odd costumes of the men and their penchant for impossible European hats and caps—but it is useless to attempt to describe the things scores of books have been written about, and which have been pictured thousands of times.
Shiba Park, with its temples and tombs, is by now quite a familiar name in England. Strange it is to think that Kei Ki, the last of the Tokugawa Shoguns, still lives in retirement at Tokio. That marvellous page of Japanese history has no equal in any other land.
As I examined the Kamo-asi, the three-leaved Asarum, which is the crest of the Shoguns, I was rejoiced to think that I had acquired things that bore that mark—and there in the place of honour in the great temple is a beautiful silken cover with the Tokugawa crest, presented by the Emperor—and I have its counterpart. The crest of the Mikado is, of course, the sixteen-leaved chrysanthemum. Shiba, Ueno, Asakusa, Kwannon—who does not know them now? Ueno—called Kimon, or “the Devil’s Gate,” so famous for its cherry blossom, is regarded as the most unlucky of the whole world. Here it was that a son of the Mikado was kept in seclusion by the Shoguns in case they should want him to reign.
In the museum the Christian relics are interesting—the rosaries and the medals of Christ and the Virgin set in blocks of wood, on which suspected Christian had to stand and deny their faith—or be killed! They say the Dutch frequently stood on them and swore they were not Christians.
I never cared for the saké in the tea-houses, and disliked the tea; but swallowed gallons of both for the sake of the beaux yeux and the silver speech of the women of Japan—and showed very good taste in doing it!
