Indeed there was sympathy, she will make the best conabundant reason why a life of Burne- ceivable biographer, for, as BurneJones should be written, and why some
Jones says, "she knows." This was fuller record of his career and person- Mrs Creighton's case to a truly reality should be provided than is sup- markable degree; it is Lady Burneplied by the sum, great as it is, of his Jones's case also, though not quite so paintings and drawings. his decora- unreservedly. We could have done, tions and designs, and those admirable perhaps, with somewhat fewer details productions in stained glass which may of family life, and of such troubles as very possibly outlive all the rest of are the lot of every young household: his works. For, artist, as he was to the but this is a small blemish which finger-tips, he was much more. On the scarcely detracts from the many and one hand he was one of the few great merits of the book, and which modern artists of whom it may be may be easily forgiven. said that he had constructed for him. The early chapters, which show us self a clear and consistent philosophy
the boy in his lonely home in Birmingof art and life: a philosophy to which ham, at King Edward's School, and in he gave expression in numberless con his rare country holidays, tell a story versations and a multitude of letters. that is new; but the account of his Again, he was a leading member of a early manhood-his days at Oxford and small group of men who made a deep the beginnings of his career as an mark upon the thought and culture of artist in London-have to a certain their time: and everything that throws extent been anticipated by the “Life light upon their mutual relations is of William Morris,” which, as every "Memorials of Edward Burne-Jones." By
one remembers, was written by Mr. G. B.-J. Two vols. Macmillan. 30s. net. J. W. Mackail, Burne-Jones's son-in