It is a great pity to observe
the decadence of native art, and at the same time to see how much
better the old things are than the new. A true Japanese artist never
repeats himself, and consequently never makes an exact pair of
anything. His designs agree generally, and his vases are more or less
alike, without being a precise match. He throws in a spray of flowers,
a bird, or a fan, as the fancy strikes him, and the same objects are
therefore never placed in exactly the same relative position. Modern
articles are made precisely alike, not only in pairs, but by the dozen
and the hundred.
There are beautiful bantams to be seen in some of the shops here; but
they cannot be bought, as they are private pets. They seem generally
very small, and one I saw to-day had his head far behind his tail,
which divided in the middle outwards, and fell forward on either side
of his neck in the most extraordinary way. How he picked up his food
and got through life, I am sure I don't know. There are plenty of
little Japanese dogs; but they are not seen to advantage this cold
weather, and there would be great difficulty in getting them home.
I bought some fine bantams at Yokohama, and a whole cage full of
rice-birds. They are the dearest little things, and spend most of the
day bathing and twittering, occasionally getting all together into one
nest, with their twenty-five heads peeping out.
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