The sword-smith was not a mere artisan, but an inspired artist, and his workshop his sanctuary. Daily he commences his craft with prayer and purification, or, as was said, he committed his soul and spirit into the forging and tempering of the steel. Every swing of the sledge-hammer, every plunge into the water, every friction on the stone, was a religious act of no slight import. Was it the spirit of the master or his tutelary deity that cast such a spell over our sword? Perfect as a work of art, setting at defiance its Toledo and Damascus rivals, there was more than art could impart. Its cold blade collecting on its surface, the moment it is drawn, the vapours of the atmosphere: its immaculate texture, flashing light of bluish hue; its matchless edge, upon which histories and possibilities hang, the curve of its back uniting exquisite grace with utmost strength--all these fill us with mixed feelings of power and beauty, of awe and terror. 'Such was, then, the "sword" which our Samurai adored. There were two or three at least of such swords, which were heirlooms of a Samurai family. Just imagine a Samurai going forth to the battlefield and reflecting what a distinction his ancestors had made in similar battlefields, or what devotions he had displayed to his lord by that very sword, now being borne in his hand or in his girdle: why! the very thought would fire his soul and make him emulate the deeds of his ancestors and despise cowardice. No mean thought could enter his mind; the spirit of the sword radiating from the pure cold lustre of the blade handed down by his ancestors could not but thrust such thought from his mind. Such would at least be the sentiments of a real Samurai. The sword was not unsheathed wantonly, but when drawn it was a maxim that it should not be sheathed until its legitimate mission had been fulfilled. No wonder, then, that a Samurai should almost have worshipped his sword, even when undrawn from its scabbard, as the reviewer sarcastically describes. The sword of a Samurai, even when in the scabbard, was not a thing to be trifled with. A Samurai worshipped sword, but not money-bags. If they had worshipped the latter instead of the former, they might have met with the approval of the reviewer. From the utilitarian point of view, if they had done so, it might have benefited their country more materially, and, therefore, their worshipping a sword might have been the weakest point of their ideals, but we do not see cause for regret for all that. The tide of time has brought changes on all such matters. The Government has forbidden not only Samurai, but also all others who were privileged, to wear swords in their girdles. Hundreds and thousands of our best blades have left the houses of Samurai and been either exported, or turned into other implements, for mere trifling sums, often for the gold and silver used for the ornaments of the scabbard.