very essence of Buddha-like repose. The castle moats are its special
domain, which in this its flowering season it wrests wholly from their
more proper occupant--the water. A dense growth of leather-like leaves,
above which rise in majestic isolation the solitary flowers, encircles
the outer rampart, shutting the castle in as it might be the palace of
the Sleeping Beauty. In the delightful dreaminess that creeps over one
as he stands thus before some old daimyo's former abode in the heart of
Japan, he forgets all his metaphysical difficulties about Nirvana, for
he fancies he has found it, one long Lotus afternoon.

And then last, but in some sort first, since it has been taken for the
imperial insignia, comes the chrysanthemum. The symmetry of its shape
well fits it to symbolize the completeness of perfection which the
Mikado, the son of heaven, mundanely represents. It typifies, too, the
fullness of the year; for it marks, as it were, the golden wedding of
the spring, the reminiscence in November of the nuptials of the May. Its
own color, however, is not confined to gold. It may be of almost any
hue and within the general limits of a circle of any form. Now it is a
chariot wheel with petals for spokes; now a ball of fire with lambent
tongues of flame; while another kind seems the button of some natural
legion of honor, and still another a pin-wheel in Nature's own
day-fireworks.

Admired as a thing of beauty for its own sake, it is also used merely
as a material for artistic effects; for among the quaintest of such
conceits are the Japanese Jarley chrysanthemum works. Every November in
the florists' gardens that share the temple grounds at Asakusa may be
seen groups of historical and mythological figures composed entirely
of chrysanthemum flowers. These effigies are quite worthy of comparison
with their London cousins, being sufficiently life-like to terrify
children and startle anybody. To come suddenly, on turning a
corner, upon a colossal warrior, deterrently uncouth and frightfully
battle-clad, in the act of dispatching a fallen foe, is a sensation
not instantly dispelled by the fact that he is made of flowers. The
practice, at least, bears witness to an artistic ingenuity of no mean
merit, and to a horticulture ably carried on, if somewhat eccentrically
applied.

From the passing of the chrysanthemum dates the dead season. But it is
suitably short-lived. Sometimes as early as November, the plum-tree is
alread