on the opposite side of the road watching
their father place a signboard in front of his shop. It might be a
grocer's shop, and all--even to the mite strapped to the back of its
sister--are eagerly watching the moving about of this board, and are
interested to see that it should place itself well in relation to the
broad masses around, such as the tea-box, etc.

[Illustration: FLOWER OF THE TEA]

Now, people who think so much of the details of balance must necessarily
approach art in a very different manner from that in which we approach
it. Would a tradesman in England hesitate before placing his stamps on a
bill? The tradesman in Japan does. Imagine an artist spending three days
in anxious thought as to where he should place his signature on his
picture! And yet this is what Kiyosai, the greatest of modern painters,
actually did before he affixed his red stamp to the hasty sketch of a
crow. I have known little Japanese painters to ponder for hours, and
sometimes weeks, over the placing of this little vermilion stamp so that
it shall form perfect balance, and in all probability the picture itself
has only taken a few minutes. Suppose, for instance, a painter has
contrived to produce a rapid sketch of a flying crow, or perhaps a fish.
That fleeting impression was so strong that he was able to produce it at
once without any hesitation; but however vivid and lifelike the picture
might be, if the balance were destroyed by the ugly placing of this one
little spot of vermilion, from the Japanese standpoint the picture would
be utterly worthless. And the proper placing of a thing is really most
important. Even the most ignorant and uneducated in matters of art are
influenced on seeing a perfect bit of placing. To live with some
beautiful thing, a flower or a bough well placed, to watch its delicious
curves or the tender buds of a purple iris just bursting, must give joy,
and it does, although one may be quite unconscious of its gentle power.

The Japanese understand these subtleties as do no other nation. If they
are entertaining a guest, their one aim and object is to make him
perfectly and deliriously happy; they strive to divine his inmost
thoughts and desires; it is their ambition to satisfy them to the best
of their ability.

[Illustration: A STREET IN KIOTO]

A friend of mine, an American, once gave me a description of a week he
had spent with a very ancient Japanese gentleman in a little country
village; it was a