proportionate value. These swords are handed down as heirlooms from
father to son, and become almost a part of the wearer's own self.
Iyéyasu, the founder of the last dynasty of Shoguns, wrote in his
Legacy,[15] a code of rules drawn up for the guidance of his
successors and their advisers in the government, "The girded sword is
the living soul of the Samurai. In the case of a Samurai forgetting
his sword, act as is appointed: it may not be overlooked."

[Footnote 15: _The Legacy of Iyéyasu_, translated by F. Lowder.
Yokohama, 1868. (Printed for private circulation.)]

The occupation of a swordsmith is an honourable profession, the
members of which are men of gentle blood. In a country where trade is
looked down upon as degrading, it is strange to find this single
exception to the general rule. The traditions of the craft are many
and curious. During the most critical moment of the forging of the
sword, when the steel edge is being welded into the body of the iron
blade, it is a custom which still obtains among old-fashioned
armourers to put on the cap and robes worn by the Kugé, or nobles of
the Mikado's court, and, closing the doors of the workshop, to labour
in secrecy and freedom from interruption, the half gloom adding to the
mystery of the operation. Sometimes the occasion is even invested with
a certain sanctity, a tasselled cord of straw, such as is hung before
the shrines of the Kami, or native gods of Japan, being suspended
between two bamboo poles in the forge, which for the nonce is
converted into a holy altar.

At Osaka, I lived opposite to one Kusano Yoshiaki, a swordsmith, a
most intelligent and amiable gentleman, who was famous throughout his
neighbourhood for his good and charitable deeds. His idea was that,