JAPAN
the tree-tops,—that is the ideal of the disciple of the cult. Each pigmy tree must tell faithful stories of the landscape among which its giant representative lives and dies. It would seem at first sight that this canon can never be applied to the foliage; that there the art is foiled; for though the trunk may be dwarfed and the branch stunted, the leaf must always attain its natural size. Such is not the case. By accurately regulating the tree's diet of water, its foliage, too, may be reduced to dimensions exactly proportionate to its stature, and thus the delusion becomes complete in every detail. There may be differences of opinion as to whether the decades and cycles of unremitting labour and attention required to bring nature's processes into such precise control are justified by results, but there can be no doubt that to sacrifice the art on the altar of economy would be to rule a delightful element out of the life of the nation. Many a Japanese statesman or man of affairs, when he finds himself in the presence of his treasured collection of bonsai, can pass from the troubled realm of political squabbles and business cares to the imaginary contemplation of quiet rustic scenes and tranquil landscapes, and can refresh his tired brain by realistic visions of nature's peaceful solitudes.
It may well be supposed that the art of interpreting and emphasising the aesthetics of vegetation finds its extreme development in the training of the bonsai, and that the attempt to give full
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