ce　something　sacred。　　In　the　old　days　the　veneration　in　which　the　Japanese　held　the　work　of　the　great　artist　was　intense。　　The　tea…masters　guarded　their　treasures　with　religious　secrecy；　and　it　was　often　necessary　to　open　a　whole　series　of　boxes；　one　within　another；　before　reaching　the　shrine　itselfthe　silken　wrapping　within　whose　soft　folds　lay　the　holy　of　holies。　　Rarely　was　the　object　exposed　to　view；　and　then　only　to　the　initiated。
  At　the　time　when　Teaism　was　in　the　ascendency　the　Taiko's　　generals　would　be　better　satisfied　with　the　present　of　a　rare　work　of　art　than　a　large　grant　of　territory　as　a　reward　of　victory。　　Many　of　our　favourite　dramas　are　based　on　the　　loss　and　recovery　of　a　noted　masterpiece。　　For　instance；　　in　one　play　the　palace　of　Lord　Hosokawa；　in　which　was　preserved　the　celebrated　painting　of　Dharuma　by　Sesson；　suddenly　takes　fire　through　the　negligence　of　the　samurai　in　charge。　　Resolved　at　all　hazards　to　rescue　the　precious　painting；　he　rushes　into　the　burning　building　and　seizes　the　kakemono；　only　to　find　all　means　of　exit　cut　off　by　the　flames。　Thinking　only　of　the　picture；　he　slashes　open　his　body　with　his　sword；　wraps　his　torn　sleeve　about　the　Sesson　and　　plunges　it　into　the　gaping　wound。　　The　fire　is　at　last　　extinguished。　　Among　the　smoking　embers　is　found　a　half…　consumed　corps；　within　which　reposes　the　treasure　uninjured　by　the　fire。　　Horrible　as　such　tales　are；　they　illustrate　the　great　value　that　we　set　upon　a　masterpiece；　as　well　as　the　devotion　of　a　trusted　samurai。
  We　must　remember；　however；　that　art　is　of　value　only　to　the　extent　that　it　speaks　to　us。　　It　might　be　a　universal　language　if　we　ourselves　were　universal　in　our　sympathies。　　Our　　finite　nature；　the　power　of　tradition　and　conventionality；　as　well　as　our　hereditary　instincts；　restrict　the　scope　of　our　　capacity　for　artistic　enjoyment。　　Our　very　individuality　establishes　in　one　sense　a　limit　to　our　understanding；　and　our　　aesthetic　personality　seeks　its　own　affinities　in　the　creations　of　the　past。　　It　is　true　that　with　cultivation　our　sense　of　art　appreciation　broadens；　and　we　become　able　to　enjoy　many　hitherto　unrecognised　expressions　of　beauty。　　But；　after　all；　we　　see　only　our　own　image　in　the　universe；our　particular　idiosyncracies　dictate　the　mode　of　our　perceptions。　　The　tea…　masters　collected　only　objects　which　fell　strictly　within　the　　measure　of　their　individual　appreciation。
  One　is　reminded　in　this　connection　of　a　story　concerning　Kobori…Enshiu。　　Enshiu　was　complimented　by　his　disciples　on　the　admirable　taste　he　had　displayed　in　the　choice　of　his　collection。　　Said　they；　〃Each　piece　is　such　that　no　one　could　help　admiring。　　It　shows　that　you　had　better　taste　than　had　Rikiu；　for　his　collection　could　only　be　appreciated　by　one　beholder　in　a　thousand。〃　　Sorrowfully　Enshiu　replied：　〃This　only　proves　how　commonplace　I　am。　　The　great　Rikiu　dared　to　love　only　those　objects　which　personally　appealed　to　him；　whereas　I　unconsciously　cater　to　the　taste　of　the　majority。　Verily；　Rikiu　was　one　in　a　thousand　among　tea…masters。〃
  It　is　much　to　be　regretted　that　so　much　of　the　apparent　　enthusiasm　for　art　at　the　present　day　has　no　foundation　in　real　feeling。　　In　this　democratic　age　of　ours　men　clamour　　for　what　is　popularly　considered　the　best；　regardless　of　their　　feelings。　　They　want　the　costly；　not　the　refined；　the　fashionable；　not　the　beautiful。　　To　the　masses；　contemplation　of　illustrated　periodicals；　the　worthy　product　of　their　own　industrialism；　would　give　more　digestible　food　for　artistic　enjoyment　than　the　early　Italians　or　the　Ashikaga　masters；　whom　they　pretend　to　admire。　　The　name　of　the　artist　is　more　important　to　them　than　the　quality　of　the　work。　　As　a　Chinese　critic　complained　many　centuries　ago；　〃People　criticise　a　picture　by　their　ear。〃　It　is　this　lack　of　genuine　appreciation　that　is　responsible　for　the　pseudo…classic　horrors　that　to…day　greet　us　wherever　we　turn。
  Another　common　mistake　is　that　of　confusing　art　with　　archaeology。　　The　veneration　born　of　antiquity　is　one　of　the　best　traits　in　the　human　character；　and　fain　would　we　have　it　cultivated　to　a　greater　extent。　　The　old　masters　are　rightly　to　be　honoured　for　opening　the　path　to　future　enlightenment。　　The　mere　fact　that　they　have　passed　unscathed　through　centuries　of　criticism　and　come　down　to　us　still　covered　　with　glory　commands　our　respect。　　But　we　should　be　foolish　indeed　if　we　valued　their　achievement　simply　on　the　score　of　age。　　Yet　we　allow　our　historical　sympathy　to　override　our　aesthetic　discrimination。　　We　offer　flowers　of　approbation　when　the　artist　is　safely　laid　in　his　grave。　　The　nineteenth　century；　pregnant　with　the　theory　of　evolution；　has　moreover　created　in　us　the　habit　of　losing　sight　of　the　individual　in　the　species。　A　collector　is　anxious　to　acquire　specimens　to　illustrate　a　period　or　a　school；　and　forgets　that　a　single　masterpiece　can　teach　us　more　than　any　number　of　the　mediocre　products　of　a　given　period　or　school。　　We　classify　too　much　and　enjoy　too　little。　The　sacrifice　of　the　aesthetic　to　the　so…called　scientific　method　of　exhibition　has　been　the　bane　of　many　museums。
  The　claims　of　contemporary　art　cannot　be　ignored　in　any　vital　scheme　of　life。　　The　art　of　to…day　is　that　which　really　belongs　to　us：　it　is　our　own　reflection。　　In　condemning　it　we　but　condemn　ourselves。　　We　say　that　the　present　age　possesses　no　art：who　is　responsible　for　this？　　It　is　indeed　a　shame　that　despite　all　our　rhapsodies　about　the　ancients　we　pay　so　little　　attention　to　our　own　possibilities。　　Struggling　artists；　weary　souls　lingering　in　the　shadow　of　cold　disdain！　　In　our　self…　centered　century；　what　inspiration　do　we　offer　them？　　The　past　may　well　look　with　pity　at　the　poverty　of　our　civilisation；　the　future　will　laugh　at　the　barrenness　of　our　art。　　We　are　destroying　the　beautiful　in　life。　　Would　that　some　great　wizard　might　from　the　stem　of　society　shape　a　mighty　harp　whose　　strings　would　resound　to　the　touch　of　genius。
  VI。　Flowers
  In　the　trembling　grey　of　a　spring　dawn；　when　the　birds　were　whispering　in　mysterious　cadence　among　the　trees；　have　you　not　felt　that　they　were　talking　to　their　mates　about　the　flowers？　Surely　with　mankind　the　appreciation　of　flowers　must　have　been　coeval　with　the　poetry　of　love。　　Where　better　than　in　a　flower；　sweet　in　its　unconsciousness；　fragrant　because　of　its　silence；　can　we　image　the　unfolding　of　a　virgin　soul？　　The　primeval　man　in　offering　the　first　garland　to　his　maiden　thereby　transcended　the　brute。　　He　became　human　in　thus　rising　above　the　crude　necessities　of　nature。　　He　entered　the　realm　of　art　when　he　perceived　the　subtle　use　of　the　useless。
  In　joy　or　sadness；　flowers　are　our　constant　friends。　　We　eat；　drink；　sing；　dance；　and　flirt　with　them。　　We　wed　and　christen　with　flowers。　We　dare　not　die　without　them。　　We　have　worshipped　with　the　lily；　we　have　meditated　with　the　lotus；　we　have　charged　in　battle　array　with　the　rose　and　the　chrysanthemum。　　We　have　even　attempted　to　speak　in　the　language　of　flowers。　　How　could　we　live　without　them？　It　frightens　on　to　conceive　of　a　world　bereft　of　their　presence。　What　solace　do　they　not　bring　to　the　bedside　of　the　sick；　what　a　light　of　bliss　to　the　darkness　of　weary　spirits？　　Their　serene　tenderness　restores　to　us　our　waning　confidence　in　the　universe　even　as　the　　intent　gaze　of　a　beautiful　child　recalls　our　lost　hopes。　　When　we　are　laid　low　in　the　dust　it　is　they　who　linger　in　sorrow　over　our　graves。
  Sad　as　it　is；　we　cannot　conceal　the　fact　that　in　spite　of　our　companionship　with　flowers　we　have　not　risen　very　far　above　the　brute。　　Scratch　the　sheepskin　and　the　wolf　within　us　will　soon　show　his　teeth。　　It　has　been　said　that　a　man　at　ten　is　an　animal；　at　twenty　a　lunatic；　at　thirty　a　failure；　at　forty　a　fraud；　and　at　fifty　a　criminal。　　Perhaps　he　becomes　a　criminal　because　he　has　never　ceased　to　be　an　animal。　　Nothing　is　real　to　us　but　hunger；　nothing　sacred　except　our　own　desires。　　Shrine　after　shrine　has　crumbled　before　our　eyes；　but　one　altar　is　forever　preserved；　that　whereon　we　burn　incense　to　the　supreme　idol；ourselves。　　Our　god　is　great；　and　money　is　his　Prophet！　　We　devastate　nature　in　order　to　make　sacrifice　to　him。　　We　boast　that　we　have　conquered　Matter　　and　forget　that　it　is　Matter　that　has　enslaved　us。　　What　atrocities　　do　we　not　perpetrate　in　the　name　of　culture　and　refinement！
  Tell　me；　gentle　flowers；　teardrops　of　the　stars；　standing　in　the　garden；　nodding　your　heads　to　the　bees　as　they　sing　of　the　dews　and　the　sunbeams；　are　you　aware　of　the　fearful　doom　that　awaits　you？　　Dream　on；　sway　and　frolic　while　you　may　in　the　gentle　breezes　of　summer。　　To…morrow　a　ruthless　hand　will　close　　around　your　throats。　　You　will　be　wrenched；　torn　asunder　limb　　by　limb；　and　borne　away　from　your　quiet　homes。　　The　wretch；　she　may　be　passing　fair。　　She　may　say　how　lovely　you　are　while　her　fingers　are　still　moist　with　your　blood。　　Tell　me；　will　this　be　kindness？　It　may　be　your　fate　to　be　imprisoned　in　the　hair　of　one　whom　you　know　to　be　heartless　or　to　be　thrust　into　the　buttonhole　of　one　who　would　not　dare　to　look　you　in　the　face　were　you　a　man。　　It　may　even　be　your　lot　to　be　confined　in　some　narrow　vessel　with　only　stagnant　water　to　quench　the　maddening　thirst　that　warns