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 Japanese mind, in the place where he is least decorative or, let me say, most natural; the word natural for the Japanese art is verily old and new. Now to tur to my attitude in looking at the flowers. I aim it to be natural, because my mind ever so hates to modify the beauty of the flowers; I dare say it is a new art (if I can call it so), not only to the West, but also to the East, which I gained perhaps through my perfect forgetting of the old Japanese flower art. When I cannot see the way how to explain myself, I always say: “I see the real nature in flowers.” If you say I admire the selection of the flowers, you are wrong, because I never select them as it might appear to you; my chief value as a flower adorer, or mystery, if I have any, is how, and more important, where, to leave the flowers to sing their own quiet songs in a little vase, bronze or China, upon the tokonoma.

My mind astraysashtrays [sic] to the well-known story of Rikiu, the tea-master, of the sixteenth century, regarding the morning-glory, which Taiko, the great prince, entreated him to show him; it goes without saying that the morning-glory was Rh