The following are the principal features in the account which Mr Consul Annesley gives of the details connected with ogi or folding fans. As in many other branches of industry, the principle of division of labour is carried out in the fan-making trade. The bamboo ribs are made in Osaka and Kioto by private individuals in their own houses, and combinations of the various notches cut in the lower part are left to one of the finishing workmen, who forms the various patterns of the handle according to plans prepared by the designer. In like manner the designer gives out to the engravers the patterns which his experience teaches him will be most likely to be saleable during the ensuing season; and when the different blocks have been cut, it still rests with him to say what colours are to be used for the two sides of each fan. In fact, this official holds, if not the best paid, at anyrate the most important position on the staff in ordinary. When the printed sheets which are to form the two sides of the fans have been handed over to the workman, together with the sets of bamboo slips which are to form the ribs, his first business is to fold the two sheets of which the fan is to be composed, so that they will retain the crease, and this is done by putting them between two pieces of paper, well saturated with oil, and properly creased. The four are then folded together and placed under a heavy weight.
When sufficient time has elapsed, the sheets are taken out, and the moulds used again, the released sheets being packed up for at least twenty-four hours in their folds. The next process is to take the ribs, which are temporarily arranged in order on a wire, and 'set' them into their places on one of the sheets, after it has been spread out on a block and pasted. A dash of paste then gives the woodwork adhesive powers, and that part of the process is finished by affixing the remaining sheet of paper. The fan has to be folded up and opened three or four times before the folds take the proper shape; and by the time the fan is put by to dry, it has received far more handling than any foreign paper could stand; indeed foreign paper has been tried, and had to be given up, as unsuitable for the work; but with great care the Osaka fan-makers had been able to make some fans with printed pictures which had been sent over from America, though they were invariably obliged to use one face of Japanese paper.
The qualities of native paper now used are not nearly so good as those of which the old fans were made, and in consequence, the style of manufacture has had to be changed. Instead of first pasting the two faces of the fan together and then running in pointed ribs, the ribs are square and are pasted in their places in the manner described above. The outside lacquered pieces and the fancy-work are all done in Osaka and Kioto, and some of the designs in gold lacquer on bone are really artistic; but the demand for the highly ornamented description of fans is not sufficient to encourage the production of large quantities of first-class work. When the insides are dry, the riveting of the pieces together, including the outer covering, is rapidly done, and a dash of varnish quickly finishes the fan.
The highest price that was ever given for a fan in the days of seclusion from the outer world rarely exceeded a sovereign; but since the arrival of foreigners in the country, some few have been made to order at prices varying from two to three pounds sterling. The general prices of ordinary fans range from two or three shillings to three pounds per hundred, though an extraordinarily expensive fan is turned out at ten pounds per hundred. The sale of fans in olden times seldom exceeded ten thousand a year for the whole country; but in recent years no less than three millions per annum have been exported from the ports of Osaka and Yokohama alone. In concluding these brief notes, it may be interesting to mention that the number of fans ordered in Japan for the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia reached the large figure of eight hundred thousand, the estimated cost of which was ten thousand pounds, and that these were over and above the ordinary annual export alluded to before.
[THE PIXIES.]
Among the superstitions still far from being extirpated in Wales and some parts of Devonshire, is a belief in exceedingly small beings known as pixies. From anything we can learn, the pixies resemble the fairies of old English superstition, but with this difference, that pixies possess that love of fun and mischief which reminds us of the Puck of Shakspeare. When a pixy has been successful in any trick upon travellers, it is said to send forth a peal of laughter and to tumble head over heels to shew its delight; this has become proverbial in Devonshire; so that if any one laughs immoderately, he is said to laugh 'like a pixy.' The following pixy story is still current.
In a little country-place in the prettiest part of Devonshire there lived a miller's daughter, who was betrothed to a young farmer of the neighbourhood. For some time their course ran as smoothly as could be desired. But the young man began to cast looks of suspicion on another admirer of his betrothed, and to let a jealous demon rankle within him, whispering to him that he no longer held the first place in the damsel's affections.
The miller's daughter, besides possessing considerable personal attractions, had the reputation of being the neatest and most industrious housewife in the place; and so the pixies, who invariably tried to aid the industrious, took her under their especial protection. They removed everything harmful from her path, and were always at hand to do her a service; she herself meanwhile being quite unconscious of the presence of the small people. One pixy used to place flowers on her window-sill every morning, and the maiden innocently dreamt that they were offerings from her lover, and prized them accordingly. One morning early about this time the young man passed before her house, and noticed the flowers upon the window-sill. Jealousy immediately took possession of him, and he saw in the simple flowers the offerings of a more favoured admirer. Just then the window was opened gently, and the miller's daughter appeared; and unconscious of the watcher lurking behind the hedge, she took up the rosebuds which formed her morning's gift and pressed them to her lips. Then she withdrew, taking the flowers with her, and leaving him to rage inwardly at what he considered her perfidy.
From that morning his behaviour towards her was changed, and he became gloomy and morose, throwing out hints of his suspicions from time to time, which troubled the gentle maiden, without her being able to comprehend any reason for it all. But the pixies, seeing how matters stood, determined to convince the moody fellow of her truth, and at the same time to punish him for his unreasonable jealousy. So one evening, when he was coming home from a market-town (perhaps top-heavy), he was pixy-led in a meadow just below the miller's house, through which he had to pass. Hosts of pixies gathered for the occasion, armed with nettles, thistles, and small bushes of thorn-trees. With these formidable weapons they pricked, stung, and mercilessly belaboured the unfortunate young man, dancing around him with mocking gestures, and chasing him from one end of the field to another.