CHAPTER VIII 



A JAPANESE MEDLEY 



"JAPAN," remarked an American friend on my last 

 night in Yokohama, "is a vurry hypnotic place ! " 

 No one but an American could have made the re- 

 mark, and only of Japan could it have been made. I 

 thoroughly realised its truth after my six weeks' 

 stay. 



Some gimlet- eyed persons expatiate at length on 

 the iniquities of the Japanese. They tell me that I 

 am wrong ; that my devotion is misplaced ; in fact, 

 that I am hypnotised. Well, perhaps they are right ; 

 but for myself I am glad that my eyes were blinded 

 that I did not see, and that the sight of the cherry 

 or the lotus carries me back with feelings unmarred 

 across dividing continents and seas. 



I want to write of the temples set about with 

 sturdy pines and funereal cryptomerias ; of the great 

 bronze bell which, across the green valley, numbers 

 the hours to the listening hills ; of the golden shrines 

 of Nikko ; of the heroes of old and their epic wars ; 

 of little Saku San and others ; and of Kyoto where 

 I left what is left of my heart ; but I can do none 

 of these things. Inspired pens have dealt worthily 

 with all such matters ; whilst of the writing of trash 



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