BON MATSURI

It was the 18th of August—the last night of Bon Matsuri.

Under a sky splendid with stars, the hills about Nagasaki were gemmed with colored lights. Ten thousand colored lanterns adorned the terraced cemeteries, and towards dawn each lantern would be fixed to a tiny boat of straw, freighted with a few small coins, and some small offering of fruit, to stay the souls of the dead on their long journey home.

M'Gourley had come out to see the fairy-like spectacle, for he knew that Mr. Initogo, that faithful old Pagan gentleman, was amidst the rejoicers on the hillsides, and had lit two lanterns, and freighted two small boats, for the souls of two friends he had known on earth.

Just as the morning breeze began to blow, and before the first star had paled in the dawn breaking over the Pacific, the gazers from the ships and the shore drew their breath, for suddenly the whole hillsides seemed in motion, shifting and glittering down to the water's edge, till the ripples became surrounded by a zone of rose-colored fire.

Then the water itself became dyed with the glow of ten thousand lanterns, each bravely upborne on its little ship of straw, whose sails took the Eastern breeze.

As the fairy flotilla sailed away, spreading the harbor with light and color, ship after ship took fire, and ship after ship was lost.

M'Gourley, hat in hand, stood watching till the last spark had vanished in the lilac of the dawn; then, with a sigh that spoke of things that were not, but might have been, he turned slowly home.