Honda the Samurai

Front matter

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Preface

Tuis story owes its origin to the suggestion of a publishing friend who wanted the young people of America to know how the wonderful New Japan flowered out of the roots of the Old. Further, he wished the events of the last twenty years told in the form of a story, and from an inside point of view.

Now it makes a great deal of difference, when you are trying to make out the design in a stained-glass window, whether you are looking at it from the street, or within from the aisle or chancel. So, for a foreigner to know Japan, it is better to get inside of the country and tell the story of what he sees, than to look from without with alien eye.

How I came to go to Japan, to live in Fukui during 1871, the last year of feudalism, and in Toky6 during the three formative years of 1872, 1873, and 1874, is told in the preface to ‘‘The Mikado’s Empire,” and need not be repeated here. I became acquainted with hundreds of Japanese lads and men, mostly samurai. Matsudaira, the daimi6 of Echizen, was my stedfast friend. Many others whose names are veiled in the story were neighbors, companions, or pupils.

It was shortly after my arrival in Boston in 1886, to

6 PREFACE.

become the pastor of Shawmut Church, that one of my fellow-members asked for this story, but lack of time and press of many duties prevented my fulfillment of the promise then given until this year. _

I can scarcely say that ‘“‘ Honda the Samurai” is a story “founded on fact,” but rather that the whole edifice of fiction is a mass of facts cemented together with a little imagination and fancy. In the first part of the book I have pictured in short stories ancient and medieval Japan. I next show the change of the Japanese mind in the rush of events that followed the arrival of Perry’s invincible but peaceful armada, and then the nation’s growth from 1868 to 1890. The story is a string of pictures of what I saw, or heard, or knew to exist, in ‘‘ the country between heaven and earth.” Portions of the descriptive matter in the book have already appeared in the author’s contributions to periodical literature, but so rewritten as to be hardly recognizable even to former readers, while the narrative is wholly new.

May the story bind in new sympathy and friendship Japanese and Americans; and in new love and consecration to the Master all his followers, on both sides of the

Pacific!

W.. E. G.

SHAWMUT CHURCH, BOSTON, October 1, 1890.

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‘CONTENTS,

. THE City oF THE Happy WELL .

Sad a EAS A JAPANESE HOME. . .

THE BEGINNING OF ART .

‘THE DREAM-WORLD- fz. 6 Po wa ee es BB iy, Two DAnt Bors: oo es Whe 4)

Mr. Rat TALKS POLITICS WITH HIS SON. . . 83 How JAPAN’S DOUBLE GOVERNMENT BEGAN. 100 THE WAR OF THE RED AND WHITE BANNERS . 116 é Fun, Fact, AND FANCY ABOUT YOSHITSUNE . 130 Men, MONKEYS, HORSES, AND Boys .. . . 14d SCENHG=AT-ASHERO’S SHRINE... «=. . -. 160

EXcITING NEws.—‘* THE AMERICANS HAVE CONMEMZER Rec eae rel ce ss) a7 ee ee

THE LIFE OF TAPE VON TN iteeteueeterh ie) ore. cuevey cee eanter 1 Oss FrRoM KAMAKURA TO YEDO .. . is A go 1) Av THE SIGN OF THE BIG GOLD-FISH . . . . 209 AN OBJECT LESSON IN WESTERN CIVILIZATION 222

XXII.

XXIV.

XXYV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXII.

XXXII.

XXXII.

Contents

PAGE A TALK OVER THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS . . . 240 THE HouR OF THE OX wo eos vio ele ae ee 200 OVER THE TOKAIDO TO YEDO .... . . 267 A JOURNEY THROUGH A PRISON . .. . . 275 THE WEDDING OF A PRINCESS . ... . . 287 “A (GAME: OF POLO. 0.) Gal co ao pao SOU SEEKERS AFTER “GOD. ak 0 seamed oe) eee SOO ‘CE XPEL THE BARBARIANS. (9). 9 «= op enoly BLACK CLOUDS BEFORE THE TEMPEST . . . 328 LIKE THE BREATH OF A CLAM... . 2 0 gaaaS AVNAVAL BATT LH = gic eecilecrmtc a. uis nian meme THE AMERICAN MISSIONARIES . .. . . . 308 THE STORM BREAKS.— A NEW NATION . . 364 How HONDA JIRO BECAME A CHRISTIAN . . 374

A POSTSCRIPT IN SEPTEMBER, 1890 . . . . 382

HONDA THE SAMURAI.

Chapter I The City Of The Happy Well

HAT would be the feelings of an “heir of all the ages,” and especially of an American lad of the nineteenth century, were he to leap out of the present into the thirteenth century? His feelings would have ‘been ours, had we arrived in Fukui, in Echizen, Japan, after a journey from Osaka via Lake Biwa and the mountains, in the year of our Lord 1852. Here was the capital city of a feudal province which long ago, and for centuries, had been the center of war, the castle having been often taken and retaken in blood and fire; but during the last two hundred and seventy years there had been no more quiet spot in the Land of Great Peace.

Life in a Japanese city, to one fresh from the intense life and energies of an American metropolis, would have been like existence in the thirteenth century. Society was so simple; there were but two ’ classes, the governing samurai and the governed 9 people. The latter class knew nothing of the government, except that they must yield unquestioning obedience to its decrees.

Life was so quiet; it seemed to consist chiefly of eating, sleeping, and smoking. If there were more than that, it appeared to be merely incidental. In an American city, the sight of men on their way to business is a spectacle of dramatic interest. To stand still in the midst of such a crowd as surges along Broadway — who would dare to do it? For a merchant to be indifferent to customers— who is the man? Yet in Fukui, before a customer, the merchant sat warming his hands over his brazier, as stolid as a statue. It was impolite to ask any one to buy ; and as for the busiest street, one might stand in the middle of it all day and neither be run over nor knocked down. The contrast between the life of human beings in Japan and in America was as great as the difference between the mean wooden houses of the former country and the comfortable dwellings of the latter. Except on great festival days, when this interior city looked something like bustling Yedo, the streets were never crowded.

There are two ways of describing a Japanese city. One is in the gazetteer style. Thus it might be said: “Fukui is a city in the province of Echizen, on the Ashiwa river. It is the seat of a daimid’s government. It has a castle, two large bridges, a theatre, a town-hall, several schools, many temples. The chief productions are paper, silk, tea, and rice. Population, forty thousand.”

THE CITY OF THE HAPPY WELL. 11

All this might be said and more, and it would all be true, yet the reader would not have the faintest idea as to how the city of Fukui looked. The word “castle” calls up the picture of tall towers, castellated ramparts, and rocky approaches. At the mention of “theatre,” there rises in the mind a dazzle of upholstery, chandeliers, and gas-lights. Do we say town-hall? What American never in Japan can image in his mind the true picture?

A better method of description is by a plentiful use of negative particles. Society in Japan was reduced to very simple elements. Even the miner in the nearly inaccessible California gulch, far away from city life and civilized society, was yet more of a modern man than was the average Japanese citizen in Fukui in 1852. For the newspaper can, with. more than Mohammed’s power, bring the world to the miner, without his going to the world. But here in Japan was a people civilized for centuries; yet there were in Fukui no hospital, no asylums, no almshouse, no public hall, no bank, no lightning-rods, no steam-engines, no gas-lights, and no newspaper.

“Oh, but these are all modern inventions!” cries the critic; “how could the Japanese have these? Of course they had all the ancient and universal improvements, had they not?”

No! There was a fine river flowing through the city, and a seaport on the bay, but there, at Mikunion-the-Sea of Japan, was not a single dock or pier. _ There was not a wagon or carriage in the city, nor a wheeled vehicle within leagues. Most of

| Ua HONDA THE SAMURAL.

the beasts of burden were human beings. Men carried stones down hill and up. Men and women shouldered fagots and bags of rice and bundles of charcoal. Men made themselves fulcrums, and bore all the burdens, where an Anglo-Saxon makes the round earth with its gravitation do half the work. All sorts of loads were carried by the “heavenly balance-pole,” of which the human being was the supporting column and his shoulder the restingplace. Even wheelbarrows were unknown. River boats were hauled by men instead of by mules. Horses, stupid and lazy, unkempt and ill-fed, did duty as sumpters, and bullocks likewise; but two-legged beasts of burden were in the majority.

There was no bread, no milk, no beef. A native man wants but little wheat, but he wants that little long. The Japanese usually eats wheat in the form of thick vermicelli, in strips the length of a yardstick. When he can get rice, he disdains to eat other grain. There was no word in the language for bread; and wheat was cheap and ‘in little demand. There was no milk, for the people thought it wrong to deprive the cow of it, and the majority of people never thought of such a thing as using cow’s milk for food. There was no beef, for the two religions, with their thirty-five or more sects, taught that it was a sin to eat the flesh of domestic cattle.

The prohibition did not extend to monkeys, foxes, wild boars, and deer, for these were wild. Of potatoes, that is, the Satsuma imo, or sweet potato, there were plenty, which were eaten as “refreshments”

THE CITY OF THE HAPPY WELL. 13 between meals, being baked at ovens or stands along the street, and sold like cakes or nuts. White, or “Trish,” potatoes were called Java, or “ Dutch.” Of - our modern garden vegetables and small fruit, there was almost none, though other kinds flourished. How could these people live thus so long? There were no stone street-pavements, no sidewalks, though in private courtyards and within the castle and temple grounds were many solid, massive, and beautiful stone-laid walks. There was not one brick chimney in the province. There was not a stove in any house, nor a bedstead, nor a chair.

“ What sort of houses did the people live in?” you ask. Every house in the city was of timber, and rarely more than one story high. The shops were all open to the street. The average stock-intrade of each might be fifteen dollars’ worth. The average value of the houses was a hundred and fifty or two hundred dollars each. All had low frames, roofed with tile, shingle, or thatch. The dwellings of the official classes were often large and costly. In looking over the city, one saw no imposing piles of architecture, no towers of masonry, no smoking furnace-mouths, no spires. All was a monotonous flat of tiles, or dingy, weather-darkened thatch or shingle. There were the square, many-gabled castle-towers and pagodas, and there were the massive roofs and vast white gables of the great temples. Here and there rose fine old trees. A square fourstoried bell-tower rose in each of the city wards. On housetops one caught sight of the ever-ready tub of water and brace of brooms for fighting the flames. Bamboo groves, beautiful and feathery, lent variety to the scene, often serving as places of refuge during an earthquake; but no one who had learned the meaning of the word “ city” in Eastern America would suppose such a collection of low buildings — villas or shanties—-was a city. It might be a number of booths erected for a fair, a mere temporary arrangement for a few weeks; but a city one thousand years old, how could it be that? A Japanese youth arriving in San Francisco, even when the city was but twenty years old, could not believe the houses were built by men. He thought they must be the work of the gods.

There was not a stone house in the city. Even in Yedo, Osaka, and Kydto, there were not, in all, a half-dozen stone dwelling-houses, though there were hundreds of massive fire-proof store-houses with earthen walls a foot thick. Everything was of perishable timber, the sport of time and the victim of fire. There seemed to be nothing durable but tombstones and castle walls, for these were of stone. Ancient monuments of art and architecture were very few.

Everything, except their great bronze images and their castles, was built of wood, hay and stubble, and mud. Their best buildings were of perishable material. This was partly because the ever-threatening earthquake has paralyzed the growth of architecture in Japan. Their proudest castles have been razed, their towns engulfed, and their largest cities leveled. Without science they were helpless, and

THE OITY OF THE HAPPY WELL. 15 their builders labored in vain. Yet there were other reasons also.

The houses within were plain, utterly devoid of furniture, as the word is defined in our dictionary and as it exists in our conceptions. There were no sofas, chairs, tables, bedsteads, or washstands; yet the rooms were neatly floored with fine, soft mats, the walls papered and hung with scroll-pictures, the screens handsome, and in the recess of the parlors of the respectable houses were bronze vases, fresh flowers, cabinets, and specimens of the joiner’s and lacquerer’s art. The partitions were of latticed wood and paper; the windows were of the same material. Notwithstanding the difference in furnishing and architecture, there are, in most of the better class of houses in the Mikado’s empire, striking evidences of good taste and refinement, and the people who live in them are polite ladies, gentlemen, and well-bred children.

Let us look around the city as it was in 1852. The lower classes, or “the people,” live in the business part of the city; the gentry, or samurai, all dwell within the large and roomy space enclosed by the castle walls and moats. There are “street men” and “castle men.” From across the river, supposing we are traveling into Fukui from the south, we can see the towers, walls, ramparts, and moats of the citadel. Here and there other portions of the complex lines of ditches, walls, massive gates, and government offices, embowered in groves of greenery, peep out in the sunshine.

Crossing the long bridge over the river named after the god Ashiwa, whose shrine is upon the mountain yonder, we look up and down the valley and admire the scenery. This is one of the enjoyments of the people, and many a good-natured dispute is held by friends as to what are the prettiest views to be seen near Fukui. The standard and orthodox opinion, as the result of centuries of chat, is that the eight finest “sceneries ” are : —

1. The peach-orchard in blossom on the river flats.

2. The fireflies flitting over the valley meadows.

3. The moon reflected in Cherry Pond.

4, The flight of the wild geese across the moon at Happy Marsh.

5. The fresh-fallen snow on the hill of Makida.

6. The slanting rain at Flower-path Hill.

7. The sound of the temple bells at the “South End.”

8. The people on festival days passing over the Great Bridge.

Of the thirteen entrances into the city we select this one over the bridge. The thoroughfares, though not stone-paved, have a hard surface, and are kept level with gravel rammed down tightly together. We notice the street names, which are taken from the castle gates, or the Buddhist temples to which they lead, or called after the trades or kinds of business done in them. Here are a few specimens: Cormorant, Castle-bridge, Dawn, Spring, Whitebeard, Willow, Boat, River-door, Falconer’s, Moun. tain-back, Palanquin, Night-watch, Temple Point,

THE CITY OF THE HAPPY WELL. 17

Rich-man, Fish, Salt, Mat, Key, Pipe, Boat-bridge, etc. The main street-and the avenues are wide, but many of the humbler thoroughfares are narrow lanes.

The shop signs amuse us. Combs, hairpins, and switches seem to be sold in many places, as well as looking-glasses, or, rather, round metal mirrors. The paper, tea, and silk shops, the drug, hardware, and book stores swing their signs, fly their flags,. or set up their square lanterns. The shops are all open to the street. Not a glass window is to be seen or a house-door on hinges. All apparatus for opening and closing slides in grooves.

Street pedlars are numerous, and their cries interest us. Everything runs into doubles, and the carrying of all burdens is by dividing the weight in half and bearing the halves suspended by a pole laid across the shoulder. The umbrella-coverer, the pipe-mender, and the locksmith carry their machinery and tools with them. ‘ Bean-cheese, well-cooked or partly fried!” “ Parboiled and soft-boiled bamboo root!” “ Pots mended!” and “ Crockery baked and joined!” “Oil and wicks!” “Shell-fish!” ‘Dried fish !” “ Bean-sauce!” and “ Maccaroni!” are cries that sound on the air, as men move around to ply their trade and to turn honest zen, or cash, in order to stick them on a skewer or string them, a hundred apiece, on twine made of straw, for each brass or iron coin has a square hole in the centre. Perhaps the man gets his pay in paper money, that is made of strips of pasteboard six inches long and two inches wide, of two, three, or six cents denomination, Then there are the barley-paste toy-makers, and the man who rents batter and griddle for children to play making cakes on, and other pedlars who have stands and only migrate occasionally. Perhaps street musicians with trained monkeys, women who play three-stringed banjos, or funny fellows who amuse the children with the “ Korean Lion” game collect crowds of young folks, hatless, and rosy-cheeked despite the dirt.

Something more dignified and quiet may be seen inside the castle enclosure where the gentry live: ladies in silk and gentlemen with elegant swords in their girdle; riders on horseback ; occasionally a procession of noblemen and retainers; the moats blue with flowing water in which men fish, or sluggish and full of great pink lotus flowers; boys flying kites or knots of children at gleeful games; and babies looking as much like the dolls as the dolls look like them.

On the south side are most of the one hundred and twenty-five larger Buddhist temples in the Happy Well City. Here one hears the tinkle and boom of bells, the chanting of monks and _ priests, and sees well-dressed people coming and going from worship. Here are costly buildings, rich with gold and bronze and art decorations, with large tracts of land containing gardens, groves, and lovely solitudes. All these are owned by the priesthood, for Echizen is a stronghold of Buddhism. There are also throughout the city twenty-two principal Shinté shrines, in which the native gods of Japan are

THE CITY OF THE HAPPY WELL. ~19 worshiped ; sixty-six fanes sacred to Kuanon, the goddess of mercy, and twenty-eight edifices in which are statues of Jizo, the patron of travelers and the protector of children. The Shinto temples are sim- © ple in structure and furnishing. In them little is to be seen but unpainted wood, strips of white paper, a polished metal disk, and what looks like a closet or cupboard. This austere simplicity is in wonderful contrast to the dazzling gold, gilt, brass, gorgeous altar, incense smoke, and splendid robes of the priests in the temples of the Buddhist sects. One wonders what so many stone foxes, and Chinese lions, and scowling demons, and idols of the two kings — gigantic fellows set at the gateways who excel Hercules in the knotting of their muscles, and are painted red and green—have to do with the service of man to his Maker.

What kind of religion is taught in these temples and by these priests, monks, and shrine-keepers ? Some good things, no doubt, and much truth, but the Maker of all things is ignored. Buddhism does not teach or believe in a Creator. Everything in the universe comes and goes like the seasons, but as to the Who or What causes it to come and go Buddhism says nothing.

Shinto, or the doctrine of the gods, teaches little better and much less. The universe came out of chaos, when the cloud and the warm mud separated. Then out of the warm muck sprouted a rush, from which grew a sort of a being; from this came man and woman, and then sprang into existence Japan and its contents and inhabitants, and finally the world and the starry heavens appeared as they are now. That is, the matter came first and mind afterwards. In this scheme of bald evolution creation made the creator, and even the highest gods were the children of the earth and sky.

With such religions, that know no supreme Creator, could the Japan of 1852, even so full as it was of bright and intelligent people, ever become the equal of the nations of the West, whose fathers were forest barbarians when the Land of the Rising Sun had letters and literature ?

Before we enter into one of the houses of Fukui, let us stop under the shadow of the great gateway and lofty bronze lantern at the bridge entrance and read some of the laws hung up in a roofed timber frame set on massive masonry.

Law No. 1.

“Human beings must carefully practice the principles of the five social relations. Charity must be shown to widowers, widows, orphans, the childless, and the sick. There must be no such crimes as murder, arson, or robbery.”

That is good, whether Confucian, Christian, or Japanese. Now let us read

Law No. 8.

“The corrrupt sect called Christian is strictly prohibited. Persons suspected [of believing in Christ] must be reported to the proper officers

THE CITY OF THE HAPPY WELL. al

[of government] and rewards will be given [to informers ].”

In this way Christ was preached from thousands of pulpits of Japan. Branded as “the Christian criminal God,” he was thus held before the people. By the ferries, market-places, gateways, and roads into the cities all over Japan these notices were spelled out by the school-boys and read by all the people. Mothers frightened their children into silence by threatening them with the name of Jesus. Here, in one of the fairest lands that ever came from the Creator’s hand, was He unknown or groped after by those who followed blind leaders of the blind. Here the idol and the dream confused the mind and obscured the soul’s vision of the Maker of all things and the Father of all souls.

Chapter II. A Japanese Home

ET us enter the home of the Rai family in Fukui. In most Japanese houses there is no upstairs, for they are but one story high. The finest mansion may occupy much ground space, but height is not considered desirable. Most two-story houses were public inns, or shop-keepers’ houses, or dwellings of the humblest sort. When the high lords passed them in their proud processions, the upper windows had to be sealed with slips of paper, lest any one should look down on their highnesses below.

Let us make our visit in the morning. Setting out from the river-bank, we ride in palanquins borne on men’s shoulders through the “ Priest’s Gate” of the castle, and along the road skirting the moat ; pass the long, low building of the Shin sect of Buddhists, and then between the mansion of the former prince and the government offices, or town-hall; and halting opposite the “Iron Gate” of the inner circuit of the castle, we dismount at the imposing black gate of the Rai mansion. The porter leaves off smoking his pipe, and emerging from his lodge at the side of the wicket, draws the ponderous bolts of the main gate, admits us, and escorts us with many bows

A JAPANESE HOME. 3)

and smirks up the wide stone walk. On the ample porch, or vestibule, our young host, son of Mr. Rai, meets us. Though politely invited not to do so, we take off our shoes or sandals, as all well-bred Japanese do. Passing up a long corridor, we step upon the stainless matting and into the parlor, or za-shiki. The name of this best room or parlor means “ sittingplace”; but there is nothing to sit on but the floor, which is covered with spotless matting. The Japanese carry their chairs on their heels, and these or the soles of these are what they rest on when at ease. In this open airy room there are no sitting conveniences.

The usual resplendent cleanliness of floor, woodwork, and ceiling, the usual vase of flowers or piece of bronze or silvered crescent with hanging vines, the lacquered cabinet or pictured scrolls in the recess and shelves are noticed at once. On the walls are hanging scrolls containing poems or landscapes in India (Japanese) ink, or perhaps colored paintings representing scenery. ‘Two magnificent screens depict in gold and bright tints famous historical events in the thirteenth century, painted by a renowned native artist. From the sill of a low window we look out in the garden, after stopping to admire the knotless, polished wood, grained like watered silk, and drawing aside the latticed window-panes of translucent white paper.

The view in the garden is one of characteristic beauty. On a mound to the left is a bell-shaped pine-tree. Near by, an artistic clump of dwarfed trees of various species imitates a forest, the rugged surface of mountain-land being made by a rockery of lava, voleanic and water-worn stones. Here are mimic precipices, gorges, and dells, and over one projecting crag of miniature proportions dashes a tiny cataract ; the water, gliding through moss and aquatic plants, joins the fish-pond a few feet off, which gleams with darting gold-fish. A peculiar kind of cake or cracknel, kept ready in a pail, is used to feed the finny pets and gives ample reason for their fatness. At the end of the pond is a quarter-acre of lotus flowers in bloom. Their colossal leaf-shields, two feet and a half in diameter, hold in their heart glittering jewels of dew. The blossoms, white and pink, six inches across, are beautiful beyond description.

The lotus is the sacred flower of the Buddhists. It is found on their temple altars, sculptured and carved in their architecture. The Buddhist sutras, or sacred writings, are called lotuses. The stone which holds the bier during the services at the tomb is carved to represent the lotus. It is the symbol of creation, immortality, divinity. In Nirvana, the devout believer in Buddha hopes to be absorbed in the bosom of Buddha who sits upon a lotus. To “sit on the lotus” means to go to the Buddhist heaven.

Tall and venerable trees casting grateful shade, the sound of purling water, cool breezes blown over fragrant white lilies, tall and swaying — these strike the senses with delight as we sit for a very few moments awaiting the arrival of our hostess. A serving-maid first brings in refreshments — a tray containing batcedl ie

A JAPANESE HOME. 25 a tiny tea-pot, tinier cups, and little metal sockets. There is no such thing as a saucer or handle to these cups, for such foreign additions are unknown in Japanese tea-drinking. In the maid’s other hand is a stand, laid with white paper, and piled with cut _ sponge-cake and amber-colored sugar jelly. Kneeling and bowing, she pours and hands out the little cups, each set in its socket.

The grandmother is a well-preserved old lady of sixty-nine; the mother a lady of probably thirty-five. They come forward and make the usual salutation — hands, knees, and forehead on the floor, or rather the face laid on the two prone palms. Then, sitting up, they engage in conversation. The old lady is extremely merry and loquacious, the mother is rather dignified and a little inclined to reserve, but handsome and with the atmosphere of high birth and breeding. She is a native of Higo, a province which with Echizen shares a good reputation for beautiful women.

The other members of the family who are at home —the head of the house with his man-servant being away traveling —are two sons and two daughters. Of the boys, Taro is twelve and Kozo is four; of the daughters, Kiné is ten and Umé is six.

Supposing that under the leading of Mrs. Rai who, like most good housekeepers, is fond of letting her friends see her household, we wander through the rooms and garden, this is probably what some of us would see, think, or tell. We should be impressed with the fact that neatness and simplicity are the characteristics of the people in the Mikado’s empire. Paint is rarely used on the woodwork, the delicate grain and fragrance of the native woods being too highly appreciated. After one has lived even for a short time in Japan he wonders why people in other countries spoil so much beauty by smearing it over with oil pigments; but where we paint, the Japanese lacquer, using the juice of the varnish-bearing sumach. This substance, laid on as varnish, leaves, a hard, lustrous surface difficult to scratch. Woe be to him who touches or approaches it when it is fresh! Lacquer-poisoning is a temporary purgatory of itch, rash, and swelling. Respectable ladies and gentlemen soon look like prizefighters. In aggravated cases, the eyes close entirely and the nose bursts into fiery bloom. The misery lasts a week or more; but some persons are never affected by the sap.