angry ruler. One privilege alone was granted to the condemned--
the honor of dying by his own hand.

On the day destined for his self-immolation, Rikiu invited his chief
disciples to a last tea-ceremony. Mournfully at the appointed time
the guests met at the portico. As they look into the garden path the
trees seem to shudder, and in the rustling of their leaves are heard
the whispers of homeless ghosts. Like solemn sentinels before the
gates of Hades stand the grey stone lanterns. A wave of rare incense
is wafted from the tea-room; it is the summons which bids the guests
to enter. One by one they advance and take their places. In the
tokonoma hangs a kakemon,--a wonderful writing by an ancient
monk dealing with the evanescence of all earthly things. The singing
kettle, as it boils over the brazier, sounds like some cicada pouring
forth his woes to departing summer. Soon the host enters the room.
Each in turn is served with tea, and each in turn silently drains his cup,
the host last of all. according to established etiquette, the chief guest
now asks permission to examine the tea-equipage. Rikiu places the
various articles before them, with the kakemono. After all have
expressed admiration of their beauty, Rikiu presents one of them
to each of the assembled company as a souvenir. The bowl alone
he keeps. "Never again shall this cup, polluted by the lips of
misfortune, be used by man." He speaks, and breaks the vessel
into fragments.

The ceremony is over; the guests with difficulty restraining their
tears, take their last farewell and leave the room. One only, the
nearest and dearest, is requested to remain and witness the end.
Rikiu then removes his tea-gown and carefully folds it upon the
mat, thereby disclosing the immaculate white death robe which