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shaded that the general effect is that of skillful work with brush and India ink. The texture of the cloth-like paper adds much to the tenderness of the execution; but the whole, while finished with precision, is actually shaded and blended in the printing by some process unknown outside of Japan. In like manner a series of colored plates, entitled "Pictorial History of Brave Men of Tai-hai-ki," contains numerous examples in which a single mass of body color is as finely shaded from dark to light as if it were done with a brush. This book, a blaze of gorgeous color, is an admirable illustration of the skill with which the Japanese artist combines striking general effect with nicety of detail. The colors would seem impossible of harmony, they are so positive and elementary; yet their arrangement is agreeable though startling, and under all is an elaboration of detail in texture, fiber, and design within design, that is marvelous. The ⚫ robe of a prince is shaded from the loins downward to the bottom, exactly as if washed in with a brush. Purple and green are set against each other without violence, and all the fine damasked work of coats of mail and the quaint designs of brocaded

stuffs, are sharply given. All this is done by block-work, in a printed book, and sold for a few cents to the common people of a semi-barbarous Empire. When shall we see such artistic work done in our picturebooks for the people?

The feasting scene above referred to is one of those pictures of everyday life that have made Hoksai so well beloved in Japan. It is from his "Floating World," and represents a party of bon vivants welcoming with gusto and applause the appearance of the abis-ko, a bright red fish, resembling our rock cod in appearance, and eaten on this particular holiday. The expression of pleased triumph on the face of the host, and of mingled gratification and expectancy in the sitting group, is very funny. There is a little vein of caricature through the whole. The artist does not mean that you shall think that he altogether approves of this exhibition of greediness. Nevertheless, he enjoys it, and he means that you may.

Whatever may be said of the inexpressiveness of the Japanese female face as given by native artists, it must be confessed that the men are generally given with sufficient

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life and expression. In one of Hoksai's pictures of a supper party, al fresco, this difference in handling faces is very curiously perceptible. A few plants dashed in the background show that the scene is out of doors. The full moon in a watery sky fixes the time of day, and the group of men squatted about the festive board shows one old fellow roaring at some good joke, another opening his mouth expectantly as he contemplates the dainties; a third mopping his bald head with an air of discomfort, and a fourth arguing with his neighbor, gesticulating with his tea-cup the while. Yet in this lively party the central figure wears a face as void of expression as the tea-pot which she holds; and a female guest is artfully drawn with her gorgeous back. to the spectator, as if her millinery and elaborate back hair were of more account than her countenance. Perhaps all this is the fault of the traditions of Kioto. If so, it is a pity, for some of the Japanese ladies are exceedingly fair to look upon.

When we reflect that pictures in Japan reach the multitude chiefly through the medium of the printed pages of cheap books, we shall understand why the art of pictorial printing and coloring has been carried to such a high degree of perfection. There are no picture galleries for rich or poor-not even shops with show windows, those picture galleries of the people. Scrolls, emblazoned with an infinite variety of designs, hang on the walls or form the movable screens of fine houses, and the temples bear allegorical or religious subjects, in outline and color, about their interiors. But the inexpensive hand-books, with or without a text, educate and amuse the mass of people. It is more true of Japan than of any Western country, that the men and women are but children of a larger growth. The native Japanese delight in the picturebook; and, while the young ones gloat over the bright designs of the artist, elders discover, wrought into the background in colored inks, like an arabesque, the quaint characters that tell the story.

But there are printed many slight sketches which have a purely artistic value alone. These appeal to finer perceptions than we are wont to credit to any mass of people. The sketch of monkeys, reproduced here

from a native print, is the work of a true artist, who certainly thought enough of this slight thing to touch in his signature where it seems a bunch of leaves at the end of a hanging vine. Here we have the capricious attitude of the swinging monkeys rendered with as much spirit as if carefully elaborated in detail; and the fluffiness which a few strokes give their texture would seem to show that the draughtsman was illustrating the force of Ruskin's dogma, that there is no such thing as outline. In this



pretty little sketch, the canons of art are faithfully observed. The mass is thoroughly agreeable and harmonious; the action is free and unconstrained; the figures are simple; and the sprays of the pine overhead inclose the design with fitness. Such a bit of drawing, though a trifle, evinces much talent, as well as absolute familiarity with some of the fundamental principles of art.

The same is essentially true of the offhand sketch of a Buddhist saint or sennin, which we give elsewhere. The tiger, which

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this famous personage subdues by the mere exercise of his superhuman goodness of heart, is described by a few rapid touches and dashes. The outline is left to the imagination of the observer; and we may be sure that even this vague suggestion of a form is sufficient for the quick fancy of the native critic. The averted face of the saint transfers our interest to his action rather than his thought. He is caressing and leading his subdued enemy. His attitude is given by a single line; and the folds of his robe are represented by a careless stroke which may be only a blot.

"The Return at Night," reproduced from the tail-piece of the work on hawking heretofore alluded to, is another capital example of that, confidence in a popular artistic feeling to which the Japanese artist often appeals. It is impossible to give on our finished paper the exquisite softness and vagueness of the original picture. It seems as if drawn in India ink, the figures lightly dabbed in with a few rapid touches. It represents the procession of footmen returning by night, the obscurity with which they melt in the distance and darkness being given by softening the outlines until the last are only blurred spots of ink in the background. It must be admitted that this is

skillfully done, considering that there is no opportunity whatever for artificial effect by means of linear perspective. Whatever idea of distance there is to be given must be conveyed wholly by means of loss of outline on a white surface. The stooping figure in the foreground signifies that the head of the train has reached a stoppingplace. He drops the paper lantern and extinguishes the light within. Along the shadowy line we see the implements of the chase, the trophies of the day's sport, and the figures of the tired retainers. It is all very suggestive; and we can only say of it that it is just what the conscientious artist intended to make it.

Very different from this is the Harbor View, given above. In this, the native artist has happily conveyed that outdoor atmosphere and feeling which belong to such a picture. Our engraving is reduced from a large two-page print. But its original sharpness and brilliancy are not impaired. It is a picture of some of the occupations of the common people, in illustrating which, Japanese artists appear to take great delight.

It is not long since we began to learn something of the people of Japan, their industries, social and political life, manners

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I am giving a general account in these papers, this stream has been carefully surveyed. Let me describe it. It is about eighty miles long, and in its course runs through three cañons, which we have called the upper, middle, and lower Kanab cañons. Along its upper course for about a dozen miles it is a permanent stream, but just before entering the first cañon the water is lost in the sands. It is only in seasons of extreme rains that the water flows through this cañon, which is dry sometimes for two or three years in succession. The bed of the stream is usually dry between the upper and middle cañon. At the head of the middle cañon the water again gushes out in springs, and there is a continual stream for a dozen miles. About five miles below this cañon the water again sinks in the sands, and for ten miles or more the stream is lost, except in times of great rains, as above. This usually dry course of the stream is along a level plain where the sands drift, and sometimes obliterate all traces of the water-course. At the head of the lower cañon springs are again found, and the waters gather so as to form, in most seasons, a pretty little creek, though, in seasons of extreme drought, this is dry nearly down to the Colorado; but, in seasons of great rains, immense torrents roll down the gorge. Thus we have a curiously interrupted creek. In three parts of its course it is a permanent stream, and in two parts intermittent.

The point where we struck the Kanab was at the foot of the middle cañon, where the flow of waters is perpetual, and just there we found a few pioneers of a Mormon town, to be called, after the stream, Kanab. At that time these people were living in what they called a "fort"—that is, several little cabins had been built about a square, the doors and windows opening toward the plaza, the backs of their houses connected by a rude stockade made of cedar poles planted on end. This "fort" was intended for defense against the Indians.

The way in which these Mormon settlements are planted is very interesting. The authorities of the "Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints" determine to push a settlement into a new region. The country is first explored and the site for a town selected, for all settlements are made by towns. The site having been chosen, it is surveyed and divided into small lots of about an acre, with outlying lots of five or ten acres. Then a number of people are

selected "to go on mission," as it is termed. The list is made out in this way: The President of the Church, with his principal bishops and other officers, meet in consultation, and select from the various settlements throughout the territory persons whom they think it would be well to send to the new place. Many are the considerations entering into this selection. First, it is necessary to have an efficient business man, one loyal to the Church, as bishop or ruler of the place, and he must have certain counselors; it is necessary, too, that the various trades shall be represented in the village-they want a blacksmith, shoemaker, etc. Again, in making the selection, it is sometimes thought wise to take men who are not working harmoniously with the authorities where they are residing; and thus they have a thorough discussion of the various parties, and the reasons why they are needed here and there; but at last the list is made out. The President of the Church then presents these names to the General Conference of the Church for its approval, and that body having confirmed the nominations (and perhaps there is no instance known where a nomination is not confirmed), the people thus selected are notified that at a certain time they are expected "to go on a mission" to establish a new town. Sometimes a person selected, feeling aggrieved with the decision of the Church, presents his reasons to the President for wishing to remain, and occasionally such a person is excused, but the reasons must be very urgent. So far as my observation goes, there is rarely any determined opposition to the decision of the Conference.

So the people move to their new home. Usually there are four lots in a square, and four persons unite to fence the same, each receiving a garden. The out-lots are fenced as one great farm. The men, living in covered wagons or tents, or having built cabins or other shelter for themselves, set to work under the bishop or one of his subordinates to fence the farm, and make the canals and minor water-ways necessary to the irrigation of the land. The water-ditch and fence of the farm are common property. As soon as possible a little store is established, all of the principal men of the community taking stock in it, usually aided more or less by "Zion's Coöperative Mercantile Institution," the great wholesale establishment in Salt Lake City. In the same way saw-mills and grist-mills are built.

Such is a brief outline of the establish

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