During the last twenty years there has gradually come into existence the custom of placing the photograph of a dead parent, brother, husband, or child, beside the mortuary tablet kept in the Buddhist household shrine.  For this reason, also, the departing soldier wishes to leave at home a good likeness of himself.

The rites of domestic affection, in old samurai families, are not confined to the cult of the dead.  On certain occasions, the picture of the absent parent, husband, brother, or betrothed, is placed in the alcove of the guest-room, and a feast laid out before it.  The photograph, in such cases, is fixed upon a little stand (dai); and the feast is served as if the person were present.  This pretty custom of preparing a meal for the absent is probably more ancient than any art of portraiture; but the modern photograph adds to the human poetry of the rite.  In feudal time it was the rule to set the repast facing the direction in which the absent person had gone—­north, south, east, or west.  After a brief interval the covers of the vessels containing the cooked food were lifted and examined.  If the lacquered inner surface was thickly beaded with vapor, all was well; but if the surface was dry, that was an omen of death, a sign that the disembodied spirit had returned to absorb the essence of the offerings.

* * * * *

As might have been expected, in a country where the “play-impulse” is stronger, perhaps, than in any other part of the world, the Zeitgeist found manifestation in the flower displays of the year.  I visited those in my neighborhood, which is the Quarter of the Gardeners.  This quarter is famous for its azaleas (tsutsuji); and every spring the azalea gardens attract thousands of visitors,—­not only by the wonderful exhibition then made of shrubs which look like solid masses of blossom (ranging up from snowy white, through all shades of pink, to a flamboyant purple) but also by displays of effigies:  groups of figures ingeniously formed with living leaves and flowers.  These figures, life-size, usually represent famous incidents of history or drama.  In many cases—­though not in all—­the bodies and the costumes are composed of foliage and flowers trained to grow about a framework; while the faces, feet, and hands are represented by some kind of flesh-colored composition.

This year, however, a majority of the displays represented scenes of the war,—­such as an engagement between Japanese infantry and mounted Cossacks, a night attack by torpedo boats, the sinking of a battleship.  In the last-mentioned display, Russian bluejackets appeared, swimming for their lives in a rough sea;—­the pasteboard waves and the swimming figures being made to rise and fall by the pulling of a string; while the crackling of quick-firing guns was imitated by a mechanism contrived with sheets of zinc.

It is said that Admiral T[=o]g[=o] sent to T[=o]ky[=o] for some flowering-trees in pots—­inasmuch as his responsibilities allowed him no chance of seeing the cherry-flowers and the plum-blossoms in their season,—­and that the gardeners responded even too generously.