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Fo r k i d s ag e d 1 0 + ( a n d th e i r pa r e nts)

PYTHON
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FO R K I D S
I llu str ati o n s by M i r an Li povaca

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TH O N FO R K I D S
Python is a powerful, expressive program- As you strike out on your programming
ming language that’s easy to learn and fun to adventure, you’ll learn how to:
use! But books about learning to program in  Use fundamental data structures like lists,
Python can be kind of dull, gray, and boring, tuples, and maps
and that’s no fun for anyone.
 Organize and reuse your code with func-
A P l ay f u l I n t r o d u c t i o n to P r o g r a m m i n g
Python for Kids brings Python to life and
tions and modules
brings you (and your parents) into the world of
programming. The ever-patient Jason R. Briggs  Use control structures like loops and
will guide you through the basics as you experi- conditional statements Jason R. Briggs
C ment with unique (and often hilarious) example  Draw shapes and patterns with Python’s
M
programs that feature ravenous monsters, secret turtle module
Y
agents, thieving ravens, and more. New terms  Create games, animations, and other
CM
are defined; code is colored, dissected, and graphical wonders with tkinter
explained; and quirky, full-color illustrations
MY
Why should serious adults have all the fun?
keep things on the lighter side.
CY Python for Kids is your ticket into the amaz-
Chapters end with programming puzzles
ing world of computer programming.
designed to stretch your brain and strengthen
CMY

your understanding. By the end of the book AB O UT TH E AUTH O R

K

you’ll have programmed two complete games: Jason R. Briggs has been a programmer since
a clone of the famous Pong and “Mr. Stick Man the age of eight, when he first learned BASIC on
Races for the Exit”— a platform game with a Radio Shack TRS-80. He has written software
jumps, animation, and much more. professionally as a developer and systems archi-
tect and served as Contributing Editor for Java
Python runs on Windows, Developer’s Journal. His articles have appeared
OS X, Linux, OLPC Laptops,
in JavaWorld, ONJava, and ONLamp. Python
and even Raspberry pi!
for Kids is his first book.

Briggs
$34.95 ($36.95 CDN)
PROGRAMMING LANGUAGES/PYTHON
SHELVE IN:

w w w.nostarch.com

T H E F I N E ST I N
G E E K E N T E RTA I N M E N T ™
 Praise for
Python for Kids

“Jason Briggs manages to successfully describe programming

to kids without sounding like he’s dumbing down the content.
The lessons are well-constructed and leave the reader with a
feeling of accomplishment in each chapter.”
—Marziah Karch, Wired.com

“An excellent introduction to programming for anyone interested

in learning to program, regardless of their age. The material is
extremely well organized and presented, and makes for a great
resource for either home or school.”
—Roy Wood, GeekDad

“This book offers a good introduction to computer programming.

. . . An excellent family bonding experience.”
—Patrice Gans, Education Week

“By the end of the book, you have a fully-functional platform

game running, and most likely a head full of ideas about your
next game. Python for Kids is just as good an introduction for
adults learning to code.”
—Matthew Humphries, Geek.com

“Easy to read, provides sound programming advice and very

clear explanations of how programming languages work. A
great book for anyone who wants to break into programming
without pangs of inadequacy.”
—Sandra Henry-Stocker, ITworld

pfk_TITLE_COPY.indd 1 9/26/2013 4:50:51 PM

Python
for Kids
A P l ay fu l I n t r o d u c t i o n
to P r o g r a m m i n g

B y Ja s o n R . B r i g g s

San Francisco
 PYTHON FOR KIDS. Copyright © 2013 by Jason R. Briggs.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher.

Printed in Korea

Fourth printing

16 15 14 13    456789

ISBN-10: 1-59327-407-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-59327-407-8

Publisher: William Pollock

Production Editor: Serena Yang
Cover and Interior Design: Octopod Studios
Illustrator: Miran Lipovaca
Developmental Editor: William Pollock
Technical Reviewers: Josh Pollock and Maria Fernandez
Copyeditor: Marilyn Smith
Compositor: Serena Yang
Proofreader: Greg Teague

For information on distribution, translations, or bulk sales, please contact No Starch Press, Inc. directly:
No Starch Press, Inc.
245 8th Street, San Francisco, CA 94103
phone: 415.863.9900; fax: 415.863.9950; info@nostarch.com; http://www.nostarch.com/

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Briggs, Jason R.
Python for kids : a playful introduction to programming / by Jason R. Briggs.
pages cm
Audience: 10+
Includes index.
ISBN 978-1-59327-407-8 -- ISBN 1-59327-407-6
1. Computer software--Juvenile literature. 2. Computer programming--Juvenile literature. 3.
Python (Computer program language)--Juvenile literature. I. Title.
QA76.52.B75 2013
005.13'3--dc23
2012044047

No Starch Press and the No Starch Press logo are registered trademarks of No Starch Press, Inc.
Other product and company names mentioned herein may be the trademarks of their respective
owners. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, we
are using the names only in an editorial fashion and to the benefit of the trademark owner, with
no intention of infringement of the trademark.

The information in this book is distributed on an “As Is” basis, without warranty. While every
precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor No Starch Press,
Inc. shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or
alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in it.

Production Date: September 26, 2013

Plant & Location: Printed by We SP, South Korea
Job / Batch #: 072313

pfk_TITLE_COPY.indd 4 9/25/2013 5:30:07 PM

 Brief Contents
About the Author, Illustrator, and Technical Reviewers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xv
Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xix

Part I: Learning to Program

Chapter 1: Not All Snakes Slither . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Chapter 2: Calculations and Variables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
Chapter 3: Strings, Lists, Tuples, and Maps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
Chapter 4: Drawing with Turtles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Chapter 5: Asking Questions with if and else . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Chapter 6: Going Loopy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Chapter 7: Recycling Your Code with Functions and Modules . . . . . . . . . . 81
Chapter 8: How to Use Classes and Objects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
Chapter 9: Python’s Built-in Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
Chapter 10: Useful Python Modules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
Chapter 11: More Turtle Graphics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145
Chapter 12: Using tkinter for Better Graphics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163

Part II: Bounce!

Chapter 13: Beginning Your First Game: Bounce! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193
Chapter 14: Finishing Your First Game: Bounce! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205

Part III: Mr. Stick Man Races for the Exit

Chapter 15: Creating Graphics for the Mr. Stick Man Game . . . . . . . . . . 221
Chapter 16: Developing the Mr. Stick Man Game . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
Chapter 17: Creating Mr. Stick Man . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
Chapter 18: Completing the Mr. Stick Man Game . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259

Afterword: Where to Go from Here . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285

Appendix: Python Keywords . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293
Glossary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 307
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313
 Contents in Detail

About the Author, Illustrator, and

Technical Reviewers xv

Acknowledgments xvii

Introduction xix
Why Python? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xx
How to Learn to Code . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xx
Who Should Read This Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxi
What’s in This Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxii
The Companion Website . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxiii
Have Fun! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxiii

Part I: Learning to Program

1
Not All Snakes Slither 3
A Few Words About Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
Installing Python . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Installing Python on Windows 7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Installing Python on Mac OS X . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Installing Python on Ubuntu . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Once You’ve Installed Python . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
Saving Your Python Programs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

2
Calculations and Variables 15
Calculating with Python . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
Python Operators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
The Order of Operations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
Variables Are Like Labels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Using Variables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
3
Strings, Lists, Tuples, and Maps 25
Strings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
Creating Strings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
Handling Problems with Strings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Embedding Values in Strings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Multiplying Strings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Lists Are More Powerful Than Strings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
Adding Items to a List . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
Removing Items from a List . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
List Arithmetic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Tuples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
Python Maps Won’t Help You Find Your Way . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
#1: Favorites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
#2: Counting Combatants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
#3: Greetings! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42

4
Drawing with Turtles 43
Using Python’s turtle Module . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Creating a Canvas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Moving the Turtle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
#1: A Rectangle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
#2: A Triangle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
#3: A Box Without Corners . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51

5
Asking Questions with if and else 53
if Statements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
A Block Is a Group of Programming Statements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
Conditions Help Us Compare Things . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
if-then-else Statements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58
if and elif Statements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
Combining Conditions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
Variables with No Value—None . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
The Difference Between Strings and Numbers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65

viii  Contents in Detail
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
#1: Are You Rich? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
#2: Twinkies! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
#3: Just the Right Number . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
#4: I Can Fight Those Ninjas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66

6
Going Loopy 67
Using for Loops . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
While We’re Talking About Looping... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
#1: The Hello Loop . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
#2: Even Numbers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
#3: My Five Favorite Ingredients . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
#4: Your Weight on the Moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79

7
Recycling Your Code with Functions
and Modules 81
Using Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
Parts of a Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
Variables and Scope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
Using Modules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
#1: Basic Moon Weight Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
#2: Moon Weight Function and Years . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
#3: Moon Weight Program . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90

8
How to Use Classes and Objects 93
Breaking Things into Classes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
Children and Parents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
Adding Objects to Classes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
Defining Functions of Classes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
Adding Class Characteristics as F ­ unctions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
Why Use Classes and Objects? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
Objects and Classes in Pictures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
Other Useful Features of Objects and Classes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
Inherited Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
Functions Calling Other Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104

Contents in Detail  ix
Initializing an Object . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
#1: The Giraffe Shuffle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
#2: Turtle Pitchfork . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108

9
Python’s Built-in Functions 109
Using Built-in Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
The abs Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
The bool Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
The dir Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
The eval Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114
The exec Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
The float Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
The int Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
The len Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
The max and min Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
The range Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
The sum Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
Working with Files . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
Creating a Test File . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
Opening a File in Python . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125
Writing to Files . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
#1: Mystery Code . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
#2: A Hidden Message . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
#3: Copying a File . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128

10
Useful Python Modules 129
Making Copies with the copy Module . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
Keeping Track of Keywords with the keyword Module . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
Getting Random Numbers with the random Module . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
Using randint to Pick a R­ andom Number . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
Using choice to Pick a Random Item from a List . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
Using shuffle to Shuffle a List . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
Controlling the Shell with the sys Module . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
Exiting the Shell with the exit function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
Reading with the stdin Object . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137
Writing with the stdout Object . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
Which Version of Python Am I Using? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138

x  Contents in Detail
Doing Time with the time Module . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
Converting a Date with asctime . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
Getting the Date and Time with l­ ocaltime . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
Taking Some Time Off with sleep . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
Using the pickle Module to Save Information . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
#1: Copied Cars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
#2: Pickled Favorites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144

11
More Turtle Graphics 145
Starting with the Basic Square . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
Drawing Stars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147
Drawing a Car . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151
Coloring Things In . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152
A Function to Draw a Filled Circle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
Creating Pure Black and White . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
A Square-Drawing Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
Drawing Filled Squares . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
Drawing Filled Stars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
#1: Drawing an Octagon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
#2: Drawing a Filled Octagon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
#3: Another Star-Drawing Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161

12
Using tkinter for Better Graphics 163
Creating a Clickable Button . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
Using Named Parameters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
Creating a Canvas for Drawing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
Drawing Lines . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168
Drawing Boxes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170
Drawing a Lot of Rectangles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172
Setting the Color . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174
Drawing Arcs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177
Drawing Polygons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179
Displaying Text . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180
Displaying Images . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181
Creating Basic Animation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183
Making an Object React to Something . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186
More Ways to Use the Identifier . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188

Contents in Detail  xi
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
#1: Fill the Screen with Triangles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
#2: The Moving Triangle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
#3: The Moving Photo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190

Part II: Bounce!

13
Beginning Your First Game: Bounce! 193
Whack the Bouncing Ball . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
Creating the Game Canvas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
Creating the Ball Class . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196
Adding Some Action . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
Making the Ball Move . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
Making the Ball Bounce . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200
Changing the Ball’s Starting Direction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204

14
Finishing Your First Game: Bounce! 205
Adding the Paddle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206
Making the Paddle Move . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
Finding Out When the Ball Hits the Paddle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209
Adding an Element of Chance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216
#1: Delay the Game Start . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
#2: A Proper “Game Over” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
#3: Accelerate the Ball . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
#4: Record the Player’s Score . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217

Part III: Mr. Stick Man Races for the Exit

15
Creating Graphics for the Mr. Stick Man Game 221
Mr. Stick Man Game Plan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222
Getting GIMP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222

xii  Contents in Detail
Creating the Game Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
Preparing a Transparent Image . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
Drawing Mr. Stick Man . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225
Drawing the Platforms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227
Drawing the Door . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228
Drawing the Background . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229
Transparency . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231

16
Developing the Mr. Stick Man Game 233
Creating the Game Class . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Setting the Window Title and C ­ reating the Canvas . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Finishing the __init__ Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235
Creating the mainloop Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236
Creating the Coords Class . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238
Checking for Collisions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
Sprites Colliding Horizontally . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
Sprites Colliding Vertically . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
Putting It All Together: Our Final Collision-Detection Code . . . . 242
Creating the Sprite Class . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
Adding the Platforms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245
Adding a Platform Object . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 246
Adding a Bunch of P ­ latforms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
#1: Checkerboard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
#2: Two-Image Checkerboard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250
#3: Bookshelf and Lamp . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250

17
Creating Mr. Stick Man 251
Initializing the Stick Figure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252
Loading the Stick F­ igure Images . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252
Setting Up Variables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253
Binding to Keys . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255
Turning the Stick Figure Left and Right . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255
Making the Stick Figure Jump . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256
What We Have So Far . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258

Contents in Detail  xiii
18
Completing the Mr. Stick Man Game 259
Animating the Stick Figure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
Creating the Animate Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
Getting the Stick Figure’s Position . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263
Making the Stick Figure Move . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265
Testing Our Stick Figure Sprite . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273
The Door! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273
Creating the DoorSprite Class . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 274
Detecting the Door . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275
Adding the Door Object . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275
The Final Game . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 276
What You Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 282
Programming Puzzles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283
#1: “You Win!” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283
#2: Animating the Door . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283
#3: Moving Platforms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283

Afterword
Where to Go from Here 285
Games and Graphics Programming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 286
PyGame . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 286
Programming Languages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 288
Java . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 288
C/C++ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 288
C# . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 289
PHP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 289
Objective-C . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 290
Perl . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 290
Ruby . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 290
JavaScript . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 291
Final Words . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 291

Appendix
Python Keywords 293

Glossary 307

Index 313

xiv  Contents in Detail
About the Author
Jason R. Briggs has been a programmer since the age of eight,
when he first learned BASIC on a Radio Shack TRS-80. He
has written software professionally as a developer and systems
architect and served as Contributing Editor for Java Developer’s
Journal. His articles have appeared in JavaWorld, ONJava, and
ONLamp. Python for Kids is his first book.
Jason can be reached at http://jasonrbriggs.com/ or by email
at mail@jasonrbriggs.com.

About the Illustrator

Miran Lipovaca is the author of Learn You a Haskell for Great
Good!. He enjoys boxing, playing bass guitar, and, of course,
­drawing. He has a fascination with dancing skeletons and the
number 71, and when he walks through automatic doors he pre-
tends that he’s actually opening them with his mind.

About the Technical Reviewers

A recent graduate of The Nueva School, 15-year-old Josh Pollock
is a freshman at Lick-Wilmerding High School in San Francisco.
He first started programming in Scratch when he was 9 years old,
began using TI-BASIC when he was in 6th grade, and moved on
to Java and Python in 7th and UnityScript in 8th. In addition to
programming, he loves playing the trumpet, developing computer
games, and teaching people about interesting STEM topics.

Maria Fernandez has a master’s degree in applied linguistics and

has been interested in computers and technology for more than
20 years. She taught English to young refugee women with the
Global Village Project in Georgia and currently resides in northern
California working with ETS (Educational Testing Service).
Acknowledgments
This must be what it’s like when you get up on stage to accept
an award, only to realize you’ve left the list of people you have to
thank in your other trousers: You’re guaranteed to forget someone,
and that music will soon start rolling to quickly usher you off the
stage.
So that being said, here’s the (no doubt) incomplete list of people
to whom I owe a huge debt of gratitude for helping make this book
as good as I think it now is.
Thanks to the No Starch team, particularly Bill Pollock, for
applying a liberal dose of “what-would-a-kid-think” while editing it.
When you’ve been programming for a long time, it’s all too easy to
forget how difficult some of this stuff is for learners, and Bill was
invaluable at pointing out those oft-overlooked, over-complicated
parts. And thanks to Serena Yang, production manager extra­
ordinaire; here’s hoping you haven’t torn out too much hair getting
300+ pages of code correctly colorized.
A big thank you must go to Miran Lipovaca � for utterly bril-
liant illustrations. Beyond brilliant. No really! If I had done the
artwork, we’d be lucky to have the occasional smudged figure
that doesn’t resemble anything in particular. Is it a bear . . . ?
Is it a dog . . . ? No, wait . . . is that supposed to be a tree?
Thanks to the reviewers. I apologize if some of your sugges-
tions weren’t implemented in the end. You were probably right, and
I can only blame a personal character flaw for any probable goofs.
Particular thanks to Josh for some great suggestions and some
really good catches. And apologies to Maria for having to deal with
occasionally dodgily formatted code.
Thanks to my wife and daughter, for putting up with a hus-
band and father who had his nose buried in a computer screen
even more than usual.
To Mum, for endless amounts of encouragement over the years.
Finally, thanks to my father, for buying a computer back in the
1970s and putting up with someone who wanted to use it as much
as he did. None of this would have been possible without him.
 Introduction

Why learn computer programming?

Programming fosters creativity, reasoning, and
problem solving. The programmer gets the opportunity
to create something from nothing, use logic to turn
programming constructs into a form that a computer
can run, and, when things don’t work quite as well
as expected, use problem solving to figure out what
has gone wrong. Programming is a fun, sometimes
 challenging (and occasionally frustrating) activity, and the skills
learned from it can be useful both in school and at work . . . even if
your career has nothing to do with computers.
And, if nothing else, programming is a great way to spend an
afternoon when the weather outside is dreary.

Why Python?
Python is an easy-to-learn programming language that has some
really useful features for a beginning programmer. The code is quite
easy to read when compared to other programming languages, and
it has an interactive shell into which you can enter your programs
and see them run. In addition to its simple language structure and
an interactive shell with which to experiment, Python has some
features that greatly augment the learning process and allow you
to put together simple animations for creating your own games.
One is the turtle module, inspired by Turtle graphics (used by the
Logo programming language back in the 1960s) and designed for
educational use. Another is the tkinter module, an interface for the
Tk GUI toolkit, which provides a simple way to create programs
with slightly more advanced graphics and animation.

How to Learn to Code

Like anything you try for the first time, it’s always best to start
with the basics, so begin with the first chapters and resist the urge
to skip ahead to the later chapters. No one can play an orchestral
symphony the first time they pick up an instrument. Student pilots
don’t start flying a plane before they understand the basic controls.
Gymnasts aren’t (usually) able to do back flips on their first try. If
you jump ahead too quickly, not only will the basic ideas not stick
in your head, but you’ll also find the content of the later chapters
more complicated than it actually is.
As you go through this book, try each of the examples, so you
can see how they work. There are also programming puzzles at the
end of most chapters for you to try, which will help improve your
programming skills. Remember that the better you understand the
basics, the easier it will be to understand more complicated ideas
later on.

xx  Introduction
 When you find something frustrating or too challenging, here
are some things that I find helpful:
1. Break a problem down into smaller pieces. Try to understand
what a small piece of code is doing, or think about only a small
part of a difficult idea (focus on a small piece of code rather
than trying to understand the whole thing at once).
2. If that still doesn’t help, sometimes it’s best to just leave it
alone for a while. Sleep on it, and come back to it another day.
This is a good way to solve many problems, and it can be par-
ticularly helpful for computer programmers.

Who Should Read This Book

This book is for anyone interested in computer programming,
whether that’s a child or an adult coming to programming for the
first time. If you want to learn how to write your own software
rather than just use the programs developed by others, Python for
Kids is a great place to start.
In the following chapters, you’ll find information to help you
install Python, start the Python shell and perform basic calcula-
tions, print text on the screen and create lists, and perform simple
control flow operations using if statements and for loops (and
learn what if statements and for loops are!). You’ll learn how to
reuse code with functions, the basics of classes and objects, and
descriptions of some of the many built-in Python functions and
modules.
You’ll find chapters on both simple and advanced turtle graph-
ics, as well as on using the tkinter module to draw on the computer
screen. There are programming puzzles of varying complexity at
the ends of many chapters, which will help readers cement their
newfound knowledge by giving them a chance to write small pro-
grams by themselves.
Once you’ve built up your fundamental programming knowl-
edge, you’ll learn how to write your own games. You’ll develop two
graphical games and learn about collision detection, events, and
different animation techniques.
Most of the examples in this book use Python’s IDLE (Inte-
grated DeveLopment Environment) shell. IDLE provides syntax
highlighting, copy-and-paste functionality (similar to what you

Introduction  xxi
 would use in other applications), and an editor window where you
can save your code for later use, which means IDLE works as both
an interactive environment for experimentation and something
a bit like a text editor. The examples will work just as well with
the standard console and a regular text editor, but IDLE’s syntax
highlighting and slightly more user-friendly environment can aid
understanding, so the very first chapter shows you how to set it up.

What’s in This Book

Here’s a brief rundown of what you’ll find in each chapter.
Chapter 1 is an introduction to programming with instruc-
tions for installing Python for the first time.
Chapter 2 introduces basic calculations and variables, and
Chapter 3 describes some of the basic Python types, such as
strings, lists, and tuples.
Chapter 4 is the first taste of the turtle module. We’ll jump
from basic programming to moving a turtle (in the shape of an
arrow) around the screen.
Chapter 5 covers the variations of conditions and if state-
ments, and Chapter 6 moves on to for loops and while loops.
Chapter 7 is where we start to use and create functions, and
then in Chapter 8 we cover classes and objects. We cover enough
of the basic ideas to support some of the programming techniques
we’ll need in the games development chapters later on in the book.
At this point, the material starts get a little more complicated.
Chapter 9 goes through most of the built-in functions in
Python, and Chapter 10 continues with a few modules (basically
buckets of useful functionality) that are installed by default with
Python.
Chapter 11 returns to the turtle module as the reader experi-
ments with more complicated shapes. Chapter 12 moves on to
using the tkinter module for more advanced graphics creation.
In Chapters 13 and 14, we create our first game, “Bounce!,”
which builds on the knowledge gained from the preceding chapters,
and in Chapters 15–18, we create another game, “Mr. Stick Man
Races for the Exit.” The game development chapters are where
things could start to go seriously wrong. If all else fails, download
the code from the companion website (http://python-for-kids.com/),
and compare your code with these working examples.

xxii  Introduction
 In the Afterword, we wrap up with a look at PyGame and
some other popular programming languages.
Finally, in the Appendix, you’ll learn about Python’s key-
words in detail, and in the Glossary, you’ll find definitions of the
programming terms used throughout this book.

The Companion Website

If you find that you need help as you read, try the companion site,
http://python-for-kids.com/, where you’ll find downloads for all the
examples in this book and more programming puzzles. You’ll also
find solutions to all the programming puzzles in the book on the
companion site, in case you get stumped or want to check your work.

Have Fun!
Remember as you work your way through this book that pro-
gramming can be fun. Don’t think of this as work. Think of
programming as a way to create some fun games or applications
that you can share with your friends or others.
Learning to program is a wonderful mental exercise and the
results can be very rewarding. But most of all, whatever you do,
have fun!

Introduction  xxiii
 Part I
Learning to
Program
 1
Not All Snakes Slither

A computer program is a set of instructions that causes

a computer to perform some kind of action. It isn’t the
physical parts of a computer—like the wires, micro-
chips, cards, hard drive, and such—but the hidden
stuff running on that hardware. A computer program,
which I’ll usually refer to as just a program, is the set
of commands that tell that dumb hardware what to do.
Software is a collection of computer programs.
Other documents randomly have
different content
 1605 (31/1) Pacific Coast — 5,000
1611 (27/9) Aizu — 3,700
1614 (2/12) Pacific Coast (N.E.) — 1,700
1662 (16/6) Kiōto 5,500 500
1666 (2/2) Pacific Coast (N.E.) — 1,500
1694 (19/12) Ugo 2,760 390
1703 (30/12) Tōkyō 20,162 5,233
1707 (28/10) Pacific Coast of Kiūshiū and Shikoku 29,000 4,900
1751 (20/5) Echigo 9,100 1,700
1766 (8/3) Hirosaki 7,500 1,335
1792 (10/2) Hizen and Higo 12,000 15,000
1828 (18/2) Echigo 11,750 1,443
1844 (8/5) Echigo 34,000 12,000
1854 (6/7) Yamato, Iga, Ise 5,000 2,400
1854 (23/12) Tōkaidō (Shikoku) 60,000 3,000
1855 (11/11) Yedo, (Tōkyō 50,000 6,700
1891 (28/10) Mino, Owari 222,501 7,273
1894 (22/10) Shōnai 8,403 726
1896 (15/6) Sanriku 13,073 27,122
1896 (31/8) Ugo, Rikuchu 8,996 209
1906 (12/2) Formosa 5,556 1,228
(1) An area of over 1,200,000 acres swallowed up by the sea.
(2) Tidal wave killed thousands of people.
(3) Hamana lagoon formed.

In the capital (Tōkyō) the average yearly number of shocks throughout the 26 years ending in 1906
was 96, exclusive of minor vibrations, but during the 50 years then ending there were only two severe
shocks (1884 and 1894), and they were not directly responsible for any damage to life or limb. The
Pacific coast of the Japanese islands is more liable than the western shore to shocks disturbing a wide
area. Apparent proof has been obtained that the shocks occurring in the Pacific districts originate at the
bottom of the sea—the Tuscarora Deep is supposed to be the centre of seismic activity—and they are
accompanied in most cases by tidal waves. It would seem that of late years Tajima, Hida, Kōzuke and
some other regions in central Japan have enjoyed the greatest immunity, while Musashi (in which
province Tōkyō is situated) and Sagami have been most subject to disturbance.

Plains.—Japan, though very mountainous, has many extensive plains. The northern island—Yezo—
contains seven, and there are as many more in the main and southern islands, to say nothing of flat
lands of minor dimensions. The principal are given in the following table:—

Name. Situation. Area. Remarks.

Tokachi plain Yezo. 744,000 acres. —
Ishikari ” ” 480,000 acres. —
Kushiro ” ” 1,229,000 acres. —
Nemuro ” ” 320,000 acres. —
Kitami ” ” 230,000 acres. —
Hidaka ” ” 200,000 acres. —
 Teshio ” ” 180,000 acres. —
Echigo ” Main Island. Unascertained. —
Sendai ” ” ” —
Kwanto ” ” ” In this plain lie the
capital, Tōkyō, and
the town of
Yokohama. It
supports about 6
millions of people.
Mino-Owari ” ” ” Has 1½ million
inhabitants.
Kinai ” ” ” Has the cities of Osaka,
Kiōto and Kobe, and
2½ million people.
Tsukushi ” Kiūshiū. ” The chief coalfield of
Japan.

Rivers.—Japan is abundantly watered. Probably no country in the world possesses a closer network of
streams, supplemented by canals and lakes. But the quantity of water carried seawards varies within
wide limits; for whereas, during the rainy season in summer and while the snows of winter are melting
in spring, great volumes of water sweep down from the mountains, these broad rivers dwindle at other
times to petty rivulets trickling among a waste of pebbles and boulders. Nor are there any long rivers,
and all are so broken by shallows and rapids that navigation is generally impossible except by means of
flat-bottomed boats drawing only a few inches. The chief rivers are given in the following table:—

Length
Source. Mouth.
in miles.
Ishikari-gawa 275 Ishikari-dake Otaru.
Shinano-gawa 215 Kimpu-san Niigata.
Teshio-gawa 192 Teshio-take Sea of Japan.
Tone-gawa 177 Monju-zan, Kōzuke Choshi (Shimosa).
Mogami-gawa 151 Dainichi-dake(Uzen) Sakata.
Yoshino-gawa 149 Yahazu-yama (Tosa) Tokushima (Awa).
Kitakami-gawa 146 Nakayama-dake (Rikuchiu) Ishinomaki (Rikuzen).
Tenriu-gawa 136 Suwako (Shinano) Tōtōmi Bay.
Go-gawa or Iwa-megawa 122 Maruse-yama (Bingo) Iwami Bay.
Abukuma-gawa 122 Asahi-take (Iwashiro) Matsushima Bay.
Tokachi-gawa 120 Tokachi-dake Tokachi Bay.
Sendai-gawa 112 Kunimi-zan (Hiuga) Kumizaki (Satsuma).
Oi-gawa 112 Shirane-san (Kai) Suruga Bay.
Kiso-gawa 112 Kiso-zan (Shinano) Bay of Isenumi.
Arakawa 104 Chichibu-yama Tōkyō Bay.
Naga-gawa 102 Nasu-yama (Shimotsuke) Naka-no-minato (Huachi).
 Lakes and Waterfalls.—Japan has many lakes, remarkable for the beauty of their scenery rather than
for their extent. Some are contained in alluvial depressions in the river valleys; others have been formed
by volcanic eruptions, the ejecta damming the rivers until exits were found over cliffs or through gorges.
Some of these lakes have become favourite summer resorts for foreigners. To that category belong
especially the lakes of Hakone, of Chiuzenji, of Shōji, of Inawashiro, and of Biwa. Among these the
highest is Lake Chiuzenji, which is 4375 ft. above sea-level, has a maximum depth of 93 fathoms, and
empties itself at one end over a fall (Kegon) 250 ft. high. The Shōji lakes lie at a height of 3160 ft., and
their neighbourhood abounds in scenic charms. Lake Hakone is at a height of 2428 ft.; Inawashiro, at a
height of 1920 ft. and Biwa at a height of 328 ft. The Japanese associate Lake Biwa (Omi) with eight
views of special loveliness (Omi-no-hakkei). Lake Suwa, in Shinano, which is emptied by the Tenriu-
gawa, has a height of 2624 ft. In the vicinity of many of these mountain lakes thermal springs, with
remarkable curative properties, are to be found.
(F. By.)

Geology.—It is a popular belief that the islands of Japan consist for the most part of volcanic rocks.
But although this conception might reasonably be suggested by the presence of many active and extinct
volcanoes, Professor J. Milne has pointed out that it is literally true of the Kuriles alone, partially true for
the northern half of the Main Island and for Kiūshiū, and quite incorrect as applied to the southern half
of the Main Island and to Shikoku. This authority sums up the geology of Japan briefly and succinctly as
follows (in Things Japanese, by Professor Chamberlain): “The backbone of the country consists of
primitive gneiss and schists. Amongst the latter, in Shikoku, there is an extremely interesting rock
consisting largely of piedmontite. Overlying these amongst the Palaeozoic rocks, we meet in many parts
of Japan with slates and other rocks possibly of Cambrian or Silurian age. Trilobites have been
discovered in Rikuzen. Carboniferous rocks are represented by mountain masses of Fusulina and other
limestones. There is also amongst the Palaeozoic group an interesting series of red slates containing
Radiolaria. Mesozoic rocks are represented by slates containing Ammonites and Monotis, evidently of
Triassic age, rocks containing Ammonites Bucklandi of Liassic age, a series of beds rich in plants of
Jurassic age, and beds of Cretaceous age containing Trigonia and many other fossils. The Cainozoic or
Tertiary system forms a fringe round the coasts of many portions of the empire. It chiefly consists of
stratified volcanic tuffs rich in coal, lignite, fossilized plants and an invertebrate fauna. Diatomaceous
earth exists at several places in Yezo. In the alluvium which covers all, the remains have been
discovered of several species of elephant, which, according to Dr Edmund Naumann, are of Indian
origin. The most common eruptive rock is andesite. Such rocks as basalt, diorite and trachyte are
comparatively rare. Quartz porphyry, quartzless porphyry, and granite are largely developed.” Drs von
Richthofen and Rein discuss the subject in greater detail. They have pointed out that in the mountain
system of Japan there are three main lines. One runs from S.W. to N.E.; another from S.S.W. to N.N.E.,
and the third is meridional. These they call respectively the “southern schist range,” the “northern schist
range,” and the “snow range,” the last consisting mainly of old crystalline massive rocks. The rocks
predominating in Japan fall also into three groups. They are, first, plutonic rocks, especially granite;
secondly, volcanic rocks, chiefly trachyte and dolerite; and thirdly, palaeozoic schists. On the other hand,
limestone and sandstone, especially of the Mesozoic strata, are strikingly deficient. The strike of the old
crystalline rocks follows, in general, the main direction of the islands (S.W. to N.E.). They are often
overlain by schists and quartzites, or broken through by volcanic masses. “The basis of the islands
consist of granite, syenite, diorite, diabase and related kinds of rock, porphyry appearing comparatively
seldom. Now the granite, continuing for long distances, forms the prevailing rock; then, again, it forms
the foundation for thick strata of schist and sandstone, itself only appearing in valleys of erosion and
river boulders, in rocky projections on the coasts or in the ridges of the mountains.... In the composition
of many mountains in Hondo (the main island) granite plays a prominent part.... It appears to form the
central mass which crops up in hundreds of places towards the coast and in the interior. Old schists,
free from fossils and rich in quartz, overlie it in parallel chains through the whole length of the
peninsula, especially in the central and highest ridges, and bear the ores of Chū-goku (the central
provinces), principally copper pyrites and magnetic pyrites. These schist ridges rich in quartz show, to a
depth of 20 metres, considerable disintegration. The resulting pebble and quartz-sand is very
unproductive, and supports chiefly a poor underwood and crippled pines with widely spreading roots
which seek their nourishment afar. In the province of Settsu granite everywhere predominates, which
may be observed also in the railway cuttings between Hiōgo and Osaka, as well as in the temples and
walls of these towns. The waterfalls near Kobe descend over granite walls and the mikageishi (stone of
Mikage), famous throughout Japan, is granite from Settsu.... In the hill country on the borders of Ise,
Owari, Mikawa and Tōtōmi, on the one side, and Omi, Mino and Shinano, on the other, granite
frequently forms dark grey and much disintegrated rock-projections above schist and diluvial quartz
pebbles. The feldspar of a splendid pegmatite and its products of disintegration on the borders of
Owari, Mino and Mikawa form the raw material of the very extensive ceramic industry of this district,
with its chief place, Seto. Of granite are chiefly formed the meridional mountains of Shinano. Granite,
diorite and other plutonic rocks hem in the winding upper valleys of the Kiso-gawa, the Saigawa
(Shinano river) and many other rivers of this province, their clear water running over granite. Also in the
hills bordering on the plain of Kwanto these old crystalline rocks are widely spread. Farther northwards
they give way again, as in the south, to schists and eruptive rocks. Yet even here granite may be traced
in many places. Of course it is not always a pure granite; even hablit and granite-porphyry are found
here and there. Thus, for instance, near Nikkō in the upper valley of the Daiya-gawa, and in several
other places in the neighbouring mountains, a granite-porphyry appears with large, pale, flesh-coloured
crystals of orthoclase, dull triclinic felspar, quartz and hornblende.” “From the mine of Ichinokawa in
Shikoku come the wonderful crystals of antimonite, which form such conspicuous objects in the
mineralogical cabinets of Europe.” (Rein’s Japan and Milne in Things Japanese.) The above conditions
suggest the presence of tertiary formations, yet only the younger groups of that formation appear to be
developed. Nor is there any sign of moraines, glacier-scorings or other traces of the ice-age.

The oldest beds which have yielded fossils in any abundance belong to the Carboniferous System.
The Trias proper is represented by truly marine deposits, while the Rhaetic beds contain plant remains.
The Jurassic and Cretaceous beds are also in part marine and in part terrestrial. During the whole of the
Mesozoic era Japan appears to have lain on or near the margin of the Asiatic continent, and the marine
deposits are confined for the most part to the eastern side of the islands.

The igneous rocks occur at several geological horizons, but the great volcanic eruptions did not begin
until the Tertiary period. The existing volcanoes belong to four separate arcs or chains. On the south is
the arc of the Luchu islands, which penetrates into Kiū Shiū. In the centre there is the arc of the Izu-no-
Shichito islands, which is continued into Hondo along the Fossa Magna. In North Hondo the great
Bandai arc forms the axis of the island and stretches into Yezo (Hokkaidō). Finally in the east of Yezo
rise the most westerly volcanoes of the Kurile chain. The lavas and ashes ejected by these volcanoes
consist of liparite, dacite, andesite and basalt.

Structurally Japan is divided into two regions by a depression (the “Fossa Magna” of Naumann) which
stretches across the island of Hondo from Shimoda to Nagano. The depression is marked by a line of
volcanoes, including Fuji, and is in part buried beneath the products of their eruptions. It is supposed to
be due to a great fault along its western margin. South and west of the Fossa Magna the beds are
thrown into folds which run approximately parallel to the general direction of the coast, and two zones
may be recognized—an outer, consisting of Palaeozoic and Mesozoic beds, and an inner, consisting of
Archaean and Palaeozoic rocks, with granitic intrusions. Nearly along the boundary between the two
zones lie the inland seas of south Japan. Towards the Fossa Magna the folds bend northwards.

North and east of the Fossa Magna the structure is concealed, to a very large extent, by the
outpourings of the volcanoes which form so marked a feature in the northern part of Hondo. But the
foundation on which the volcanoes rest is exposed along the east coast of Hondo (in the Kwanto,
Abukuma and Kitakami hills), and also in the island of Yezo. This foundation consists of Archean,
Palaeozoic and Mesozoic beds folded together, the direction of the folds being N. by W. to S. by E., that
is to say, slightly oblique to the general direction of this part of the island. Towards the Fossa Magna the
folds bend sharply round until they are nearly parallel to the Fossa itself.
(P. La.)

It has been abundantly demonstrated by careful observations that the east coasts of Japan are slowly
rising. This phenomenon was first noticed in the case of the plain on which stands the capital, Tōkyō.
Maps of sufficiently trustworthy accuracy show that in the 11th century Tōkyō Bay
Secular penetrated much more deeply in a northern direction than it does now; the point
Movement. where the city’s main river (Sumida or Arakawa) enters the sea was considerably to
the north of its present position, and low-lying districts, to-day thickly populated,
were under water. Edmund Naumann was the discoverer of these facts, and his attention was first
drawn to them by learning that an edible sea-weed, which flourishes only in salt water, is called
Asakusa-nori, from the place (Asakusa) of its original provenance, which now lies some 3 m. inland.
Similar phenomena were found in Sakhalin by Schmidt and on the north-east coast of the main island
by Rein, and there can be little doubt that they exist at other places also. Naumann has concluded that
“formerly Tōkyō Bay stretched further over the whole level country of Shimosa and Hitachi and
northwards as far as the plain of Kwantō extends;” that “the mountain country of Kasusa-Awa emerged
from it an island, and that a current ran in a north-westerly direction between this island and the
northern mountain margin of the present plain toward the north-east into the open ocean.”

Mineral Springs.—The presence of so many active volcanoes is partially compensated by a wealth of

mineral springs. Since many of these thermal springs possess great medicinal value, Japan may become
one of the world’s favourite health-resorts. There are more than a hundred spas, some hot, some cold,
which, being easily accessible and highly efficacious, are largely visited by the Japanese. The most
noteworthy are as follows:—

Name of Spa. Prefecture. Quality. Temp., F°.

Arima Hiogo Salt 100
Asama Nagano Pure 111—127
Asamushi Aomori Salt 134—168
Atami Shizuoka ” 131—226
Beppu Oita Carbonic Acid 109—132
Bessho Nagano Pure or Sulphurous 108—113
Dogo Ehime Pure 70—110
Hakone Kanagawa Pure, Salt or Sulphurous 98—168
Higashi-yama Fukushima Pure or Salt 117—144
Ikao Gumma Salt 111—127
 Isobe ” ” Cold
Kusatsu ” Sulphurous 127—148
Nasu Tochigi Sulphurous 162-172
Noboribetsu Ishikari ” 125
Shibu Nagano Salt 98-115
Chiuzenji Shizuoka Carbonate of Soda and Sulphur 114-185
Takarazuka Hiogo Carbonic Acid Cold
Ureshino Saga ” 230
Unzen Nagasaki Sulphurous 158-204
Wagura Ishikawa Salt 180
Yamashiro ” ” 165
Yunoshima Hiogo ” 104-134

Climate.—The large extension of the Japanese islands in a northerly and southerly direction causes
great varieties of climate. General characteristics are hot and humid though short summers, and long,
cold and clear winters. The equatorial currents produce conditions differing from those existing at
corresponding latitudes on the neighbouring continent. In Kiūshiū, Shikoku and the southern half of the
main island, the months of July and August alone are marked by oppressive heat at the sea-level, while
in elevated districts a cool and even bracing temperature may always be found, though the direct rays
of the sun retain distressing power. Winter in these districts does not last more than two months, from
the end of December to the beginning of March; for although the latter month is not free from frost and
even snow, the balminess of spring makes itself plainly perceptible. In the northern half of the main
island, in Yezo and in the Kuriles, the cold is severe during the winter, which lasts for at least four
months, and snow falls sometimes to great depths. Whereas in Tōkyō the number of frosty nights
during a year does not average much over 60, the corresponding number in Sapporo on the north-west
of Yezo is 145. But the variation of the thermometer in winter and summer being considerable—as
much as 72° F. in Tōkyō—the climate proves somewhat trying to persons of weak constitution. On the
other hand, the mean daily variation is in general less than that in other countries having the same
latitude: it is greatest in January, when it reaches 18° F., and least in July, when it barely exceeds 9° F.
The monthly variation is very great in March, when it usually reaches 43° F.

During the first 40 years of the Meiji era numerous meteorological stations were established. Reports
are constantly forwarded by telegraph to the central observatory in Tōkyō, which
Meteorology. issues daily statements of the climatic conditions during the previous twenty-four
hours, as well as forecasts for the next twenty-four. The whole country is divided into
districts for meteorological purposes, and storm-warnings are issued when necessary. At the most
important stations observations are taken every hour; at the less important, six observations daily; and
at the least important, three observations. From the record of three decades the following yearly
averages of temperature are obtained:—

F°.
Taihoku (in Formosa) 71
Nagasaki (Kiūshiū) 60
Kōbe (Main Island) 59
Osaka (Main Island) 59
 Okayama (Main Island) 58
Nagoya (Main Island) 58
Sakai (Main Island) 58
Tōkyō (Capital) 57
Kiōto (Main Island) 57
Niigata (Main Island) 55
Ishinomaki (Main Island) 52
Aomori (Main Island) 50
Sapporo (Yezo) 44

The following table affords data for comparing the climates of Peking, Shanghai, Hakodate, Tōkyō
and San Francisco:—

Mean
Longitude. Latitude.
Temp., F°.
Peking 116° 29′ E. 39° 57′ N. 53
Shanghai 121° 20′ E. 31° 12′ N. 59
Hakodate 140° 45′ E. 41° 46′ N. 47
Tōkyō 138° 47′ E. 35° 41′ N. 57
San Francisco 122° 25′ E. 37° 48′ N. 56

Mean Temp. of
Hottest Month.
Hottest Month.
Peking July 80
Shanghai ” 84
Hakodate August 71
Tōkyō ” 79
San Francisco September 63

Mean Temp. of
Coldest Month.
Coldest Month.
Peking January 22
Shanghai ” 26
Hakodate ” 28
Tōkyō ” 36
San Francisco ” 49

There are three wet seasons in Japan: the first, from the middle of April to the beginning of May; the
second, from the middle of June to the beginning of July; and the third, from early in September to
early in October. The dog days (doyō) are from the middle of July till the second half
Rainfall. of August. September is the wettest month; January the driest. During the four
months from November to February inclusive only about 18% of the whole rain for
the year falls. In the district on the east of the main island the snowfall is insignificant, seldom attaining
a depth of more than four or five inches and generally melting in a few days, while bright, sunny skies
are usual. But in the mountainous provinces of the interior and in those along the western coast, deep
snow covers the ground throughout the whole winter, and the sky is usually wrapped in a veil of clouds.
These differences are due to the action of the north-westerly wind that blows over Japan from Siberia.
The intervening sea being comparatively warm, this wind arrives at Japan having its temperature
increased and carrying moisture which it deposits as snow on the western faces of the Japanese
mountains. Crossing the mountains and descending their eastern slopes, the wind becomes less
saturated and warmer, so that the formation of clouds ceases. Japan is emphatically a wet country so
far as quantity of rainfall is concerned, the average for the whole country being 1570 mm. per annum.
Still there are about four sunny days for every three on which rain or snow falls, the actual figures being
150 days of snow or rain and 215 days of sunshine.

During the cold season, which begins in October and ends in April, northerly and westerly winds
prevail throughout Japan. They come from the adjacent continent of Asia, and they develop
considerable strength owing to the fact that there is an average difference of some
Wind. 22 mm. between the atmospheric pressure (750 mm.) in the Pacific and that (772
mm.) in the Japanese islands. But during the warm season, from May to September,
these conditions of atmospheric pressure are reversed, that in the Pacific rising to 767 mm. and that in
Japan falling to 750 mm. Hence throughout this season the prevailing winds are light breezes from the
west and south. A comparison of the force habitually developed by the wind in various parts of the
islands shows that at Suttsu in Yezo the average strength is 9 metres per second, while Izuhara in the
island Tsushima, Kumamoto in Kiūshiū and Gifu in the east centre of the main island stand at the
bottom of the list with an average wind velocity of only 2 metres. A calamitous atmospheric feature is
the periodical arrival of storms called “typhoons” (Japanese tai-fu or “great wind”). These have their
origin, for the most part, in the China Sea, especially in the vicinity of Luzon. Their season is from June
to October, but they occur in other months also, and they develop a velocity of 5 to 75 m. an hour. The
meteorological record for ten years ended 1905 shows a total of 120 typhoons, being an average of 12
annually. September had 14 of these phenomena, March 11 and April 10, leaving 85 for the remaining 9
months. But only 65 out of the whole number developed disastrous force. It is particularly unfortunate
that September should be the season of greatest typhoon frequency, for the earlier varieties of rice
flower in that month and a heavy storm does much damage. Thus, in 1902—by no means an abnormal
year—statistics show the following disasters owing to typhoons: casualties to human life, 3639; ships
and boats lost, 3244; buildings destroyed wholly or partially, 695,062; land inundated, 1,071,575 acres;
roads destroyed, 1236 m.; bridges washed away, 13,685; embankments broken, 705 m.; crops
damaged, 8,712,655 bushels. The total loss, including cost of repairs, was estimated at nearly 3 millions
sterling, which may be regarded as an annual average.

Flora.—The flora of Japan has been carefully studied by many scientific men from Siebold downwards.
Foreigners visiting Japan are immediately struck by the affection of the people for flowers, trees and
natural beauties of every kind. In actual wealth of blossom or dimensions of forest trees the Japanese
islands cannot claim any special distinction. The spectacles most admired by all classes are the tints of
the foliage in autumn and the glory of flowering trees in the spring. In beauty and variety of pattern
and colour the autumnal tints are unsurpassed. The colours pass from deep brown through purple to
yellow and white, thrown into relief by the dark green of non-deciduous shrubs and trees. Oaks and
wild prunus, wild vines and sumachs, various kinds of maple, the dōdan (Enkianthus Japonicus Hook.)—
a wonderful bush which in autumn develops a hue of ruddy red—birches and other trees, all add
multitudinous colours to the brilliancy of a spectacle which is further enriched by masses of feathery
bamboo. The one defect is lack of green sward. The grass used for Japanese lawns loses its verdure in
autumn and remains from November to March a greyish-brown blot upon the scene. Spring is supposed
to begin in February when, according to the old calendar, the new year sets in, but the only flowers
then in bloom are the camellia japonica and some kinds of daphne. The former—called by the Japanese
tsubaki—may often be seen glowing fiery red amid snow, but the pink (otome tsubaki), white (shiro-
tsubaki) and variegated (shibori-no-tsubaki) kinds do not bloom until March or April. Neither the
camellia nor the daphne is regarded as a refined flower: their manner of shedding their blossoms is too
unsightly. Queen of spring flowers is the plum (ume). The tree lends itself with peculiar readiness to the
skilful manipulation of the gardener, and is by him trained into shapes of remarkable grace. Its pure
white or rose-red blossoms, heralding the first approach of genial weather, are regarded with special
favour and are accounted the symbol of unassuming hardihood. The cherry (sakura) is even more
esteemed. It will not suffer any training, nor does it, like the plum, improve by pruning, but the
sunshine that attends its brief period of bloom in April, the magnificence of its flower-laden boughs and
the picturesque flutter of its falling petals, inspired an ancient poet to liken it to the “soul of Yamato”
(Japan), and it has ever since been thus regarded. The wild peach (momo) blooms at the same time,
but attracts little attention. All these trees—the plum, the cherry and the peach—bear no fruit worthy of
the name, nor do they excel their Occidental representatives in wealth of blossom, but the admiring
affection they inspire in Japan is unique. Scarcely has the cherry season passed when that of the
wistaria (fuji) comes, followed by the azalea (tsutsuji) and the iris (shōbu), the last being almost
contemporaneous with the peony (botan), which is regarded by many Japanese as the king of flowers
and is cultivated assiduously. A species of weeping maple (shidare-momiji) dresses itself in peachy-red
foliage and is trained into many picturesque shapes, though not without detriment to its longevity.
Summer sees the lotus (renge) convert wide expanses of lake and river into sheets of white and red
blossoms; a comparatively flowerless interval ensues until, in October and November, the
chrysanthemum arrives to furnish an excuse for fashionable gatherings. With the exception of the dog-
days and the dead of winter, there is no season when flowers cease to be an object of attention to the
Japanese, nor does any class fail to participate in the sentiment. There is similar enthusiasm in the
matter of gardens. From the 10th century onwards the art of landscape gardening steadily grew into a
science, with esoteric as well as exoteric aspects, and with a special vocabulary. The underlying
principle is to reproduce nature’s scenic beauties, all the features being drawn to scale, so that however
restricted the space, there shall be no violation of proportion. Thus the artificial lakes and hills, the
stones forming rockeries or simulating solitary crags, the trees and even the bushes are all selected or
manipulated so as to fall congruously into the general scheme. If, on the one hand, huge stones are
transported hundreds of miles from seashore or river-bed where, in the lapse of long centuries, waves
and cataracts have hammered them into strange shapes, and if the harmonizing of their various colours
and the adjustment of their forms to environment are studied with profound subtlety, so the training
and tending of the trees and shrubs that keep them company require much taste and much toil. Thus
the red pine (aka-matsu or pinus densiflora), which is the favourite garden tree, has to be subjected
twice a year to a process of spray-dressing which involves the careful removal of every weak or aged
needle. One tree occupies the whole time of a gardener for about ten days. The details are endless, the
results delightful. But it has to be clearly understood that there is here no mention of a flower-garden in
the Occidental sense of the term. Flowers are cultivated, but for their own sakes, not as a feature of the
landscape garden. If they are present, it is only as an incident. This of course does not apply to shrubs
which blossom at their seasons and fall always into the general scheme of the landscape. Forests of
cherry-trees, plum-trees, magnolia trees, or hiyaku-jikkō (Lagerstroemia indica), banks of azalea,
clumps of hydrangea, groups of camellia—such have their permanent places and their foliage adds
notes of colour when their flowers have fallen. But chrysanthemums, peonies, roses and so forth, are
treated as special shows, and are removed or hidden when out of bloom. There is another remarkable
feature of the Japanese gardener’s art. He dwarfs trees so that they remain measurable only by inches
after their age has reached scores, even hundreds, of years, and the proportions of leaf, branch and
stem are preserved with fidelity. The pots in which these wonders of patient skill are grown have to be
themselves fine specimens of the ceramist’s craft, and as much as £200 is sometimes paid for a notably
well trained tree.

There exists among many foreign observers an impression that Japan is comparatively poor in wild-
flowers; an impression probably due to the fact that there are no flowery meadows or lanes. Besides,
the flowers are curiously wanting in fragrance. Almost the only notable exceptions are the mokusei
(Osmanthus fragrans), the daphne and the magnolia. Missing the perfume-laden air of the Occident, a
visitor is prone to infer paucity of blossoms. But if some familiar European flowers are absent, they are
replaced by others strange to Western eyes—a wealth of lespedeza and Indigo-fera; a vast variety of
lilies; graceful grasses like the eulalia and the ominameshi (Patrina scabiosaefolia); the richly-hued Pyrus
japonica; azaleas, diervillas and deutzias; the kikyo (Platycodon grandiflorum), the gibōshi (Funkia
ovata), and many another. The same is true of Japanese forests. It has been well said that “to
enumerate the constituents and inhabitants of the Japanese mountain-forests would be to name at least
half the entire flora.”

According to Franchet and Savatier Japan possesses:—

Families. Genera. Species.

Dicotyledonous plants 121 795 1934
Monocotyledonous plants 28 202 613
Higher Cryptogamous plants 5 38 196
—— —— ——
Vascular plants 154 1035 2743

The investigations of Japanese botanists are adding constantly to the above number, and it is not likely
that finality will be reached for some time. According to a comparison made by A. Gray with regard to
the numbers of genera and species respectively represented in the forest trees of four regions of the
northern hemisphere, the following is the case:—

Atlantic Forest-region of N. America 66 genera and 155 species.

Pacific Forest-region of N. America 31 genera and 78 species.
Japan and Manchuria Forest-region 66 genera and 168 species.
Forests of Europe 33 genera and 85 species.

While there can be no doubt that the luxuriance of Japan’s flora is due to rich soil, to high
temperature and to rainfall not only plentiful but well distributed over the whole year, the wealth and
variety of her trees and shrubs must be largely the result of immigration. Japan has four insular chains
which link her to the neighbouring continent. On the south, the Riūkiū Islands bring her within reach of
Formosa and the Malayan archipelago; on the west, Oki, Iki, and Tsushima bridge the sea between her
and Korea; on the north-west Sakhalin connects her with the Amur region; and on the north, the Kuriles
form an almost continuous route to Kamchatka. By these paths the germs of Asiatic plants were carried
over to join the endemic flora of the country, and all found suitable homes amid greatly varying
conditions of climate and physiography.

Fauna.—Japan is an exception to the general rule that continents are richer in fauna than are their
neighbouring islands. It has been said with truth that “an industrious collector of beetles, butterflies,
neuroptera, &c., finds a greater number of species in a circuit of some miles near Tōkyō than are
exhibited by the whole British Isles.”

Of mammals 50 species have been identified and catalogued. Neither the lion nor the tiger is found.
The true Carnivora are three only, the bear, the dog and the marten. Three species of bears are
scientifically recognized, but one of them, the ice-bear (Ursus maritimus), is only an accidental visitor,
carried down by the Arctic current. In the main island the black bear (kuma, Ursus japonicus) alone has
its habitation, but the island of Yezo has the great brown bear (called shi-guma, oki-kuma or aka-
kuma), the “grisly” of North America. The bear does not attract much popular interest in Japan.
Tradition centres rather upon the fox (kitsune) and the badger (mujina), which are credited with
supernatural powers, the former being worshipped as the messenger of the harvest god, while the
latter is regarded as a mischievous rollicker. Next to these comes the monkey (saru), which dwells
equally among the snows of the north and in the mountainous regions of the south. Saru enters into
the composition of many place-names, an evidence of the people’s familiarity with the animal. There are
ten species of bat (komori) and seven of insect-eaters, and prominent in this class are the mole
(mugura) and the hedgehog (hari-nezumi). Among the martens there is a weasel (itachi), which,
though useful as a rat-killer, has the evil repute of being responsible for sudden and mysterious injuries
to human beings; there is a river-otter (kawauso), and there is a sea-otter (rakko) which inhabits the
northern seas and is highly valued for its beautiful pelt. The rodents are represented by an abundance
of rats, with comparatively few mice, and by the ordinary squirrel, to which the people give the name of
tree-rat (ki-nezumi), as well as the flying squirrel, known as the momo-dori (peach-bird) in the north,
where it hides from the light in hollow tree-trunks, and in the south as the ban-tori (or bird of evening).
There are no rabbits, but hares (usagi) are to be found in very varying numbers, and those of one
species put on a white coat during winter. The wild boar (shishi or ii-no-shishi) does not differ
appreciably from its European congener. Its flesh is much relished, and for some unexplained reason is
called by its vendors “mountain-whale” (yama-kujira). A very beautiful stag (shika), with eight-branched
antlers, inhabits the remote woodlands, and there are five species of antelope (kamo-shika) which are
found in the highest and least accessible parts of the mountains. Domestic animals have for
representatives the horse (uma), a small beast with little beauty of form though possessing much
hardihood and endurance; the ox (ushi) mainly a beast of burden or draught; the pig (buta), very
occasionally; the dog (inu), an unsightly and useless brute; the cat (neko), with a stump in lieu of a tail;
barndoor fowl (niwa-tori), ducks (ahiro) and pigeons (hato). The turkey (shichi-mencho) and the goose
(gachō) have been introduced but are little appreciated as yet.

Although so-called singing birds exist in tolerable numbers, those worthy of the name of songster are
few. Eminently first is a species of nightingale (uguisu), which, though smaller than its congener of the
West, is gifted with exquisitely modulated flute-like notes of considerable range. The uguisu is a dainty
bird in the matter of temperature. After May it retires from the low-lying regions and gradually ascends
to higher altitudes as midsummer approaches. A variety of the cuckoo called holotogisu (Cuculus
poliocephalus) in imitation of the sound of its voice, is heard as an accompaniment of the uguisu, and
there are also three other species, the kakkōdori (Cuculus canorus), the tsutsu-dori (C. himalayanus),
and the masuhakari, or juichi (C. hyperythrus). To these the lark, hibari (Alauda japonica), joins its
voice, and the cooing of the pigeon (hato) is supplemented by the twittering of the ubiquitous sparrow
(suzume), while over all are heard the raucous caw of the raven (karasu) and the harsh scream of the
kite (tombi), between which and the raven there is perpetual feud. The falcon (taka), always an
honoured bird in Japan, where from time immemorial hawking has been an aristocratic pastime, is
common enough, and so is the sparrow-hawk (hai-taka), but the eagle (washi) affects solitude. Two
English ornithologists, Blakiston and Pryer, are the recognized authorities on the birds of Japan, and in a
contribution to the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan (vol. x.) they have enumerated 359
species. Starlings (muku-dori) are numerous, and so are the wagtail (sekirei), the swallow (tsubame)
the martin (ten), the woodchat (mozu) and the jay (kakesu or kashi-dori), but the magpie (tōgarasu),
though common in China, is rare in Japan. Blackbirds and thrushes are not found, nor any species of
parrot, but on the other hand, we have the hoopoe (yatsugashira), the red-breast (komadori), the
bluebird (ruri), the wren (miso-sazai), the golden-crested wren (itadaki), the golden-eagle (inu-washi),
the finch (hiwa), the longtailed rose-finch (benimashiko), the ouzel—brown (akahara), dusky (tsugumi)
and water (kawa-garasu)—the kingfisher (kawasemi), the crake (kuina) and the tomtit (kara). Among
game-birds there are the quail (uzura), the heathcock (ezo-rachō), the ptarmigan (ezo-raichō or ezo-
yama-dori), the woodcock (hodo-shigi), the snipe (ta-shigi)—with two special species, the solitary snipe
(yama-shigi) and the painted snipe (tama-shigi)—and the pheasant (kiji). Of the last there are two
species, the kiji proper, a bird presenting no remarkable features, and the copper pheasant, a
magnificent bird with plumage of dazzling beauty. Conspicuous above all others, not only for grace of
form but also for the immemorial attention paid to them by Japanese artists, are the crane (tsuru) and
the heron (sagi). Of the crane there are seven species, the stateliest and most beautiful being the Grus
japonensis (tanchō or tanchō-zuru), which stands some 5 ft. high and has pure white plumage with a
red crown, black tail-feathers and black upper neck. It is a sacred bird, and it shares with the tortoise
the honour of being an emblem of longevity. The other species are the demoiselle crane (anewa-zuru),
the black crane (kuro-zuru or nezumi-zuru, i.e. Grus cinerea), the Grus leucauchen (mana-zuru), the
Grus monachus (nabe-zuru), and the white crane (shiro-zuru). The Japanese include in this category
the stork (kōzuru), but it may be said to have disappeared from the island. The heron (sagi) constitutes
a charming feature in a Japanese landscape, especially the silver heron (shira-sagi), which displays its
brilliant white plumage in the rice-fields from spring to early autumn. The night-heron (goi-sagi) is very
common. Besides these waders there are plover (chidori); golden (muna-guro or ai-guro); gray
(daizen); ringed (shiro-chidori); spur-winged (keri) and Harting’s sand-plover (ikaru-chidori); sand-
pipers—green (ashiro-shigi) and spoon-billed (hera-shigi)—and water-hens (ban). Among swimming
birds the most numerous are the gull (kamome), of which many varieties are found; the cormorant (u)
—which is trained by the Japanese for fishing purposes—and multitudinous flocks of wild-geese (gan)
and wild-ducks (kamo), from the beautiful mandarin-duck (oshi-dori), emblem of conjugal fidelity, to
teal (kogamo) and widgeon (hidori-gamo) of several species. Great preserves of wild-duck and teal used
to be a frequent feature in the parks attached to the feudal castles of old Japan, when a peculiar
method of netting the birds or striking them with falcons was a favourite aristocratic pastime. A few of
such preserves still exist, and it is noticeable that in the Palace-moats of Tōkyō all kinds of water-birds,
attracted by the absolute immunity they enjoy there, assemble in countless numbers at the approach of
winter and remain until the following spring, wholly indifferent to the close proximity of the city.

Of reptiles Japan has only 30 species, and among them is included the marine turtle (umi-game)
which can scarcely be said to frequent her waters, since it is seen only at rare intervals on the southern
coast. This is even truer of the larger species (the shōgakubo, i.e. Chelonia cephalo). Both are highly
valued for the sake of the shell, which has always been a favourite material for ladies’ combs and
hairpins. By carefully selecting certain portions and welding them together in a perfectly flawless mass,
a pure amber-coloured object is obtained at heavy cost. Of the fresh-water tortoise there are two kinds,
the suppon (Trionyx japonica) and the kame-no-ko (Emys vulgaris japonica). The latter is one of the
Japanese emblems of longevity. It is often depicted with a flowing tail, which appendix attests close
observation of nature; for the mino-game, as it is called, represents a tortoise to which, in the course of
many scores of years, confervae have attached themselves so as to form an appendage of long green
locks as the creature swims about. Sea-snakes occasionally make their way to Japan, being carried
thither by the Black Current (Kuro Shiwo) and the monsoon, but they must be regarded as merely
fortuitous visitors. There are 10 species of land-snakes (hebi), among which one only (the mamushi, or
Trigonocephalus Blomhoffi) is venomous. The others for the most part frequent the rice-fields and live
upon frogs. The largest is the aodaisho (Elaphis virgatus), which sometimes attains a length of 5 ft., but
is quite harmless. Lizards (tokage), frogs (kawazu or kaeru), toads (ebogayeru) and newts (imori) are
plentiful, and much curiosity attaches to a giant salamander (sansho-uwo, called also hazekai and other
names according to localities), which reaches to a length of 5 ft., and (according to Rein) is closely
related to the Andrias Scheuchzeri of the Oeningen strata.

The seas surrounding the Japanese islands may be called a resort of fishes, for, in addition to
numerous species which abide there permanently, there are migatory kinds, coming and going with the
monsoons and with the great ocean streams that set to and from the shores. In winter, for example,
when the northern monsoon begins to blow, numbers of denizens of the Sea of Okhotsk swim
southward to the more genial waters of north Japan; and in summer the Indian Ocean and the Malayan
archipelago send to her southern coasts a crowd of emigrants which turn homeward again at the
approach of winter. It thus falls out that in spite of the enormous quantity of fish consumed as food or
used as fertilizers year after year by the Japanese, the seas remain as richly stocked as ever. Nine
orders of fishes have been distinguished as the piscifauna of Japanese waters. They may be found
carefully catalogued with all their included species in Rein’s Japan, and highly interesting researches by
Japanese physiographists are recorded in the Journal of the College of Science of the Imperial
University of Tokyo. Briefly, the chief fish of Japan are the bream (tai), the perch (suzuki), the mullet
(bora), the rock-fish (hatatate), the grunter (oni-o-koze), the mackerel (saba), the sword-fish (tachi-
uwo), the wrasse (kusabi), the haddock (tara), the flounder (karei), and its congeners the sole (hirame)
and the turbot (ishi-garei), the shad (namazu), the salmon (shake), the masu, the carp (koi), the funa,
the gold fish (kingyo), the gold carp (higoi), the loach (dojo), the herring (nishin), the iwashi(Clupea
melanosticta), the eel (unagi), the conger eel (anago), the coffer-fish (hako-uwo), the fugu (Tetrodon),
the ai (Plecoglossus altivelis), the sayori (Hemiramphus sayori), the shark (same), the dogfish (manuka-
zame), the ray (e), the sturgeon (chō-zame) and the maguro (Thynnus sibi).

The insect life of Japan broadly corresponds with that of temperate regions in Europe. But there are
also a number of tropical species, notably among butterflies and beetles. The latter—for which the
generic term in Japan is mushi or kaichū—include some beautiful species, from the “jewel beetle”
(tama-mushi), the “gold beetle” (kogane-mushi) and the Chrysochroa fulgidissima, which glow and
sparkle with the brilliancy of gold and precious stones, to the jet black Melanauster chinensis, which
seems to have been fashioned out of lacquer spotted with white. There is also a giant nasicornous
beetle. Among butterflies (chōchō) Rein gives prominence to the broad-winged kind (Papilio), which
recall tropical brilliancy. One (Papilio macilentus) is peculiar to Japan. Many others seem to be practically
identical with European species. That is especially true of the moths (yachō), 100 species of which have
been identified with English types. There are seven large silk-moths, of which two only (Bombyx mori
and Antheraea yama-mai) are employed in producing silk. Fishing lines are manufactured from the
cocoons of the genjiki-mushi (Caligula japonica), which is one of the commonest moths in the islands.
Wasps, bees and hornets, generically known as hachi, differ little from their European types, except that
they are somewhat larger and more sluggish. The gad-fly (abu), the housefly (hai), the mosquito (ka),
the flea (nomi) and occasionally the bedbug (called by the Japanese kara-mushi because it is believed
to be imported from China), are all fully represented, and the dragon-fly (tombō) presents itself in
immense numbers at certain seasons. Grasshoppers (batta) are abundant, and one kind (inago), which
frequent the rice-fields when the cereal is ripening, are caught and fried in oil as an article of food. On
the moors in late summer the mantis (kama-kiri-mushi) is commonly met with, and the cricket (kūrogi)
and the cockroach abound. Particularly obtrusive is the cicada (semi), of which there are many species.
Its strident voice is heard most loudly at times of great heat, when the song of the birds is hushed. The
dragon-fly and the cicada afford ceaseless entertainment to the Japanese boy. He catches them by
means of a rod smeared with bird-lime, and then tying a fine string under their wings, he flies them at
its end. Spiders abound, from a giant species to one of the minutest dimensions, and the tree-bug is
always ready to make a destructive lodgment in any sickly tree-stem. The scorpion (sasori) exists but is
not poisonous.

Japanese rivers and lakes are the habitation of several—seven or eight—species of fresh-water crab
(kani), which live in holes on the shore and emerge in the daytime, often moving to considerable
distances from their homes. Shrimps (kawa-ebi) also are found in the rivers and rice-fields. These
shrimps as well as a large species of crab—mokuzō-gani—serve the people as an article of food, but the
small crabs which live in holes have no recognized raison d’être. In Japan, as elsewhere, the principal
crustacea are found in the sea. Flocks of lupa and other species swim in the wake of the tropical fishes
which move towards Japan at certain seasons. Naturally these migratory crabs are not limited to
Japanese waters. Milne Edwards has identified ten species which occur in Australian seas also, and Rein
mentions, as belonging to the same category, the “helmet-crab” or “horse-shoe crab” (kabuto-gani;
Limulus longispina Hoeven). Very remarkable is the giant Taka-ashi—long legs (Macrocheirus
Kaempferi), which has legs 1½ metres long and is found in the seas of Japan and the Malay
archipelago. There is no lobster on the coasts of Japan, but there are various species of crayfish
(Palinurus and Scyllarus) the principal of which, under the names of ise-ebi (Palinurus japonicus) and
kuruma-ebi (Penaeus canaliculatus) are greatly prized as an article of diet.

Already in 1882, Dunker in his Index Molluscorum Maris Japonici enumerated nearly 1200 species of
marine molluscs found in the Japanese archipelago, and several others have since then been added to
the list. As for the land and fresh-water molluscs, some 200 of which are known, they are mainly
kindred with those of China and Siberia, tropical and Indian forms being exceptional. There are 57
species of Helix (maimaitsuburi, dedemushi, katatsumuri or kwagyū) and 25 of Clausilia (kiseru-gai or
pipe-snail), including the two largest snails in Japan, namely the Cl. Martensi and the Cl. Yoko-
hamensis, which attain to a length of 58 mm. and 44 mm. respectively. The mussel (i-no-kai) is well
represented by the species numa-gai (marsh-mussel), karasu-gai (raven-mussel), kamisori-gai (razor-
mussel), shijimi-no-kai (Corbicula), of which there are nine species, &c. Unlike the land-molluscs, the
great majority of Japanese sea-molluscs are akin to those of the Indian Ocean and the Malay
archipelago. Some of them extend westward as far as the Red Sea. The best known and most frequent
forms are the asari (Tapes philippinarum), the hamaguri (Meretrix lusoria), the baka (Mactra sulcataria),
the aka-gai (Scapharca inflata), the kaki (oyster), the awabi (Haliotis japonica), the sazae (Turbo
cornutus), the hora-gai (Tritonium tritonius), &c. Among the cephalopods several are of great value as
articles of food, e.g. the surume (Onychotheuthis Banksii), the tako (octopus), the shidako (Eledone),
the ika (Sepia) and the tako-fune (Argonauta).
 Greeff enumerates, as denizens of Japanese seas, 26 kinds of sea-urchins (gaze or uni) and 12 of
starfish (hitode or tako-no-makura). These, like the mollusca, indicate the influence of the Kuro Shiwo
and the south-west monsoon, for they have close affinity with species found in the Indian and Pacific
Oceans. For edible purposes the most valuable of the Japanese echinoderms is the sea-slug or bêche de
mer (namako), which is greatly appreciated and forms an important staple of export to China. Rein
writes: “Very remarkable in connexion with the starfishes is the occurrence of Asterias rubens on the
Japanese coast. This creature displays an almost unexampled frequency and extent of distribution in the
whole North Sea, in the western parts of the Baltic, near the Faroe Islands, Iceland, Greenland and the
English coasts, so that it may be regarded as a characteristic North Sea echinoderm form. Towards the
south this starfish disappears, it seems, completely; for it is not yet known with certainty to exist either
in the Mediterranean or in the southern parts of the Atlantic Ocean. In others also Asterias rubens is not
known—and then it suddenly reappears in Japan. Archaster typicus has a pretty wide distribution over
the Indian Ocean; other Asteridae of Japan, on the other hand, appear to be confined to its shores.”

Japan is not rich in corals and sponges. Her most interesting contributions are crust-corals
(Gorgonidae, Corallium, Isis, &c.), and especially flint-sponges, called by the Japanese hoshi-gai and
known as “glass-coral” (Hyalonema sieboldi). These last have not been found anywhere except at the
entrance of the Bay of Tōkyō at a depth of some 200 fathoms.

II.—The People

Population.—The population was as follows on the 31st of December 1907:—

Population
Population. Males. Females. Totals.per
sq. m.
Japan proper 24,601,658 24,172,627 48,774,285 330
Formosa (Taiwan) 1,640,778 1,476,137 3,116,915 224
Sakhalin 7,175 3,631 10,806 0.1
————— ————— —————
Totals 26,249,611 25,652,395 51,902,006

The following table shows the rate of increase in the four quadrennial periods between 1891 and
1907 in Japan proper:—

Average Population
Year. Males. Females. Totals. increase per
per cent. sq. m.
1891 20,563,416 20,155,261 40,718,677 1.09 272
1895 21,345,750 20,904,870 42,270,620 1.09 286
1899 22,330,112 21,930,540 44,260,652 1.14 299
1903 23,601,640 23,131,236 46,732,876 1.54 316
1907 24,601,658 24,172,627 48,774,285 1.13 330

The population of Formosa (Taiwan) during the ten-year period 1898-1907 grew as follows:—

Average Population
Year. Males. Females. Totals. increase per
per cent. sq. m.
1898 1,307,428 1,157,539 2,464,967 — 182
1902 1,513,280 1,312,067 2,825,347 2.70 209
1907 1,640,778 1,476,137 3,116,915 2.37 224
 According to quasi-historical records, the population of the empire in the year a.d. 610 was
4,988,842, and in 736 it had grown to 8,631,770. It is impossible to say how much reliance
may be placed on these figures, but from the 18th century, when the name of every subject
had to be inscribed on the roll of a temple as a measure against his adoption of Christianity, a
tolerably trustworthy census could always be taken. The returns thus obtained show that from
the year 1723 until 1846 the population remained almost stationary, the figure in the former
year being 26,065,422, and that in the latter year 26,907,625. There had, indeed, been five
periods of declining population in that interval of 124 years, namely, the periods 1738-1744,
1759-1762, 1773-1774, 1791-1792, and 1844-1846. But after 1872, when the census showed
a total of 33,110,825, the population grew steadily, its increment between 1872 and 1898
inclusive, a period of 27 years, being 10,649,990. Such a rate of increase invests the question
of subsistence with great importance. In former times the area of land under cultivation
increased in a marked degree. Returns prepared at the beginning of the 10th century showed
2½ million acres under crops, whereas the figure in 1834 was over 8 million acres. But the
development of means of subsistence has been outstripped by the growth of population in
recent years. Thus, during the period between 1899 and 1907 the population received an
increment of 11.6% whereas the food-producing area increased by only 4.4%. This
discrepancy caused anxiety at one time, but large fields suitable for colonization have been
opened in Sakhalin, Korea, Manchuria and Formosa, so that the problem of subsistence has
ceased to be troublesome. The birth-rate, taking the average of the decennial period ended
1907, is 3.05% of the population, and the death-rate is 2.05. Males exceed females in the ratio
of 2% approximately. But this rule does not hold after the age of 65, where for every 100
females only 83 males are found. The Japanese are of low stature as compared with the
inhabitants of Western Europe: about 16% of the adult males are below 5 ft. But there are
evidences of steady improvement in this respect. Thus, during the period of ten years between
1893 and 1902, it was found that the percentage of recruits of 5 ft. 5 in. and upward grew
from 10.09 to 12.67, the rate of increase having been remarkably steady; and the percentage
of those under 5 ft. declined from 20.21 to 16.20.

Towns.—There are in Japan 23 towns having a population of over 50,000, and there are 76
having a population of over 20,000. The larger towns, their populations and the growth of the
latter during the five-year period commencing with 1898 were as follow:—

Urban Populations

1898. 1903.
Tōkyō 1,440,121 1,795,128
Osaka 821,235 988,200
Kiōto 353,139 379,404
Nagoya 244,145 284,829
Kobe 215,780 283,839
 Yokohama 193,762 324,776
Hiroshima 122,306 113,545
Nagasaki 107,422 151,727
Kanazawa 83,595 97,548
Sendai 83,325 93,773
Hakodate 78,040 84,746
Fukuoka 66,190 70,107
Wakayama 63,667 67,908
Tokushima 61,501 62,998
Kumamoto 61,463 55,277
Toyama 59,558 86,276
Okayama 58,025 80,140
Otaru 56,961 79,746
Kagoshima 53,481 58,384
Niigata 53,366 58,821
Sakai 50,203 ———
Sapporo ——— 55,304
Kure ——— 62,825
Sasebo ——— 52,607

The growth of Kure and Sasebo is attributable to the fact that they have become the sites of
large ship-building yards, the property of the state.

The number of houses in Japan at the end of 1903, when the census was last taken, was
8,725,544, the average number of inmates in each house being thus 5.5.

Physical Characteristics.—The best authorities are agreed that the Japanese people do not
differ physically from their Korean and Chinese neighbours as much as the inhabitants of
northern Europe differ from those of southern Europe. It is true that the Japanese are shorter
in stature than either the Chinese or the Koreans. Thus the average height of the Japanese
male is only 5 ft. 3½ in., and that of the female 4 ft. 10½ in., whereas in the case of the
Koreans and the northern Chinese the corresponding figures for males are 5 ft. 5¾ in. and 5
ft. 7 in. respectively. Yet in other physical characteristics the Japanese, the Koreans and the
Chinese resemble each other so closely that, under similar conditions as to costume and
coiffure, no appreciable difference is apparent. Thus since it has become the fashion for
Chinese students to flock to the schools and colleges of Japan, there adopting, as do their
Japanese fellow-students, Occidental garments and methods of hairdressing, the distinction of
nationality ceases to be perceptible. The most exhaustive anthropological study of the
Japanese has been made by Dr E. Baelz (emeritus professor of medicine in the Imperial
University of Tōkyō), who enumerates the following sub-divisions of the race inhabiting the
Japanese islands. The first and most important is the Manchu-Korean type; that is to say, the
type which prevails in north China and in Korea. This is seen specially among the upper classes
in Japan. Its characteristics are exceptional tallness combined with slenderness and elegance
of figure; a face somewhat long, without any special prominence of the cheekbones but having
more or less oblique eyes; an aquiline nose; a slightly receding chin; largish upper teeth; a
long neck; a narrow chest; a long trunk, and delicately shaped, small hands with long, slender
fingers. The most plausible hypothesis is that men of this type are descendants of Korean
colonists who, in prehistoric times, settled in the province of Izumo, on the west coast of
Japan, having made their way thither from the Korean peninsula by the island of Oki, being
carried by the cold current which flows along the eastern coast of Korea. The second type is
the Mongol. It is not very frequently found in Japan, perhaps because, under favourable social
conditions, it tends to pass into the Manchu-Korean type. Its representative has a broad face,
with prominent cheekbones, oblique eyes, a nose more or less flat and a wide mouth. The
figure is strongly and squarely built, but this last characteristic can scarcely be called typical.
There is no satisfactory theory as to the route by which the Mongols reached Japan, but it is
scarcely possible to doubt that they found their way thither at one time. More important than
either of these types as an element of the Japanese nation is the Malay. Small in stature, with
a well-knit frame, the cheekbones prominent, the face generally round, the nose and neck
short, a marked tendency to prognathism, the chest broad and well developed, the trunk long,
the hands small and delicate—this Malay type is found in nearly all the islands along the east
coast of the Asiatic continent as well as in southern China and in the extreme south-west of
Korean peninsula. Carried northward by the warm current known as the Kuro Shiwo, the
Malays seem to have landed in Kiūshiū—the most southerly of the main Japanese islands—
whence they ultimately pushed northward and conquered their Manchu-Korean predecessors,
the Izumo colonists. None of the above three, however, can be regarded as the earliest settlers
in Japan. Before them all was a tribe of immigrants who appear to have crossed from north-
eastern Asia at an epoch when the sea had not yet dug broad channels between the continent
and the adjacent islands. These people—the Ainu—are usually spoken of as the aborigines of
Japan. They once occupied the whole country, but were gradually driven northward by the
Manchu-Koreans and the Malays, until only a mere handful of them survived in the northern
island of Yezo. Like the Malay and the Mongol types they are short and thickly built, but unlike
either they have prominent brows, bushy locks, round deep-set eyes, long divergent lashes,
straight noses and much hair on the face and the body. In short, the Ainu suggest much closer
affinity with Europeans than does any other of the types that go to make up the population of
Japan. It is not to be supposed, however, that these traces of different elements indicate any
lack of homogeneity in the Japanese race. Amalgamation has been completely effected in the
course of long centuries, and even the Ainu, though the small surviving remnant of them now
live apart, have left a trace upon their conquerors.

The typical Japanese of the present day has certain marked physical peculiarities. In the first
place, the ratio of the height of his head to the length of his body is greater than it is in
Europeans. The Englishman’s head is often one-eighth of the length of his body or even less,
and in continental Europeans, as a rule, the ratio does not amount to one-seventh; but in the
Japanese it exceeds the latter figure. In all nations men of short stature have relatively large
heads, but in the case of the Japanese there appears to be some racial reason for the
phenomenon. Another striking feature is shortness of legs relatively to length of trunk. In
northern Europeans the leg is usually much more than one-half of the body’s length, but in
Japanese the ratio is one-half or even less; so that whereas the Japanese, when seated, looks
almost as tall as a European, there may be a great difference between their statures when
both are standing. This special feature has been attributed to the Japanese habit of kneeling
instead of sitting, but investigation shows that it is equally marked in the working classes who
pass most of their time standing. In Europe the same physical traits—relative length of head
and shortness of legs—distinguish the central race (Alpine) from the Teutonic, and seem to
indicate an affinity between the former and the Mongols. It is in the face, however, that we
find specially distinctive traits, namely, in the eyes, the eye-lashes, the cheekbones and the
beard. Not that the eyeball itself differs from that of an Occidental. The difference consists in
the fact that “the socket of the eye is comparatively small and shallow, and the osseous ridges
at the brows being little marked, the eye is less deeply set than in the European. In fact, seen
in profile, forehead and upper lip often form an unbroken line.” Then, again, the shape of the
eye, as modelled by the lids, shows a striking peculiarity. For whereas the open eye is almost
invariably horizontal in the European, it is often oblique in the Japanese on account of the
higher level of the upper corner. “But even apart from obliqueness, the shape of the corners is
peculiar in the Mongolian eye. The inner corner is partly or entirely covered by a fold of the
upper lid continuing more or less into the lower lid. This fold often covers also the whole free
rim of the upper lid, so that the insertion of the eye-lashes is hidden” and the opening
between the lids is so narrowed as to disappear altogether at the moment of laughter. As for
the eye-lashes, not only are they comparatively short and sparse, but also they converge
instead of diverging, so that whereas in a European the free ends of the lashes are further
distant from each other than their roots, in a Japanese they are nearer together. Prominence
of cheekbones is another special feature, but it is much commoner in the lower than in the
upper classes, where elongated faces may almost be said to be the rule. Finally, there is
marked paucity of hair on the face of the average Japanese—apart from the Ainu—and what
hair there is is nearly always straight. It is not to be supposed, however, that because the
Japanese is short of stature and often finely moulded, he lacks either strength or endurance.
On the contrary, he possesses both in a marked degree, and his deftness of finger is not less
remarkable than the suppleness and activity of his body.

Moral Characteristics.—The most prominent trait of Japanese disposition is gaiety of heart.

Emphatically of a laughter-loving nature, the Japanese passes through the world with a smile
on his lips. The petty ills of life do not disturb his equanimity. He takes them as part of the
day’s work, and though he sometimes grumbles, rarely, if ever, does he repine. Exceptional to
this general rule, however, is a mood of pessimism which sometimes overtakes youths on the
threshold of manhood. Finding the problem of life insolvable, they abandon the attempt to
solve it and take refuge in the grave. It seems as though there were always a number of
young men hovering on the brink of such suicidal despair. An example alone is needed finally
to destroy the equilibrium. Some one throws himself over a cataract or leaps into the crater of
a volcano, and immediately a score or two follow. Apparently the more picturesquely awful the
manner of the demise, the greater its attractive force. The thing is not a product of insanity, as
the term is usually interpreted; letters always left behind by the victims prove them to have
been in full possession of their reasoning faculties up to the last moment. Some observers lay
the blame at the door of Buddhism, a creed which promotes pessimism by begetting the
anchorite, the ascetic and the shuddering believer in seven hells. But Buddhism did not
formerly produce such incidents, and, for the rest, the faith of Shaka has little sway over the
student mind in Japan. The phenomenon is modern: it is not an outcome of Japanese nature
nor yet of Buddhist teaching, but is due to the stress of endeavouring to reach the standards
of Western acquirement with grievously inadequate equipment, opportunities and resources.
In order to support himself and pay his academic fees many a Japanese has to fall into the
ranks of the physical labourer during a part of each day or night. Ill-nourished, over-worked
and, it may be, disappointed, he finds the struggle intolerable and so passes out into the
darkness. But he is not a normal type. The normal type is light-hearted and buoyant. One
naturally expects to find, and one does find, that this moral sunshine is associated with good
temper. The Japanese is exceptionally serene. Irascibility is regarded as permissible in sickly
children only: grown people are supposed to be superior to displays of impatience. But there is
a limit of imperturbability, and when that limit is reached, the subsequent passion is
desperately vehement. It has been said that these traits go to make the Japanese soldier what
he is. The hardships of a campaign cause him little suffering since he never frets over them,
but the hour of combat finds him forgetful of everything save victory. In the case of the
military class—and prior to the Restoration of 1867 the term “military class” was synonymous
with “educated class”—this spirit of stoicism was built up by precept on a solid basis of
heredity. The samurai (soldier) learned that his first characteristic must be to suppress all
outward displays of emotion. Pain, pleasure, passion and peril must all find him unperturbed.
The supreme test, satisfied so frequently as to be commonplace, was a shocking form of
suicide performed with a placid mien. This capacity, coupled with readiness to sacrifice life at
any moment on the altar of country, fief or honour, made a remarkably heroic character. On
the other hand, some observers hold that the education of this stoicism was effected at the
cost of the feelings it sought to conceal. In support of that theory it is pointed out that the
average Japanese, man or woman, will recount a death or some other calamity in his own
family with a perfectly calm, if not a smiling, face. Probably there is a measure of truth in the
criticism. Feelings cannot be habitually hidden without being more or less blunted. But here
another Japanese trait presents itself—politeness. There is no more polite nation in the world
than the Japanese. Whether in real courtesy of heart they excel Occidentals may be open to
doubt, but in all the forms of comity they are unrivalled. Now one of the cardinal rules of
politeness is to avoid burdening a stranger with the weight of one’s own woes. Therefore a
mother, passing from the chamber which has just witnessed her paroxysms of grief, will
describe calmly to a stranger—especially a foreigner—the death of her only child. The same
suppression of emotional display in public is observed in all the affairs of life. Youths and
maidens maintain towards each other a demeanour of reserve and even indifference, from
which it has been confidently affirmed that love does not exist in Japan. The truth is that in no
other country do so many dual suicides occur—suicides of a man and woman who, unable to
be united in this world, go to a union beyond the grave. It is true, nevertheless, that love as a
prelude to marriage finds only a small place in Japanese ethics. Marriages in the great majority
of cases are arranged with little reference to the feelings of the parties concerned. It might be
supposed that conjugal fidelity must suffer from such a custom. It does suffer seriously in the
case of the husband, but emphatically not in the case of the wife. Even though she be
cognisant—as she often is—of her husband’s extra-marital relations, she abates nothing of the
duty which she has been taught to regard as the first canon of female ethics. From many
points of view, indeed, there is no more beautiful type of character than that of the Japanese
woman. She is entirely unselfish; exquisitely modest without being anything of a prude;
abounding in intelligence which is never obscured by egoism; patient in the hour of suffering;
strong in time of affliction; a faithful wife; a loving mother; a good daughter; and capable, as
history shows, of heroism rivalling that of the stronger sex. As to the question of sexual virtue
and morality in Japan, grounds for a conclusive verdict are hard to find. In the interests of
hygiene prostitution is licensed, and that fact is by many critics construed as proof of
tolerance. But licensing is associated with strict segregation, and it results that the great cities
are conspicuously free from evidences of vice, and that the streets may be traversed by
women at all hours of the day and night with perfect impunity and without fear of
encountering offensive spectacles. The ratio of marriages is approximately 8.46 per thousand
units of the population, and the ratio of divorces is 1.36 per thousand. There are thus about 16
divorces for every hundred marriages. Divorces take place chiefly among the lower orders,
who frequently treat marriage merely as a test of a couple’s suitability to be helpmates in the
struggles of life. If experience develops incompatibility of temper or some other mutually
repellent characteristic, separation follows as a matter of course. On the other hand, divorces
among persons of the upper classes are comparatively rare, and divorces on account of a
wife’s unfaithfulness are almost unknown.

Concerning the virtues of truth and probity, extremely conflicting opinions have been
expressed. The Japanese samurai always prided himself on having “no second word.” He never
drew his sword without using it; he never gave his word without keeping it. Yet it may be
doubted whether the value attached in Japan to the abstract quality, truth, is as high as the
value attached to it in England, or whether the consciousness of having told a falsehood
weighs as heavily on the heart. Much depends upon the motive. Whatever may be said of the
upper class, it is probably true that the average Japanese will not sacrifice expediency on the
altar of truth. He will be veracious only so long as the consequences are not seriously
injurious. Perhaps no more can be affirmed of any nation. The “white lie” of the Anglo-Saxon
and the hōben no uso of the Japanese are twins. In the matter of probity, however, it is
possible to speak with more assurance. There is undoubtedly in the lower ranks of Japanese
tradesmen a comparatively large fringe of persons whose standard of commercial morality is
defective. They are descendants of feudal days when the mercantile element, being counted
as the dregs of the population, lost its self-respect. Against this blemish—which is in process of
gradual correction—the fact has to be set that the better class of merchants, the whole of the
artisans and the labouring classes in general, obey canons of probity fully on a level with the
best to be found elsewhere. For the rest, frugality, industry and patience characterize all the
bread-winners; courage and burning patriotism are attributes of the whole nation.

There are five qualities possessed by the Japanese in a marked degree. The first is frugality.
From time immemorial the great mass of the people have lived in absolute ignorance of luxury
in any form and in the perpetual presence of a necessity to economize. Amid these
circumstances there has emerged capacity to make a little go a long way and to be content
with the most meagre fare. The second quality is endurance. It is born of causes cognate with
those which have begotten frugality. The average Japanese may be said to live without
artificial heat; his paper doors admit the light but do not exclude the cold. His brazier barely
suffices to warm his hands and his face. Equally is he a stranger to methods of artificial
cooling. He takes the frost that winter inflicts and the fever that summer brings as unavoidable
visitors. The third quality is obedience; the offspring of eight centuries passed under the
shadow of military autocracy. Whatever he is authoritatively bidden to do, that the Japanese
will do. The fourth quality is altruism. In the upper classes the welfare of the family has been
set above the interests of each member. The fifth quality is a genius for detail. Probably this is
the outcome of an extraordinarily elaborate system of social etiquette. Each generation has
added something to the canons of its predecessor, and for every ten points preserved not
more than one has been discarded. An instinctive respect for minutiae has thus been
inculcated, and has gradually extended to all the affairs of life. That this accuracy may
sometimes degenerate into triviality, and that such absorption in trifles may occasionally hide
the broad horizon, is conceivable. But the only hitherto apparent evidence of such defects is an
excessive clinging to the letter of the law; a marked reluctance to exercise discretion; and that,
perhaps, is attributable rather to the habit of obedience. Certainly the Japanese have proved
themselves capable of great things, and their achievements seem to have been helped rather
than retarded by their attention to detail.

III.—Language and Literature

Language.—Since the year 1820, when Klaproth concluded that the Japanese language had
sprung from the Ural-Altaic stock, philologists have busied themselves in tracing its affinities. If
the theories hitherto held with regard to the origin of the Japanese people be correct, close
relationship should exist between the Japanese and the Korean tongues, and possibly between
the Japanese and the Chinese. Aston devoted much study to the former question, but
although he proved that in construction the two have a striking similarity, he could not find any
corresponding likeness in their vocabularies. As far back as the beginning of the Christian era
the Japanese and the Koreans could not hold intercourse without the aid of interpreters. If
then the languages of Korea and Japan had a common stock, they must have branched off
from it at a date exceedingly remote. As for the languages of Japan and China, they have
remained essentially different throughout some twenty centuries in spite of the fact that Japan
adopted Chinese calligraphy and assimilated Chinese literature. Mr K. Hirai has done much to
establish his theory that Japanese and Aryan had a common parent. But nothing has yet been
substantiated. Meanwhile an inquirer is confronted by the strange fact that of three
neighbouring countries between which frequent communication existed, one (China) never
deviated from an ideographic script; another (Korea) invented an alphabet, and the third
(Japan) devised a syllabary. Antiquaries have sought to show that Japan possessed some form
of script before her first contact with either Korea or China. But such traces of prehistoric
letters as are supposed to have been found seem to be corruptions of the Korean alphabet
rather than independent symbols. It is commonly believed that the two Japanese syllabaries—
which, though distinct in form, have identical sounds—were invented by Kukai (790) and Kibi
Daijin (760) respectively. But the evidence of old documents seems to show that these
syllabaries had a gradual evolution and that neither was the outcome of a single scholar’s
inventive genius.

The sequence of events appears to have been this:—Japan’s earliest contact with an over-
sea people was with the Koreans, and she made some tentative efforts to adapt their alphabet
to the expression of her own language. Traces of these efforts survived, and inspired the idea
that the art of writing was practised by the Japanese before the opening of intercourse with
their continental neighbours. Korea, however, had neither a literary nor an ethical message to
deliver, and thus her script failed to attract much attention. Very different was the case when
China presented her noble code of Confucian philosophy and the literature embodying it. The
Japanese then recognized a lofty civilization and placed themselves as pupils at its feet,
learning its script and deciphering its books. Their veneration extended to ideographs. At first
they adapted them frankly to their own tongue. For example, the ideographs signifying rice or
metal or water in Chinese were used to convey the same ideas in Japanese. Each ideograph
thus came to have two sounds, one Japanese, the other Chinese—e.g. the ideograph for rice
had for Japanese sound kome and for Chinese sound bei. Nor was this the whole story. There
were two epochs in Japan’s study of the Chinese language: first, the epoch when she received
Confucianism through Korea; and, secondly, the epoch when she began to study Buddhism
direct from China. Whether the sounds that came by Korea were corrupt, or whether the
interval separating these epochs had sufficed to produce a sensible difference of pronunciation
in China itself, it would seem that the students of Buddhism who flocked from Japan to the
Middle Kingdom during the Sui era (a.d. 589-619) insisted on the accuracy of the pronunciation
acquired there, although it diverged perceptibly from the pronunciation already recognized in
Japan. Thus, in fine, each word came to have three sounds—two Chinese, known as the kan
and the go, and one Japanese, known as the kun. For example:—

“kan” “go” japanese

meaning.
sound. sound. sound.

Sei Jo Koe Voice

Nen Zen Toshi Year
Jinkan Ningen Hito no aida Human being.
As to which of the first two methods of pronunciation had chronological precedence, the
weight of opinion is that the kan came later than the go. Evidently this triplication of sounds
had many disadvantages, but, on the other hand, the whole Chinese language may be said to
have been grafted on the Japanese. Chinese has the widest capacity of any tongue ever
invented. It consists of thousands of monosyllabic roots, each having a definite meaning.
These monosyllables may be used singly or combined, two, three or four at a time, so that the
resulting combinations convey almost any conceivable shades of meaning. Take, for example,
the word “electricity.” The very idea conveyed was wholly novel in Japan. But scholars were
immediately able to construct the following:—

Lightning. Den.
Exhalation. Ki.
Electricity. Denki.
Telegram. Dempō. Hō = tidings.
Electric light. Dentō. Tō = lamp.
Negative electricity. Indenki. In = the negative principle.
Positive electricity. Yodenki. Yo = the positive principle.
Thermo-electricity. Netsudenki. Netsu = heat.
Dynamic-electricity. Ryūdo-denki. Ryūdo = fluid.
Telephone. Denwa. Wa= conversation.

Every branch of learning can thus be equipped with a vocabulary. Potent, however, as such a
vehicle is for expressing thought, its ideographic script constitutes a great obstacle to general
acquisition, and the Japanese soon applied themselves to minimizing the difficulty by
substituting a phonetic system. Analysis showed that all the required sounds could be
conveyed with 47 syllables, and having selected the ideographs that corresponded to those
sounds, they reduced them, first, to forms called hiragana, and, secondly, to still more
simplified forms called katakana.

Such, in brief, is the story of the Japanese language. When we come to dissect it, we find
several striking characteristics. First, the construction is unlike that of any European tongue: all
qualifiers precede the words they qualify, except prepositions which become postpositions.
Thus instead of saying “the house of Mr Smith is in that street,” a Japanese says “Smith Mr of
house that street in is.” Then there is no relative pronoun, and the resulting complication
seems great to an English-speaking person, as the following illustration will show:—

Japanese. English.
Zenaku wo saiban suru tame no The unique standard which is used for
Virtue vice-judging sake of judging virtue or vice is benevolent
mochiitaru yūitsu no hyojun wa conduct solely.
used unique standard
jiai no kōi tada
 benevolence of conduct only
kore nomi.
this alone.

It will be observed that in the above sentence there are two untranslated words, wo and wa.
These belong to a group of four auxiliary particles called te ni wo ha (or wa), which serve to
mark the cases of nouns, te (or de) being the sign of the instrumental ablative; ni that of the
dative; wo that of the objective, and wa that of the nominative. These exist in the Korean
language also, but not in any other tongue. There are also polite and ordinary forms of
expression, often so different as to constitute distinct languages; and there are a number of
honorifics which frequently discharge the duty of pronouns. Another marked peculiarity is that
active agency is never attributed to neuter nouns. A Japanese does not say “the poison killed
him” but “he died on account of the poison;” nor does he say “the war has caused
commodities to appreciate,” but “commodities have appreciated in consequence of the war.”
That the language loses much force owing to this limitation cannot be denied: metaphor and
allegory are almost completely banished.

The difficulties that confront an Occidental who attempts to learn Japanese are enormous.
There are three languages to be acquired: first, the ordinary colloquial; second, the polite
colloquial; and, third, the written. The ordinary colloquial differs materially from its polite form,
and both are as unlike the written form as modern Italian is unlike ancient Latin. “Add to this,”
writes Professor B. H. Chamberlain, “the necessity of committing to memory two syllabaries,
one of which has many variant forms, and at least two or three thousand Chinese ideographs,
in forms standard and cursive—ideographs, too, most of which are susceptible of three or four
different readings according to circumstance,—add, further, that all these kinds of written
symbols are apt to be encountered pell mell on the same page, and the task of mastering
Japanese becomes almost Herculean.” In view of all this there is a strong movement in favour
of romanizing the Japanese script: that is to say, abolishing the ideograph and adopting in its
place the Roman alphabet. But while every one appreciates the magnitude of the relief that
would thus be afforded, there has as yet been little substantial progress. A language which has
been adapted from its infancy to ideographic transmission cannot easily be fitted to phonetic
uses.

Dictionaries.—F. Brinkley, An Unabridged Japanese-English Dictionary (Tōkyō, 1896); Y.

Shimada, English-Japanese Dictionary, (Tōkyō, 1897); Webster’s Dictionary, trans. into
Japanese, (Tōkyō, 1899); J. H. Gubbins, Dictionary of Chinese-Japanese Words (3 vols.,
London, 1889); J. C. Hepburn, Japanese-English and English-Japanese Dictionary (London,
1903); E. M. Satow and I. Masakata, English-Japanese Dictionary (London, 1904).

Literature.—From the neighbouring continent the Japanese derived the art of transmitting
ideas to paper. But as to the date of that acquisition there is doubt. An authenticated work
compiled a.d. 720 speaks of historiographers having been appointed to collect local records for
the first time in 403, from which it is to be inferred that such officials had already existed at
the court. There is also a tradition that some kind of general history was compiled in 620 but
destroyed by fire in 645. At all events, the earliest book now extant dates from 712. Its origin
is described in its preface. When the emperor Temmu (673-686) ascended the throne, he
found that there did not exist any revised collection of the fragmentary annals of the chief
families. He therefore caused these annals to be collated. There happened to be among the
court ladies one Hiyeda no Are, who was gifted with an extraordinary memory. Measures were
taken to instruct her in the genuine traditions and the old language of former ages, the
intention being to have the whole ultimately dictated to a competent scribe. But the emperor
died before the project could be consummated, and for twenty-five years Are’s memory
remained the sole depository of the collected annals. Then, under the auspices of the empress
Gemmyō, the original plan was carried out in 712, Yasumaro being the scribe. The work that
resulted is known as the Kojiki (Record of Ancient Matters). It has been accurately translated
by Professor B. H. Chamberlain (Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan, vol. x.), who, in a
preface justly regarded by students of Japan as an exegetical classic, makes the pertinent
comment: “Taking the word Altaïc in its usual acceptation, viz. as the generic name of all the
languages belonging to the Manchu, Mongolian, Turkish and Finnish groups, not only the
archaic, but the classical, literature of Japan carries us back several centuries beyond the
earliest extant documents of any other Altaïc tongue.” By the term “archaic” is to be
understood the pure Japanese language of earliest times, and by the term “classical” the
quasi-Chinese language which came into use for literary purposes when Japan appropriated
the civilization of her great neighbours. The Kojiki is written in the archaic form: that is to say,
the language is the language of old Japan, the script, although ideographic, is used
phonetically only, and the case-indicators are represented by Chinese characters having the
same sounds. It is a species of saga, setting forth not only the heavenly beginnings of the
Japanese race, but also the story of creation, the succession of the various sovereigns and the
salient events of their reigns, the whole interspersed with songs, many of which may be
attributed to the 6th century, while some doubtless date from the fourth or even the third. This
Kojiki marks the parting of the ways. Already by the time of its compilation the influence of
Chinese civilization and Chinese literature had prevailed so greatly in Japan that the next
authentic work, composed only eight years later, was completely Chinese in style and
embodied Chinese traditions and Chinese philosophical doctrines, not distinguishing them from
their Japanese context. This volume was called the Nihongi (Chronicles of Japan). It may be
said to have wholly supplanted its predecessor in popular favour, for the classic style—that is
to say, the Chinese—had now come to be regarded as the only erudite script. The Chronicles
re-traversed much of the ground already gone over by the Record, preserving many of the
songs in occasionally changed form, omitting some portions, supplementing others, and
imparting to the whole such an exotic character as almost to disqualify the work for a place in
Japanese literature. Yet this was the style which thenceforth prevailed among the litterati of
Japan. “Standard Chinese soon became easier to understand than archaic Japanese, as the
former alone was taught in the schools, and the native language changed rapidly during the
century or two that followed the diffusion of the foreign tongue and civilization” (Chamberlain).
The neglect into which the Kojiki fell lasted until the 17th century. Almost simultaneously with
its appearance in type (1644) and its consequent accessibility, there arose a galaxy of scholars
under whose influence the archaic style and the ancient Japanese traditions entered a period
of renaissance. The story of this period and of its products has been admirably told by Sir
Ernest Satow (“Revival of Pure Shintō,” Proceedings of the Asiatic Society of Japan, vol. iii.),
whose essay, together with Professor Chamberlain’s Kojiki, the same author’s introduction to
The Classical Poetry of the Japanese, and Mr W. G. Aston’s Nihongi, are essential to every
student of Japanese literature. To understand this 17th century renaissance, knowledge of one
fact is necessary, namely, that about the year A. D. 810, a celebrated Buddhist priest, Kūkai,
who had spent several years studying in China, compounded out of Buddhism, Confucianism
and Shintō a system of doctrine called Ryōbu Shintō (Dual Shintō), the prominent tenet of
which was that the Shintō deities were merely transmigrations of Buddhist divinities. By this
device Japanese conservatism was effectually conciliated, and Buddhism became in fact the
creed of the nation, its positive and practical precepts entirely eclipsing the agnostic
intuitionalism of Shintō. Against this hybrid faith several Japanese scholars arrayed themselves
in the 17th and 18th centuries, the greatest of them being Mabuchi and Motoori. The latter’s
magnum opus, Kojikiden (Exposition of the Record of Ancient Matters), declared by
Chamberlain to be “perhaps the most admirable work of which Japanese erudition can boast,”
consists of 44 large volumes, devoted to elucidating the Kojiki and resuscitating the Shintō cult
as it existed in the earliest days. This great work of reconstruction was only one feature of the
literary activity which marked the 17th and 18th centuries, when, under Tokugawa rule, the
blessing of long-unknown peace came to the nation. Iyeyasu himself devoted the last years of
his life to collecting ancient manuscripts. In his country retreat at Shizuoka he formed one of
the richest libraries ever brought together in Japan, and by will he bequeathed the Japanese
section of it to his eighth son, the feudal chief of Owari, and the Chinese section to his ninth
son, the prince of Kishū, with the result that under the former feudatory’s auspices two works
of considerable merit were produced treating of ancient ceremonials and supplementing the
Nihongi. Much more memorable, however, was a library formed by Iyeyasu’s grandson the
feudal chief of Mito (1662-1700), who not only collected a vast quantity of books hitherto
scattered among Shintō and Buddhist monasteries and private houses, but also employed a
number of scholars to compile a history unprecedented in magnitude, the Dai-Nihon-shi. It
consisted of 240 volumes, and it became at once the standard in its own branch of literature.
Still more comprehensive was a book emanating from the same source and treating of court
ceremonials. It ran to more than 500 volumes, and the emperor honoured the work by
bestowing on it the title Reigi Ruiten (Rules of Ceremonials). These compilations together with
the Nihon Gwaishi (History of Japan Outside the Court), written by Rai Sanyo and published in
1827, constituted the chief sources of historical knowledge before the Meiji era. Rai Sanyo
devoted twenty years to the preparation of his 22 volumes and took his materials from 259
Japanese and Chinese works. But neither he nor his predecessors recognized in history
anything more than a vehicle for recording the mere sequence of events and their relations,
together with some account of the personages concerned. Their volumes make profoundly dry
reading. Vicarious interest, however, attaches to the productions of the Mito School on account
of the political influence they exercised in rehabilitating the nation’s respect for the throne by
unveiling the picture of an epoch prior to the usurpations of military feudalism. The struggles
of the great rival clans, replete with episodes of the most tragic and stirring character, inspired
quasi-historical narrations of a more popular character, which often took the form of
illuminated scrolls. But it was not until the Meiji era that history, in the modern sense of the
term, began to be written. During recent times many students have turned their attention to
this branch of literature. Works of wide scope and clear insight have been produced, and the
Historiographers’ section in the Imperial University of Tōkyō has been for several years
engaged in collecting and collating materials for a history which will probably rank with
anything of the kind in existence.

In their poetry above everything the Japanese have remained impervious to alien influences.
It owes this conservation to its prosody. Without rhyme, without variety of metre, without
elasticity of dimensions, it is also without known counterpart. To alter it in
Poetry. any way would be to deprive it of all distinguishing characteristics. At some
remote date a Japanese maker of songs seems to have discovered that a
peculiar and very fascinating rhythm is produced by lines containing 5 syllables and 7 syllables
alternately. That is Japanese poetry (uta or tanka). There are generally five lines: the first and
third consisting of 5 syllables, the second, fourth and fifth of 7, making a total of 31 in all. The
number of lines is not compulsory: sometimes they may reach to thirty, forty or even more,
but the alternation of 5 and 7 syllables is compulsory. The most attenuated form of all is the
hokku (or haikai) which consists of only three lines, namely, 17 syllables. Necessarily the ideas
embodied in such a narrow vehicle must be fragmentary. Thus it results that Japanese poems
are, for the most part, impressionist; they suggest a great deal more than they actually
express. Here is an example:—

Momiji-ha wo
Kaze ni makasete More fleeting than the glint of
Miru yori mo withered leaf wind-blown, the
Hakanaki mono wa thing called life.
Inochi nari keri

There is no English metre with this peculiar cadence.

It is not to be inferred that the writers of Japan, enamoured as they were of Chinese
ideographs and Chinese style, deliberately excluded everything Chinese from the realm of
poetry. On the contrary, many of them took pleasure in composing versicles to which Chinese
words were admitted and which showed something of the “parallelism” peculiar to Chinese
poetry, since the first ideograph of the last line was required to be identical with the final
ideograph. But rhyme was not attempted, and the syllabic metre of Japan was preserved, the
alternation of 5 and 7 being, however, dispensed with. Such couplets were called shi to
distinguish them from the pure Japanese uta or tanka. The two greatest masters of Japanese
poetry were Hitomaro and Akahito, both of the early 8th century, and next to them stands
Tsurayuki, who flourished at the beginning of the 10th century, and is not supposed to have
transmitted his mantle to any successor. The choicest productions of the former two with those
of many other poets were brought together in 756 and embodied in a book called the
Manyōshū (Collection of a Myriad Leaves). The volume remained unique until the beginning of
the 10th century, when (a.d. 905) Tsurayuki and three coadjutors compiled the Kokinshū
(Collection of Odes Ancient and Modern), the first of twenty-one similar anthologies between
the 11th and the 15th centuries, which constitute the Niju-ichi Dai-shū (Anthologies of the
One-and-Twenty Reigns). If to these we add the Hyaku-ninshū (Hundred Odes by a Hundred
Poets) brought together by Teika Kyō in the 13th century, we have all the classics of Japanese
poetry. For the composition of the uta gradually deteriorated from the end of the 9th century,
when a game called uta-awase became a fashionable pastime, and aristocratic men and
women tried to string together versicles of 31 syllables, careful of the form and careless of the
thought. The uta-awase, in its later developments, may not unjustly be compared to the
Occidental game of bouts-rimés. The poetry of the nation remained immovable in the ancient
groove until very modern times, when, either by direct access to the originals or through the
medium of very defective translations, the nation became acquainted with the masters of
Occidental song. A small coterie of authors, headed by Professor Toyama, then attempted to
revolutionize Japanese poetry by recasting it on European lines. But the project failed signally,
and indeed it may well be doubted whether the Japanese language can be adapted to such
uses.

It was under the auspices of an empress (Suiko) that the first historical manuscript is said to
have been compiled in 620. It was under the auspices of an empress (Gemmyō) that the
Record of Ancient Matters was transcribed (712) from the lips of a court
Influence of lady. And it was under the auspices of an empress that the Chronicles of
Women in Japan were composed (720). To women, indeed, from the 8th century
Japanese onwards may be said to have been entrusted the guardianship of the pure
Literature. Japanese language, the classical, or Chinese, form being adopted by men.
The distinction continued throughout the ages. To this day the spoken
language of Japanese women is appreciably simpler and softer than that of the men, and to
this day while the educated woman uses the hiragana syllabary in writing, eschews Chinese
words and rarely pens an ideograph, the educated man employs the ideograph entirely, and
translates his thoughts as far as possible into the mispronounced Chinese words without
recourse to which it would be impossible for him to discuss any scientific subject, or even to
refer to the details of his daily business. Japan was thus enriched with two works of very high
merit, the Genji Monogatari (c. 1004) and the Makura no Zōshi (about the same date). The
former, by Murasaki no Shikibu—probably a pseudonym—was the first novel composed in
Japan. Before her time there had been many monogatari (narratives), but all consisted merely
of short stories, mythical or quasi-historical, whereas Murasaki no Shikibu did for Japan what
Fielding and Richardson did for England. Her work was “a prose epic of real life,” the life of her
hero, Genji. Her language is graceful and natural, her sentiments are refined and sober; and,
as Mr Aston well says, her “story flows on easily from one scene of real life to another, giving
us a varied and minutely detailed picture of life and society in Kiōto, such as we possess for no
other country at the same period.” The Makura no Zōshi (Pillow Sketches), like the Genji
Monogatari, was by a noble lady—Sei Shōnagon—but it is simply a record of daily events and
fugitive thoughts, though not in the form of a diary. The book is one of the most natural and
unaffected compositions ever written. Undesignedly it conveys a wonderfully realistic picture of
aristocratic life and social ethics in Kiōto at the beginning of the 11th century. “If we compare
it with anything that Europe has to show at this period, it must be admitted that it is indeed a
remarkable work. What a revelation it would be if we had the court life of Alfred’s or Canute’s
reign depicted to us in a similar way?”

The period from the early part of the 14th century to the opening of the 17th is generally
regarded as the dark age of Japanese literature. The constant wars of the time left their
impress upon everything. To them is due the fact that the two principal
The Dark Age. works compiled during this epoch were, one political, the other quasi-
historical. In the former, Jinkōshōtō-ki (History of the True Succession of the
Divine Monarchs), Kitabatake Chikafusa (1340) undertook to prove that of the two sovereigns
then disputing for supremacy in Japan, Go-Daigo was the rightful monarch; in the latter,
Taihei-ki (History of Great Peace), Kojima (1370) devoted his pages to describing the events of
contemporaneous history. Neither work can be said to possess signal literary merit, but both
had memorable consequences. For the Jinkōshōtō-ki, by its strong advocacy of the mikado’s
administrative rights as against the usurpations of military feudalism, may be said to have
sowed the seeds of Japan’s modern polity; and the Taihei-ki, by its erudite diction, skilful
rhetoric, simplification of old grammatical constructions and copious interpolation of Chinese
words, furnished a model for many imitators and laid the foundations of Japan’s 19th-century
style. The Taihei-ki produced another notable effect; it inspired public readers who soon
developed into historical raconteurs; a class of professionals who are almost as much in vogue
to-day as they were 500 years ago. Belonging to about the same period as the Jinkōshōtō-ki,
another classic occupies a leading place in Japanese esteem. It is the Tsure-zure-gusa
(Materials for Dispelling Ennui), by Kenkō-bōshi, described by Mr Aston as “one of the most
delightful oases in Japanese literature; a collection of short sketches, anecdotes and essays on
all imaginable subjects, something in the manner of Selden’s Table Talk.”

The so-called dark age of Japanese literature was not entirely unproductive: it gave the
drama (Nō) to Japan. Tradition ascribes the origin of the drama to a religious dance of a
pantomimic character, called Kagura and associated with Shintō
The Drama. ceremonials. The Nō, however, owed its development mainly to Buddhist
influence. During the medieval era of internecine strife the Buddhist priests
were the sole depositaries of literary talent, and seeing that, from the close of the 14th
century, the Shintō mime (Kagura) was largely employed by the military class to invoke or
acknowledge the assistance of the gods, the monks of Buddha set themselves to compose
librettos for this mime, and the performance, thus modified, received the name of Nō. Briefly
speaking, the Nō was a dance of the most stately character, adapted to the incidents of
dramas “which embrace within their scope a world of legendary lore, of quaint fancies and of
religious sentiment.” Their motives were chiefly confined to such themes as the law of
retribution to which all human beings are subjected, the transitoriness of life and the
advisability of shaking off from one’s feet the dust of this sinful world. But some were of a
purely martial nature. This difference is probably explained by the fact that the idea of thus
modifying the Kagura had its origin in musical recitations from the semi-romantic semi-
historical narratives of the 14th century. Such recitations were given by itinerant Bonzes, and it
is easy to understand the connexion between them and the Nō. Very soon the Nō came to
occupy in the estimation of the military class a position similar to that held by the tanka as a
literary pursuit, and the gagaku as a musical, in the Imperial court. All the great aristocrats not
only patronized the Nō but were themselves ready to take part in it. Costumes of the utmost
magnificence were worn, and the chiselling of masks for the use of the performers occupied
scores of artists and ranked as a high glyptic accomplishment. There are 335 classical dramas
of this kind in a compendium called the Yōkyoka Tsūge, and many of them are inseparably
connected with the names of Kwanami Kiyotsugu (1406) and his son Motokiyo (1455), who are
counted the fathers of the art. For a moment, when the tide of Western civilization swept over
Japan, the Nō seemed likely to be permanently submerged. But the renaissance of nationalism
(kokusui hoson) saved the venerable drama, and owing to the exertions of Prince Iwakura, the
artist Hōsho Kuro and Umewaka Minoru, it stands as high as ever in popular favour.
Concerning the five schools into which the Nō is divided, their characteristics and their
differences—these are matters of interest to the initiated alone.

The Japanese are essentially a laughter-loving people. They are highly susceptible of tragic
emotions, but they turn gladly to the brighter phases of life. Hence a need
The Farce. was soon felt of something to dispel the pessimism of the Nō, and that
something took the form of comedies played in the interludes of the Nō and
called Kyōgen (mad words). The Kyōgen needs no elaborate description: it is a pure farce,
never immodest or vulgar.

The classic drama Nō and its companion the Kyōgen had two children, the Jōruri and the
Kabuki. They were born at the close of the 16th century and they owed their origin to the
growing influence of the commercial class, who asserted a right to be
The Theatre. amused but were excluded from enjoyment of the aristocratic Nō and the
Kyōgen. The Jōruri is a dramatic ballad, sung or recited to the
accompaniment of the samisen and in unison with the movements of puppets. It came into
existence in Kiōto and was thence transferred to Yedo (Tōkyō), where the greatest of
Japanese playwrights, Chikamatsu Monzaemon (1653-1724), and a musician of exceptional
talent, Takemoto Gidayū, collaborated to render this puppet drama a highly popular
entertainment. It flourished for nearly 200 years in Yedo, and is still occasionally performed in
Osaka. Like the Nō the Jōruri dealt always with sombre themes, and was supplemented by the
Kabuki (farce). This last owed its inception to a priestess who, having abandoned her holy
vocation at the call of love, espoused dancing as a means of livelihood and trained a number
of girls for the purpose. The law presently interdicted these female comedians (onna-kabuki)
in the interests of public morality, and they were succeeded by “boy comedians” (wakashu-
kabuki) who simulated women’s ways and were vetoed in their turn, giving place to yaro-
kabuki (comedians with queues). Gradually the Kabuki developed the features of a genuine
theatre; the actor and the playwright were discriminated, and, the performances taking the
form of domestic drama (Wagoto and Sewamono) or historical drama (Aragoto or Jidaimono),
actors of perpetual fame sprang up, as Sakata Tōjurō and Ichikawa Danjinrō (1660-1704).
Mimetic posture-dances (Shosagoto) were always introduced as interludes; past and present
indiscriminately contributed to the playwright’s subjects; realism was carried to extremes; a
revolving stage and all mechanical accessories were supplied; female parts were invariably
taken by males, who attained almost incredible skill in these simulations; a chorus—relic of the
Nō—chanted expositions of profound sentiments or thrilling incidents; and histrionic talent of
the very highest order was often displayed. But the Kabuki-za and its yakusha (actors)
remained always a plebeian institution. No samurai frequented the former or associated with
the latter. With the introduction of Western civilization in modern times, however, the theatre
ceased to be tabooed by the aristocracy. Men and women of all ranks began to visit it; the
emperor himself consented (1887) to witness a performance by the great stars of the stage at
the private residence of Marquis Inouye; a dramatic reform association was organized by a
number of prominent noblemen and scholars; drastic efforts were made to purge the old
historical dramas of anachronisms and inconsistencies, and at length a theatre (the Yuraku-za)
was built on purely European lines, where instead of sitting from morning to night witnessing
one long-drawn-out drama with interludes of whole farces, a visitor may devote only a few
evening-hours to the pastime. The Shosagoto has not been abolished, nor is there any reason
why it should be. It has graces and beauties of its own. There remains to be noted the
incursion of amateurs into the histrionic realm. In former times the actor’s profession was
absolutely exclusive in Japan. Children were trained to wear their fathers’ mantles, and the
idea that a non-professional could tread the hallowed ground of the stage did not enter any
imagination. But with the advent of the new regimen in Meiji days there arose a desire for
social plays depicting the life of the modern generation, and as these “croppy dramas”
(zampatsu-mono)—so called in allusion to the European method of cutting the hair close—
were not included in the repertoire of the orthodox theatre, amateur troupes (known as sōshi-
yakusha) were organized to fill the void. Even Shakespeare has been played by these
amateurs, and the abundant wit of the Japanese is on the way to enrich the stage with
modern farces of unquestionable merit.

The Tokugawa era (1603-1867), which popularized the drama, had other memorable effects
upon Japanese literature. Yedo, the shōgun’s capital, displaced Kiōto as the centre of literary
activity. Its population of more than a million, including all sorts and
Literature of conditions of men—notably wealthy merchants and mechanics—constituted
the Tokugawa a new audience to which authors had to address themselves; and an
Era. unparalleled development of mental activity necessitated wholesale drafts
upon the Chinese vocabulary. To this may be attributed the appearance of a
group of men known as kangakusha (Chinese scholars). The most celebrated among them
were: Fujiwara Seikwa (1560-1619), who introduced his countrymen to the philosophy of Chu-
Hi; Hayashi Rasan (1583-1657), who wrote 170 treatises on scholastic and moral subjects;
Kaibara Ekken (1630-1714), teacher of a fine system of ethics; Arai Hakuseki (1657-1725),
historian, philosopher, statesman and financier: and Muro Kiusō, the second great exponent of
Chu-Hi’s philosophy. “Japan owes a profound debt of gratitude to the kangakusha of that time.
For their day and country they were emphatically the salt of earth.” But naturally not all were
believers in the same philosophy. The fervour of the followers of Chu-Hi (the orthodox school)
could not fail to provoke opposition. Thus some arose who declared allegiance to the idealistic
intuitionalism of Wang Yang-ming, and others advocated direct study of the works of Confucius
and Mencius. Connected with this rejection of Chu-Hi were such eminent names as those of
Itō Junsai (1627-1718), Itō Tōgai (1617-1736), Ogyu Sōrai (1666-1728) and Dazai Shuntai
(1679-1747). These Chinese scholars made no secret of their contempt for Buddhism, and in
their turn they were held in aversion by the Buddhists and the Japanese scholars (wagakusha),
so that the second half of the 18th century was a time of perpetual wrangling and controversy.
The worshippers at the shrine of Chinese philosophy evoked a reactionary spirit of nationalism,
just as the excessive worship of Occidental civilization was destined to do in the 19th century.

Apart from philosophical researches and the development of the drama, as above related,
the Tokugawa era is remarkable for folk-lore, moral discourses, fiction and a peculiar form of
poetry. This last does not demand much attention. Its principal variety is the haikai, which is
nothing more than a tanka shorn of its concluding fourteen syllables, and therefore virtually
identical with the hokku, already described. The name of Bashō is immemorially associated
with this kind of lilliputian versicle, which reached the extreme of impressionism. A more
important addition to Japanese literature was made in the 17th century in the form of
children’s tales (Otogibanashi). They are charmingly simple and graceful, and they have been
rendered into English again and again since the beginning of the Meiji era. But whether they
are to be regarded as genuine folk-lore or merely as a branch of the fiction of the age when
they first appeared in book form, remains uncertain. Of fiction proper there was an
abundance. The pioneer of this kind of literature is considered to have been Saikaku (1641-
1693), who wrote sketches of everyday life as he saw it, short tales of some merit and novels
which deal with the most disreputable phases of human existence. His notable successors in
the same line were two men of Kiōto, named Jishō (1675-1745) and Kiseki (1666-1716). They
had their own publishing house, and its name Hachimonji-ya (figure-of-eight store) came to be
indelibly associated with this kind of literature. But these men did little more than pave the
way for the true romantic novel, which first took shape under the hand of Santō Kyōden
(1761-1816), and culminated in the works of Bakin, Tanehiko, Samba, Ikku, Shunsui and their
successors. Of nearly all the books in this class it may be said that they deal largely in
sensationalism and pornography, though it does not follow that their language is either coarse
or licentious. The life of the virtuous Japanese woman being essentially uneventful, these
romancists not unnaturally sought their female types among dancing-girls and courtesans. The
books were profusely illustrated with woodcuts and chromoxylographs from pictures of the
ukiyoe masters, who, like the playwright, the actor and the romancer, ministered to the
pleasure of the “man in the street.” Brief mention must also be made of two other kinds of
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