ecially tree flowers, or
those of the larger plants, like the lotus or the iris, the Japanese
appreciation of their beauty is as phenomenal as is that beauty itself.
Those who can afford the luxury possess the shrubs in private; those who
cannot, feast their eyes on the public specimens. From a sprig in a vase
to a park planted on purpose, there is no part of them too small or
too great to be excluded from Far Oriental affection. And of the two
"drawing-rooms" of the Mikado held every year, in April and November,
both are garden-parties: the one given at the time and with the title of
"the cherry blossoms," and the other of "the chrysanthemum."

These same tree flowers deserve more than a passing notice, not simply
because of their amazing beauty, which would arrest attention anywhere,
but for the national attitude toward them. For no better example of the
Japanese passion for nature could well be cited. If the anniversaries
of people are slightingly treated in the land of the sunrise, the same
cannot be said of plants. The yearly birthdays of the vegetable world
are observed with more than botanic enthusiasm. The regard in which
they are held is truly emotional, and it not actually individual in
its object, at least personal to the species. Each kind of tree as its
season brings it into flower is made the occasion of a festival. For the
beauty of the blossoming receives the tribute of a national admiration.
From peers to populace mankind turns out to witness it. Nor are these
occasions few. Spring in the Far East is one long chain of flower fetes,
and as spring begins by the end of January and lasts till the middle of
June, opportunities for appreciating each in turn are not half spoiled
by a common contemporaneousness. People have not only occasion but time
to admire. Indeed, spring itself is suitably respected by being dated
conformably to fact. Far Orientals begin their year when Nature begins
hers, instead of starting anachronously as we do in the very middle of
the dead season, much as our colleges hold their commencements, on the
last in place at on the first day of the academic term. So previous
has the haste of Western civilization become. The result is that our
rejoicing partakes of the incongruity of humor. The new year exists only
in name. In the Far East, on the other band, the calendar is made to fit
the time. Men begin to reckon their year some three weeks later than the
Western world, just as the plum-tre