even imperfectly the statues in Golden Gate Park. Here the Japanese
journey miles to see a statue. The old scholars always preached the
potency of something half concealed to stimulate the imagination, but it
took a Japanese sage to conceive the idea of building a fine statue of a
favorite war hero and then to bury it. And now thousands come to Kyoto
to the very spot where the statue is buried, imagining its proportions,
and praying for strength and success in their encounters.

We were told that the belief that the Emperor is a God-like being is
strengthened by the fact that he is never seen and therefore his
people's glorified imagery of him is never shattered. We were told that
the Emperor is seen only by a carefully selected group twice a year,
once at the Cherry Blossom season and once at the Chrysanthemum
Festival, and if it rains on these days the reception is put off for
another year.

Why, the mystery of the Orient was even found in our menus, and it did
not take long for the Pandoras of our party to find out that "Bubble and
Squeak" was good old ham and eggs and "Angels under Cover" were oysters
wrapped in bacon.

After official business was over for the day, the party "did" Theatre
Street, where our own movie queens reigned beside some poster depicting
a Japanese soldier fighting a dragon. Byron Mauzy told us that our jazz
music is often called for and that pianos with a specially made case to
withstand the dampness, were in demand.

Our party found out why someone said, "There is as much red-tape
necessary to go through a Japanese palace as there is to get married,"
for we faced the grim-armed soldiers at the outer gates, but were not