It was as though the skies had opened to disclose a new kingdom of art. Taking his brush in hand, with a few strokes he had executed a masterpiece, a loquot _(biwa)_ branch, with leaves clustering round the ripe fruit. Instinct with life and beauty, it seemed to have actually grown before my eyes. From that moment dated my enthusiasm for Japanese painting. I remained under Nishigawa for two years or more, working assiduously on my knees daily from noon till nightfall, painting on silk or paper spread out flat before me, according to the Japanese method.
Japanese painters are generally classed according to what they confine themselves to producing. Some are known as painters of figures (JIM BUTSU) or animals (DO BUTSU), others as painters of landscapes (SAN SUI), others still as painters of flowers and birds (KA CHO), others as painters of religious subjects (BUTSU GWA), and so on. Torei was a painter of flowers and birds, and these executed by him are really as beautiful as their prototypes in nature. On _plate VII_ is given a specimen of his work. He is now a leading artist of Osaka, where he has done much to revive painting in that commercial city.
As I desired to get some knowledge of Japanese landscape painting, I was fortunate in next obtaining instruction from the distinguished Kubota Beisen, one of the most popular and gifted artists in the empire.
In company with several of his friends and former pupils I called upon him. After the usual words of ceremony he was asked if he would kindly paint something for our delight. Without hesitation he spread a large sheet of Chinese paper (TOSHI) him and in a few moments we beheld a crow clinging to the branches of a persimmon tree and trying to peck at the fruit, which was just a trifle out of reach. The work seemed that of a magician. I begged him then and there to give me instruction. He consented, and thus began an acquaintance and friendship which lasted until his death a few years ago. I worked faithfully under his guidance during five years, every day of the week, including Sundays. I never tired; in fact, I never wanted to stop. Every stroke of his brush seemed to have magic in it. _(Plate IV.)_ In many ways he was one of the cleverest artists Japan has ever produced. He was an author as well as a painter, and wrote much on art. At the summit of his renown he was stricken hopelessly blind and died of chagrin,—he could paint no more.