skulls of men."

"And yet, my son," said the Bodhisattva, laughing softly,--"and
yet you do not know of what this mountain is made."

The other, shuddering, repeated:--"I fear!--unutterably I
fear!...there is nothing but skulls of men!"

"A mountain of skulls it is," responded the Bodhisattva. "But
know, my son, that all of them ARE YOUR OWN! Each has at some
time been the nest of your dreams and delusions and desires. Not
even one of them is the skull of any other being. All,--all
without exception,--have been yours, in the billions of your
former lives."


FURISODE

Recently, while passing through a little street tenanted chiefly
by dealers in old wares, I noticed a furisode, or long-sleeved
robe, of the rich purple tint called murasaki, hanging before one
of the shops. It was a robe such as might have been worn by a
lady of rank in the time of the Tokugawa. I stopped to look at
the five crests upon it; and in the same moment there came to my
recollection this legend of a similar robe said to have once
caused the destruction of Yedo.


Nearly two hundred and fifty years ago, the daughter of a rich
merchant of the city of the Shoguns, while attending some temple-