less originality. Their results were neither winsome nor sublime. The
gods whom they created they invested with very ordinary humanity,
the usual endowment of aboriginal deity, together with the customary
superhuman strength. If these demigods differed from others of their
class, it was only in being more commonplace, and in not meddling much
with man. Even such personification of natural forces, simple enough
to be self-suggested, quickly disappeared. The various awe-compelling
phenomena soon ceased to have any connection with the anthropomorphic
noumena they had begotten. For instance, the sun-goddess, we are
informed, was one day lured out of a cavern, where she was sulking in
consequence of the provoking behavior of her younger brother, by her
curiosity at the sight of her own face in a mirror, ingeniously placed
before the entrance for the purpose. But no Japanese would dream now of
casting any such reflections, however flattering, upon the face of the
orb of day. The sun has become not only quite sexless to him, but
as devoid of personality as it is to any Western materialist. Lesser
deities suffered a like unsubstantial transformation. The thunder-god,
with his belt of drums, upon which he beats a devil's tattoo until he
is black in the face, is no longer even indirectly associated with the
storm. As for dryads and nymphs, the beautiful creatures never inhabited
Eastern Asia. Anthropoid foxes and raccoons, wholly lacking in those
engaging qualities that beget love, and through love remembrance, take
their place. Even Benten, the naturalized Venus, who, like her Hellenic
sister, is said to have risen from the sea, is a person quite incapable
of inspiring a reckless infatuation.

Utterly unlike was this pantheon to the pantheon of the Greeks, the
personifying tendency of whose Aryan mind was forever peopling nature
with half-human inhabitants. Under its quickening fancy the very clods
grew sentient. Dumb earth awoke at the call of its desire, and the
beings its own poesy had begotten made merry companionship for man. Then
a change crept over the face of things. Faith began to flicker, for want
of facts to feed its flame. Little by little the fires of devotion burnt
themselves out. At last great Pan died. The body of the old belief
was consumed. But though it perished, its ashes preserved its form, an
unsubstantial presentment of the past, to crumble in a twinkling at
the touch of science, but keeping yet to the poe