go to bed, and sleep. We make our descent in the darkness,
under the branches, under the foliage, among dark gardens and venerable
little houses that throw but a faint glimmer on the road; and when the
moon is absent or clouded over, our lanterns are by no means unnecessary.

When at last we reach the bottom, suddenly, without transition, we find
ourselves in the very heart of Nagasaki and its busy throng in a long
illuminated street, where vociferating djins hurry along and thousands of
paper lanterns swing and gleam in the wind. It is life and animation,
after the peace of our silent suburb.

Here, decorum requires that we should separate from our wives. All five
take hold of each others' hands, like a batch of little girls out
walking. We follow them with an air of indifference. Seen from behind,
our dolls are really very dainty, with their back hair so tidily
arranged, their tortoiseshell pins so coquettishly placed. They shuffle
along, their high wooden clogs making an ugly sound, striving to walk
with their toes turned in, according to the height of fashion and
elegance. At every minute they burst out laughing.

Yes, seen from behind, they are very pretty; they have, like all Japanese
women, the most lovely turn of the head. Moreover, they are very funny,
thus drawn up in line. In speaking of them, we say: "Our little trained
dogs," and in truth they are singularly like them.

This great Nagasaki is the same from one end to another, with its
numberless petroleum lamps burning, its many-colored lanterns flickering,
and innumerable panting djins. Always the same narrow streets, lined on
each side with the same low houses, built of paper and wood. Always the
same shops, without glass windows, open to all the winds, equally
rudimentary, whatever may be sold or made in them; whether they display
the finest gold lacquer ware, the most marvellous china jars, or old
worn-out pots and pans, dried fish, and ragged frippery. All the salesmen
are seated on the ground in the midst of their valuable or trumpery
merchandise, their legs bared nearly to the waist.

And all kinds of queer little trades are carried on under the public
gaze, by strangely primitive means, by workmen of the most ingenious
type.

Oh, what wonderful goods are exposed for sale in those streets! What
whimsical extravagance in those bazaars!

No horses, no carriages are ever seen in the town; nothing but people on
foot, or the comical little carts d