Tigers Who Come to Tea, and other Cat Tales…

Tigers hold a special place in the heart of Princeton.

Princeton Tigers

Nassau Hall tigers – princetoniana.princeton.edu

A pair of tigers stands guard on both sides of the entrance to Nassau Hall, the historical and logistical center of Princeton. A more recent pair of statuary tigers prowls outside the main gate of Princeton Stadium — home of the Princeton Tigers — perhaps a warning to visiting lions, bears, and bruins to “abandon hope all ye [opponents] who enter here.”  Princeton’s thirty-seven varsity teams — and others — are nicknamed (surprise!) “the Tigers”  and they generally sport tiger colors of orange and black  Tiger colors, tiger images, and tiger-related names abound all over campus, and indeed throughout the town of Princeton too.

Princeton tiger!

Noveau tiger outside Princeton Stadium

Cotsen Tiger

Cotsen’s tiger: “My, what big paws you have…”

The Cotsen Library’s personal tiger, Sir Fortissimus T. Tigris, sits atop a section of Cotsen’s Wall of Books, welcoming visitors and standing silent guard over the collection and its visitors of all ages. Not far from him in Firestone Library is the Tiger Tea Room, a small den for tigers, and others, taking a break from hitting the books.  Tigers and tea?   Hmm… Where might I have heard that echo before?

The Tiger Who Came to Tea: cover (Cotsen 151774)

The Tiger Who Came to Tea is, of course, the title of the classic children’s picture book by Judith Kerr, who created both the artwork and text in the tradition of great children’s book author-illustrators, such as Kate Greenaway, Dr. Seuss, Maurice Sendak, and Ezra Jack Keats, whose The Snowy Day was recently named by the New York Public Library as its “most checked-out book” of all time (narrowly nosing out The Cat in the Hat with a total of some 485,583 check-outs compared to 469,650).

Originally published in 1968, The Tiger Who Came to Tea is one of the best-selling children’s books of all time, having been translated into 11 languages and having sold over five million copies by the time of its 40th anniversary in 2008. While Tiger is Kerr’s most well-known book, it was by no means her only one; she authored at least thirty-six books, and her series of books about Mog the cat — beginning with Mog the Forgetful Cat in 1970 and ending with Goodbye Mog in 2002 — were also best-sellers, much beloved by both children and cat aficionados, and a testament to Kerr’s interest in exploring the secret lives of cats of all sizes in her children’s books.  The Mog series was based on the family cat, but Tiger, Kerr’s first published book, began as a bedtime story told to her daughter — and like many bedtime stories, it was apparently repeated over and over again, as any reading or story-improvising parent can attest. (But would that we all had Judith Kerr’s genius!)

Do you think I could have tea with you?

A little girl named Sophie and her “mummy” are having tea — a commonplace British activity in the 60s — when “suddenly there was a ring at the door” …. and things begin to get surreal.  For the doorbell ringer is not the milkman, nor the grocer, nor a key-forgetting daddy, but rather “a big furry, stripy tiger,” who says that he’s “very hungry” and asks if he can have tea with Sophie and her mother.  We’re not in Kansas anymore…

Think about it for a moment.  A stranger unexpectedly rings the doorbell, a little girl opens the front door, and finds not only a stranger, but a full-grown tiger there!  In another era or a fairy tale, this might have been the beginning of a cautionary tale, or at least a trip into the bizarre.  (And why does a “hungry” tiger ask for some tea, anyway?)  But this is where the genius of Kerr’s art comes into play, I think.  Take a look at her portrayal of the scene: while the gigantic tiger already has a huge fore-paw inside the door, there’s no sense of menace in the scene. It might be a Halloween prank (if in the USA, of course) or a lark.  The tiger has a big smile, which he somehow maintains throughout the story, even when he’s gobbling down everything in the kitchen, helping himself to everything on the stove and inside the refrigerator or the cupboard, and “drinking all the milk, and all the orange juice, and all Daddy’s beer.”

He looked around the kitchen to see what else he could find.

Most important of all, the little girl shows no sign whatsoever of being afraid in Kerr’s depictions of the scenes.  Quite the contrary, she hugs him and pets his tail all the while.  She somehow knows that there’s nothing to be afraid of.  And so does a reader; it’s like a comedy where somehow we trust that all’s well and that all will end well too, no matter how topsy-turvy things may get for a while. And that comforting assurance really resides in the visuals here.

I can’t help thinking of C.S. Lewis’s Narnia stories, where little Lucy the youngest of the children — and perhaps the most innocently virtuous — has no fear of Aslan the lion, who in turn treats her with particular kindness. (The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe and the other Narnia tales had been published in the 1950s, and would presumably have been familiar to a mother and a child by the 60s.)

I think I’d better go now…

Having eaten and drunk everything in the house and wrecked the kitchen in the process, the tiger suddenly decides, “I think I’d better go now.”  “And he went.”  Just like that!  Who needs continuity or writerly preparation?  It just happens that way, just as things happen go in a child’s imagination.  Part of Kerr’s genius, I think, is not saying too much or writing too much description or dialog; her story just ebbs, flows, and jumps with a childlike sense of spontaneity.  When all experience is new, who has expectation, much less anxiety?

The tiger leaves the kitchen in a complete mess; unlike the Cat in the Hat (another havok-weaking feline), the tiger doesn’t bother to clean up after his mayhem.  And Sophie’s mummy wonders what to do; there’s nothing left for “daddy’s supper” either.  The thirsty tiger has also “drunk all the water in the tap,” so Sophie can’t have a bath – thus, a doubly-happy kid is she!  (But what happened to the water “in the tap”?  Did the tiger somehow drink up all the water in London?  Another piece of childlike — and child-delighting — magical realism!  Only adults think of such logical complications in a children’s story — and maybe only critical bloggers as well!

Sophie’s daddy comes home “just then.” Either a long time has passed while the tiger has been feasting and drinking, or a magically foreshortened day.  But no worries…  The family just goes out to a cafe for dinner and has a very English dinner of “sausage and chips,” followed by a child-delighting dessert of ice cream  On their way to the cafe, they pass a tiger-colored cat on the street, as Kerr depicts the scene.  Is this some visual allusion to the tiger?  Or perhaps a suggestion that he has magically changed size?  After all, the street cat has the same smile as the tiger!  Who knows?  But maybe that’s something for a child to notice on a fiftieth rereading? And perhaps ask about as well?

And they walked down the road to a cafe… But what about that little, tiger-colored cat?

… a very big tin of Tiger Food, in case the tiger should come to tea again.

The next day, Sophie and her mother go shopping and “buy lots more things to eat,” including a “very big tin of tiger food in case the tiger should come to tea again.”  (Doesn’t  every neighborhood store stock tiger food by the can?  It must be something like the “fish food” that used to be readily available at grocery stores and Woolworth’s?)  They’d both be happy to have the tiger come back, mess and all, it seems.  And just look how delighted Sophie is in Kerr’s visual presentation, as she hugs the “smiling tiger” tin!  What parent wouldn’t want their child to be so happy?  Only a Grinch.

Their shopping plans are for nought however.  The tiger doesn’t return.  “But he never did”  — those are the last words in the story — suddenly and perhaps with a surprising sort of disappointment.  Think of how many children’s stories end with the fun disrupter-of-everyday-banality promising, “I’ll be back,” so that children can await his/her return in eager anticipation?  Not the tiger though.

Goodbye… goodbye… goodbye…

That’s one of the appealing things about Kerr’s story-telling, to me, anyway.  There’s no forced sentimentality or easy prospect of another magic rainbow event.  Sophie is left with a happy, one-of-a-kind joyous memory  — as are the Tigers child-readers.  The midsummer day’s dream is over; now it’s time to return to everyday life, albeit one brightened by a very magical day.

Somehow it seems fitting that Kerr ends her story, not with Sophie and her mother, but with the tiger, which she chooses to depict as he seems to be heading away from us, while tooting on a magic, translating horn: “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.”  You can almost hear the bedtime-story-telling Judith Kerr uttering that repeated word more and more softly, while wishing her daughter goodnight and gently shutting off the light, can’t you?

Of Madness, Murder, and Measles: The Meiji Period (1868-1912) Craze for Pictorial Dictionaries

By Dr. Tara M. McGowan

The beginning of the Meiji Reformation is typically traced back to 1853 when Commodore Matthew Perry arrived in his famous “black ships,” opening Japan to trade with the West after more than 200 years of relative seclusion. Prior to Commodore Perry’s arrival, only limited trade had been allowed with the Dutch and Chinese, primarily through the Island of Dejima off the coast of Nagasaki. By 1858, however, Japan had agreed to open five new ports in Hakone, Yokohama, Nagasaki, Niigata, and Kobe over the following six years.

Figure 1. Western steamships, in Ijin Seiyo shi 異人西洋誌 (An illustrated guide to the foreigners of the West) by Kanagaki Robun and artist Utagawa Yoshiiku. Yushima: Yoshidaya Takichi, circa 1870-1880. (Cotsen 99393)

By the beginning of the Meiji Period (1868-1912), the floodgates to foreign trade had been opened, leading to a surge of interest among the general public to learn English and other Western languages. A “mania for sideways writing” (yokomoji ryūko 横文字流行) inspired humorous and sometimes ill-judged attempts to meet the demand by authors with little to no knowledge of the language.

Figure 2. Foreigners on the streets of Yokohama, in Ijin Seiyo shi. (Cotsen 99393)

Among the many Meiji-period pictorial dictionaries held in the Cotsen Children’s Library collection, there is a particularly intriguing incomplete set of two volumes (of an original three-volume set), titled Dōkai Eigo zue 童解英語圖會 (Illustrated English for children). The first volume also contains a parallel title in English: The Pictoral [sic] English and Japan Language. Printed between 1870 and 1871, these volumes became available right around the peak of production for these manuals (Meiji 4-5, i.e., 1871-1872), but what makes them notable is the caliber of both the artist and author in their respective fields. The former was a well-known ukiyoe artist and the latter, a popular Edo-period gesaku fiction writer. The artist, illustrating under the name Keisai Kanjin 蕙齋閑人 is better known as Ochiai Yoshiiku 落合芳幾 (1833-1904) (or Utagawa Yoshiiku), a student of the now world-renowned ukiyoe artist Utagawa Kuniyoshi 歌川国芳 (1798-1861). After Kuniyoshi’s death, Yoshiiku succeeded him in his reputation for humorous and satirical prints, but he was also known for frequent collaboration with popular gesaku writers, including Kanagaki Robun 仮名垣魯文 (1829–1894) (Figs. 1 and 2), and Jōno Saigiku 条野採菊 (1832-1902), the compiler of Illustrated English for Children, who appears here under the pen name Rōgetsutei Chinjin 弄月亭陳人 but also published under the name Sansantei Arindo 山々亭有人.[i]

Although it is clear, even from the misspelled title, that neither of these artists had a particularly firm grasp of English, their combined efforts provide a great deal of valuable information for scholars about prevailing cultural ideas in Japan at the time. The fact that they jumped together on the bandwagon of demand for language manuals of this sort also illustrates the nail-biting pressure faced by artists at this juncture to reinvent themselves in the face of rapidly changing media formats, as well as audience expectation, amidst the Meiji government’s rush to Westernization at all levels of society. Over the brief span of less than a decade, these two artists went from having well-established careers in the Edo-period popular arts of ukiyoe and gesaku fiction to publishing illustrated language manuals and later to co-founding the longest running newspaper in Japan, which they called the Tokyo Nichi Nichi Shinbun, precursor to today’s Mainichi Shinbun (Daily newspaper). To varying degrees, both men were able to bridge these drastically different historical periods rather nimbly, compared to many of their contemporaries, but their achievements have been largely unacknowledged until recently.[ii]

Jōno is actually presented as the “extractor,” or selector (shōsatsu 抄撮) of the English vocabulary, rather than the author, but he uses his verbal prowess in the introductions to these volumes to poke fun at both his own profession, as a gesaku writer, and less directly at the Meiji government’s push for Western-style enlightenment. In Volume I, he writes:

A certain Master Mei (明) was on the road when he saw a man carrying his parent on his back, and he gave him a reward. When he heard his attendants nearby commenting that the man was not a true Confucian and his actions did not deserve a prize, the Master said, “Even if he is just copying filial piety, isn’t it better to give him a prize, when copying bad behavior is so much on the rise?” If one were to make a clever comparison, those who try their hand at writing in the style of gesaku advocate making literary adaptations of old classics. They are always wrestling with one another over their talent for extracting excerpts. In this work, we are treating the study of translation as a form of transient child’s play. If the child remembers words, even as baby talk, it will still in some small way give a little boost to the international communication of the present day and nudge enlightenment (kaika 開化) forward a tiny bit. If that happens, isn’t that better than copying uncouth (Chinese) histories that act as vulgar intermediaries? (leaf 1; my translation)

Interestingly, Master Mei, whose name seems a barely concealed reference to Meiji (明治), rewards Confucian filial piety—a Chinese philosophy—at the same time that Chinese histories, which had formerly been the foundation for much of Japan’s popular literature, are now dismissed as “uncouth” and “vulgar.” Jōno also seems to suggest that since the Meiji government’s push for Western-style enlightenment is nothing more than copying anyway, the choice comes down to whether one copies good or bad behaviors.

All the various dictionaries from the Meiji period in the Cotsen collection (for a list, see the annotated bibliography that follows) can be placed on a continuum from a more Western frame-of-reference on one end to a Japanese (or Eastern) frame-of-reference on the other. Volume I of Illustrated English for Children firmly places the reader on the Japanese end of the spectrum, beginning, not with the alphabet, as one might expect, but rather with a Romanized transcription of the poem Iroha いろは (Fig. 3), used since the Heian period to teach the Japanese syllabary. This is followed by the four seasons, the months of the year, and the animals of the Chinese zodiac.

Figure 3. Detail from Illustrated English for Children, Volume I, leaf 2. (Cotsen N-000864)

It is here that we can see that the Edo-period practice of “extracting excerpts” (i.e., copying) was not limited to writing. The Cotsen collection also has a colorful ukiyoe print of illustrated English words by Utagawa Yoshitora 歌川芳虎 (active 1850-1870), the oldest student among Utagawa Kuniyoshi’s many disciples and Yoshiiku’s senior. Although the three unbound sheets of prints are undated, making it difficult to tell definitively which came first, it seems likely that Yoshiiku copied Yoshitora, who also begins by offering a Romanization in all-caps of the iroha poem used to teach the Japanese syllabary and the twelve zodiac animals. Several of Yoshiiku’s zodiac animals are almost identical to Yoshitora’s, although Yoshitora’s “English” (actually a mix of German and English) is decidedly more problematic, especially in this instance: bull 牛= A tiger?! (Fig. 4)

Figure 4. Detail from English Words with Illustrations by Yoshitora. (Cotsen 102875)

This error reveals the pitfalls of extraction because Yoshitora most likely had copied from someone else before him. By looking at Yoshiiku’s more comprehensive treatment of the zodiac (Fig. 5)–even though it likely came later–we can see how easy it would be to make such a mistake, simply by confusing the labels: “A Cow” comes directly before “A Tiger.”

Figure 5. Illustrated English for Children, Volume I, leaf 3. (Cotsen N-000864)

More than half of the 115 or so items squeezed onto Yoshitora’s prints are extracted, almost directly, or otherwise emulated by Yoshiiku and Jōno in Volume I of their Illustrated English for Children, but they are careful to update and correct as needed. For instance, the older Yoshitora draws the “lion” as an auspicious, fanciful creature called a shishi 獅子, which was commonly found in Edo-period depictions (Fig. 6, left), whereas Yoshiiku’s lion (also labeled shishi) looks much more realistic (Fig. 6, right).

Figure 6.
Left: “lion” in Yoshitora’s print;
Right: “lion” in Illustrated English for Children, Volume I, leaf 5. (Cotsen N-000864)

Although Yoshiiku updates and corrects Yoshitora’s version, he also offers a wealth of loose interpretations of his own, as in his depiction of a “piano,” which is translated as koto 琴 (Fig.7, left) and “crown,” which takes the shape of the lacquer headdress (kanmuri冠) worn by the emperor (Fig. 7, right). These are not really “mistakes” as much as reinterpretations of a concept to suit the frame of reference of the reader—for a Japanese audience of this period, the koto was the nearest equivalent to a piano and a kanmuri was their version of a royal crown.

Figure 7. Details from Illustrated English for Children, Volume I. (Cotsen N-000864)
Left: “piano” (leaf 6);
Right: “crown” (leaf 13).

These reinterpretations to suit a different cultural framework become even more interesting as Yoshiiku and Jōno move beyond objects and animals in their Illustrated English for Children to depicting adjectives, verbs, and complex concepts. It is here that Yoshiiku’s deftness at developing a visual shorthand comes to the fore. For instance, how would a Japanese audience of the period immediately recognize the concepts of “mad(ness)” or “murder” in what amounts to a thumb-nail sketch?

Figure 8. Details from Illustrated English for Children, Volume I. (Cotsen N-000864)
Left: “mad” (leaf 10);
Right: “murder” (leaf 14).

“Mad” is a disheveled woman with her fan hanging from a stick, and “murder” (misspelled as “onser”?) is a man, bleeding profusely from the chest as he runs away screaming.

Volume II of the Illustrated English for Children takes both visual and verbal language to a new level by presenting whole scenes with a series of related words. This is a departure from anything to be found in the other English illustrated dictionaries available in the collection, which tend to keep words as individuated concepts, sometimes arranged thematically, but usually sectioned off in separate boxes. Jōno alerts the reader to this progression in his introduction to Volume II, where he compares the English alphabet, which is finally introduced here, to the entangled vines of the morning glory:

If a novice takes the seeds of the morning glory, which a gardener has grown, and plants them in the soil, the shape of the flower may look similar but the petals will be small and the luster dull; but if they see one grown by an experienced gardener, they will most certainly feel ridiculous. If it is made easy for children to see Western writing, which looks like the vines of that same morning glory, it will—like the bamboo poles that are used to prop up the vines—give a little boost to the entanglement (of the vines). From where do the linkages (entanglement) of knowledge begin, if not with the 26 letters of the alphabet, which are the foundations of the great learning (fertilizer/manure) in which this humble work abounds. It may be that if this is viewed by a seasoned scholar, parts (of the work) would make him laugh uncontrollably, but I would be honored if it could be seen as what is called a fleeting “evanescent glory” of child’s play thing. (leaf 1; my translation)

Abandoning the dividing lines used in Volume I, Yoshiiku designs whole pages of interlinked visual vocabulary, most obviously here in the depiction of an intergenerational family:

Figure 9. Illustrated English for Children, Volume II, leaves 5-6. (Cotsen N-001262)

At the top, nearest to the cabinet of drawers in the upper left-hand corner sit the grandparents with the words for gold 金 and silver 銀 followed down the side of the right-hand page by father, mother, two brothers, and one grandchild. Significantly, the grandchild is at the bottom of the page nearest the roof (lower left-hand corner) of the “treasury” (金庫). The implication being perhaps that grandchildren are an investment for the future, or possibly that big, intergenerational families require money! The grandchild is playing with toys that reappear near the end of the volume, indicating that the associative linkages Jōno describes in the Introduction are not just across double-page spreads, but even across the volume as a whole.

Figure 9. Illustrated English for Children, Volume II, leaf 5: detail of “grandchild” (Cotsen N-001262)

Near the child’s feet, we can see a denden daiko, or a hand-held drum that makes a sound when spun because the beads attached to threads on either side hit the central drum. What the child is kicking with his other foot is harder to decipher here, but it becomes clear on the next-to last page (Fig. 10).

Figure 10. Illustrated English for Children, Volume II, leaves 16-17. (Cotsen N-001262)

The double-page spread above has a different set of drawers at the top, this time a medicine cupboard. The words “pill,” “lotion,” “ague,” and “heal” are close by. Below right, we see a man feeling for the woman’s heart-beat with the words “lean” (as in thin–痩せる) and “touch.” On the left-hand side, we see the denden daiko again, only this time held by a woman, who is making noise with it next to a child. This is accompanied by the word “Measles.” Directly below the woman, to the right of the child, is the object that the grandchild was kicking over in the earlier illustration (Fig. 9). Here, we can see that it is a daruma doll, but it is labeled “smallpox.” Meanwhile, the grandchild is in a pose of distress labeled “crazy,” while the man above him is labeled “scream.” This juxtaposition of ideas would probably have been (and still is) meaningless to a non-Japanese reader, but the readers of Illustrated English for Children would have known that red toys, especially daruma, were typically placed next the pillow of a child with smallpox to distract the demons who had brought the disease. Also, daruma are dolls that can right themselves when they are knocked over, so they are associated with recovery. The denden daiko was similarly associated with driving away measles with the noise it makes. Over time, these toys became visual shorthand for the diseases they were thought to drive away.[iii]

Most intriguingly, on the upper right-hand side of the left-hand page is a concept with no visual equivalent: “love.” It may be that this indicates that the various actions surrounding it are illustrative of the concept so it needs no further explanation. But there are many other intriguing associative puzzles to be solved in this slim volume, many that would seem to be beyond a child’s comprehension.

Figure 11. Illustrated English for Children, Volume II. (Cotsen N-001262)
Left: leaf 7;
Right: leaf 12.

On leaf 7 (Fig. 11, left), for example, we see a man and woman near a rumpled futon mattress and surrounded by the concepts: “floor or (second) story,” “stupid,” “say,” “false,” “true,” “jug,” and “ale.” Notably, the concept “true” is near the woman, and the concepts “say” and “false” are near the man. Later, on leaf 12 (Fig. 11, right), we see a similar couple near a gate with the words: “dark,” “secret,” “asleep,” “letter,” “bash” (embarrassed), and “mistake.”

The scene on leaf 12 seems a continuation of what happened on leaf 7 because the woman is attempting to hand a letter to her lover, who is, through his “bashful” gestures, pushing the letter and woman away, while scratching his head, as if he can’t imagine how this “mistake” could have happened. (Is he the “false” man in the earlier illustration?) In Japanese, the word “mistake” is more precisely translated “mistake of the heart” (心まちがい).

These associative groupings raise questions about whether the intended audience for Illustrated English for Children was really (or exclusively) children, as Jōno keeps insisting in his introductions. Although the Japanese title also would have us think that it is designed “for children to understand” 童解, a look at a different book by this same combination of Yoshiiku (artist) and Jōno (author), published around the same time, and held in the East Asian Library collection (PL676.D66 1870) suggests a broader understanding of the concept of “child” (童). Published in 1870, Dōmō hitsudoku Kango zukai 童蒙必讀漢語圖解 is an illustrated language manual designed for what Jōno describes in his introduction as fuyō dōmō 婦幼童蒙 (literally, “women, children, and those in the darkness of ignorance”) in order for them to learn the necessary Chinese to understand literary references in the Chinese histories and romances on which popular literature (i.e., gesaku fiction) was based. This sounds to modern readers like Jōno is openly insulting his audience, but, in fact, it is very similar in concept to a popular series found frequently in bookstores today: “English Language (or Chinese Literary References) for Dummies.” These language manuals were popular precisely because Jōno and Yoshiiku knew their audience from a long career of writing and illustrating Edo-period gesaku fiction, and they offered these readers a humorously self-deprecating and non-threatening way to ease into the new reality of rapid Westernization. This popular audience would have included children, women, and, no doubt, a great many less-educated men. In Tsuchiya Momoko’s study of Jōno, she argues that his work in the Meiji period represented a continuation from the Edo-period more than disruption.[iv] Illustrated English for Children would seem to bolster this claim, as Jōno deftly adapted the new genre of the English-language dictionary to entertain very much the same popular audience he had appealed to before the opening of Japan to the West. Today, these materials provide a gold mine of information for scholars to begin to understand the visual sensibilities and cultural associations of that popular, but often underrepresented, late eighteenth-century audience.


[i] Due to the complexity of Japanese artists’ names at this time, I will refer to the illustrator as Yoshiiku and the author as Jōno throughout. Otherwise, I follow Japanese name order with surname appearing first.

[ii] In 2009, for example, Tsuchiya Momoko published her dissertation titled Edo to Meiji o ikita gesakusha Sansantei Arindo/Jōno Saigiku Sanjin (The popular fiction writer Sansantei Arindo/Jōno Saigiku Sanjin, who lived from Edo to Meiji), (Tokyo: Kindai Bungeisha), reassessing Jōno’s contributions to the field of literature. In 2018, the Ota Memorial Museum of Art in Tokyo had a comprehensive show of Ochiai Yoshiiku’s works, stating that in spite of his importance to the history of ukiyoe, he has been largely overlooked in favor of other well-known ukiyoe artists, namely Tsukioka Yoshitoshi, Kobayashi Kiyochika and Kawanabe Kyōsai.

[iii] See discussions on these healing practices involving toys in McGowan, Tara M. “The Designs of Kawasaki Kyosen Envisioning the Future of a Vanishing World Through Toy Pictures (omocha e).” The Princeton University Library Chronicle, Vol. 74, No. 3 (Spring, 2013): 320-365.

[iv] Tsuchiya, Edo to Meiji, 2009.

Other pictorial dictionaries of interest in the collection, sorted by date:

Taisei kunmo zukai泰西訓蒙図解官版 (German-English-French-Japanese dictionary). Tokyo: Monbusho, 1871. Fore-edge on left. (Cotsen 98881)
Published by the government, this two-volume set is divided into categories, such as various houses, table utensils, rural occupations, domestic and wild animals. The title literally means “Illustrated Western enlightenment.”

Eifutsu tango zukai英佛單語圖解 (English-French illustrated word dictionary), translated by Chikayama Shōichi and illustrated by Nakamura Munehiro. Tōkyō: Yūjitsudō, 1872. Fore-edge on right. (Cotsen N-000168)
Each vocabulary word is illustrated in a box on the right with the Japanese translation in Chinese characters and katakana alongside. The corresponding English and French translations are provided in Romanization with katakana pronunciation listed in a box on the left.

Eikoku tango zukai英國單語圖解 (Illustrated dictionary of English terms), by Ichikawa Ōha, 1872. Fore-edge on right. (Cotsen N-000129)
Terms are presented in English, katakana pronunciation of the English term, a Japanese translation, and then the pronunciation of the Japanese term. Text is in black ink, images in a rusty brown. This is the first of two volumes. Divided into four sections, with a particularly interesting treatment of illness and the human body.

Seiyo ebiki setsuyoshu西洋画引き節用集 (Japanese-English vocabulary). Osaka: [Onogi, Ichibei], 1872. Fore-edge on right. (Cotsen 82795)
This picture dictionary is organized by the Iroha syllabary, starting with words in Japanese beginning with i (以) and then moving on to ro (呂), ha (波), and so on. This makes it easy for a Japanese reader to search familiar words.

Kaichū eigo hitorigeiko: Eiwa taiyaku懐中英語独稽古: 英和對譯 (Flashlight English-German self-study: with English and Japanese translation), originally by Gustave Chouquet and translated by Saita Ryōji. Ōsaka: Akashi Chūshichi, 1885. Fore-edge on right. (Cotsen N-000131)
This is actually a compilation from various sources. The first section provides alphabets in different scripts and an illustrated dictionary of terms under various subjects, such as “elements” and “cloths and dress,” which are not included in Chouquet’s original. Chouquet’s Easy Conversations was in French and English parallel translation. The second section of this volume is an excerpt from Chouquet’s volume, only in English and Japanese parallel translation.

Eigo zukai英語圗解 (Illustrated English vocabulary charts), illustrated and published by Fukuda Kumajiro. Tōkyō: Kōto Shuppansha, 1887. (Cotsen 102865, available online)
English words are grouped semantically, illustrated, and explained in Japanese; pronunciation guides in katakana are provided on top of each word. Each sheet is numbered and dated.