cloud is not necessarily high in the sky all the time) in his works that remain to-day, more from the reason that they carry, all of them, the solitary grace of amateurishness in the highest sense. To return to the unprofessional independence itself was his great triumph; his artistic fervour was from his priesthood. I know that he was a master in porcelain-making, picture-drawing, and also in lacquer-box designing (what a beautiful work of art is the writing box of raised lacquer called Sano Funahashi, to-day owned by the Imperial Museum of Tokyo); but it seems that he often betrayed that his first and last love was in his calligraphy. Once he was asked by Sambiakuin Konoye, a high nobleman of the Kyoto Court, the question who was the best penman of the day; it is said he replied, after a slight hesitation: "Well, then, the second best would be you, my Lord; and Shokado would be the third best." The somewhat disappointed calligraphist of high rank in the court pressed Koyetsu: "Speak out, who is the first! There is nothing of 'Well, then,' about it.” Koyetsu replied: "This humble self is that first." The remarkable part is that in his calligraphy Koyetsu never showed any streak of worldly vulgarity. Its illusive charm is that of a rivulet sliding through the autumnal flowers; when we call it impressive, that impressiveness is that of the sudden fall of the moon. To return to this
