phants, castles, warships, monkeys, and demons compose a fantastic universe in which the flowers seem turned to magic serpents, which simulate and strangle all other creatures.
"What do you think of them?" asked Kishimoto, when I rejoined him. "Have you ever seen such monstrosities before?" "No," I answered; "they suggest to me a collaboration between Madame Tussaud and the author of the 'Arabian Nights'" "Well," he said, "since you mention the 'Arabian Nights,' how would you like to hear one of our professional story-tellers? Shall we dine at Asakusa and go to a yosé afterwards?" "You anticipate my heart's desire, and lay up for yourself undying gratitude. Let us go to a yosé."
At the Isemon Restaurant delicious shrimp-cutlets and delightful geisha made of dinner a rather protracted ceremony. When we arrived at Tsurusé, near the Nihon-Bashi, only a few seats at the back of the room were unoccupied. We had paid 30 sen (about sevenpence-halfpenny) at the door, and the nakauri, a daintily-dressed waiting-maid, charged only twopence for tea, cushion, and tobacco-box. On the curtained platform at the opposite end of the hall a zenza, or débutant, was relating a comic anecdote, which greatly amused his auditors. Like so much Tōkyō humour, the laughter was calculated to flatter the townsman's shrewdness at the countryman's expense. A farmer, whose son had gone to make a living in the capital, received a telegram asking for a pair of new shoes, stout and solid, such as only the provinces can produce. Proud of his telegram, the first which had been received in those parts, and believing the mischievous information of a neighbour
