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Rh his own country, woe betide the tourist of finer feeling who follows him! If such a one jeers at the beautiful, nearly bare branches of Plum blossom that a Japanese is on his knees before (almost literally), those of better taste who come after him will probably have no opportunity to flout such a composition, for it will be kept strictly to the Japanese quarters, where it will be justly appreciated. In his book on Japan Mr. Tyndale told a sad tale of this sort, of some young blades from Yokohama, at Atami, who drove out ‘those twigs’ and adorned their Christmas table with champagne and ‘Black and White’ whisky bottles instead. The little hurt and disgusted landlady did not say one word in deprecation, nor mentioned the Biblical porker as she took out her pearl-strung boughs of bloom. And this was not because the substituted bottles were ‘for the good of the ’ouse,’ and represented a greater pecuniary advantage to herself, either.

Shortly before Young America and I had been permitted to assist in the manufacture of Hachi Niwa, I had begun, with a Japanese teacher, to study the art of flower arrangement. The friend with whom I was travelling, a Lady from California (it all requires capitals), said, “What do you want to study that for? I guess you can beat a Jap any day at that job. They take three hours to put an ugly old bare stalk and two Irises in a bowl, and