black, and the painting has been damaged by weather and by the droppings
of birds. There are no stones piled at the feet of these images, as
before the images of Jizo; they seem like things forgotten, crusted over
by the neglect of generations--archaic gods who have lost their
worshippers.

But my guide tells me, 'The Temple of Koshin is near, in the village of
Fujisawa.' Assuredly I must visit it.

22

The temple of Koshin is situated in the middle of the village, in a
court opening upon the main street. A very old wooden temple it is,
unpainted, dilapidated, grey with the greyness of all forgotten and
weather-beaten things. It is some time before the guardian of the temple
can be found, to open the doors. For this temple has doors in lieu of
shoji--old doors that moan sleepily at being turned upon their hinges.
And it is not necessary to remove one's shoes; the floor is matless,
covered with dust, and squeaks under the unaccustomed weight of entering
feet. All within is crumbling, mouldering, worn; the shrine has no
image, only Shinto emblems, some poor paper lanterns whose once bright
colours have vanished under a coating of dust, some vague inscriptions.
I see the circular frame of a metal mirror; but the mirror itself is
gone. Whither? The guardian says: 'No priest lives now in this temple;
and thieves might come in the night to steal the mirror; so we have
hidden it away.' I ask about the image of Koshin. He answers it is
exposed but once in every sixty-one years: so I cannot see it; but there
are other statues of the god in the temple court.

I go to look at them: a row of images, much like those upon the public