impressive basin acts only as an ornament. It is treated, however, not as a drone, but exactly as if it commanded the respect of utility by occupying its proper place, and is given the same relative position it would hold if it were really a worker.
I do not know that the water-basins which are placed at the beginning of the avenues leading to Shinto temples, at which worshippers cleanse themselves before going up the steps to clap their hands and pray, can be classed exactly with these. They are frequently large square blocks of stone, partially hollowed out at the top, and suggest ancient sarcophagi. They have religious designs, such as the Svastika, Senfuku-rin-so, and Ho-Kwan (all essentially Buddhist symbols), carved upon their sides, and, above the water, are often hung beautifully coloured and decorated towels,—the votive offerings of pilgrims,—which wave and flutter like tiny flags in the breeze, and are reflected in the water beneath.
These tanks resemble the basins of holy water in a Roman Catholic church, as we discovered once at Gongen Temple beside Hakone Lake. While I was sketching near by, my three children, in playing about, discovered that the big stone basin was dry, and further, much to their satisfaction, that it made a most desirable ‘steamer-boat.’ Their nurse, who was in attendance, saw no reason against their
