bedsteads or any such inconvenient and space-robbing thing. The tables
upon which they ate, played chess or wrote were six inches or a foot
high. A Japanese of the old style thinks the cumbrous furniture in our
Western dwellings impertinent and unnecessary. In the eye of aesthetic
Japanese a room crowded with luxurious upholstery is a specimen of
barbaric pomp, delighting the savage and unrefined eye of the hairy
foreigners, but shocking to the purged vision and the refined taste
of one born in great Niphon. No such tradesman as an upholsterer or
furniture-dealer exists in Japan. The country is a paradise for young
betrothed couples who would wed with light purses. One sees love in a
cottage on a national scale here. That terrible lion of expense, the
furnishing of a house, that stands ever in the way of so many loving
pairs desirous of marriage and a home of their own, is a bugbear not
known in Japan. A chest of drawers for clothing, a few mats, two or
three quilts for a bed on the floor, some simple kitchen utensils,
and the house is furnished. Why should we litter these neatly matted
rooms, why cover with paint and gilding virgin wood of faultless
grain, or mar the sweet simplicity and airy roominess of our
(Japanese) chambers by loading them with all kinds of unnecessary
luxuries?

These reflections are broken in upon by Miss Cherry-blossom, one of
the maids, who glides in, kneels upon the floor, and sets down a tiny
round tray with a baby tea-pot and a cup the size of an egg. Pouring
out some tea, enough to half fill one of these porcelain thimbles, she
sets it in the socket of another yet tinier tray, and bowing her head
coquettishly, begs me to drink. Having long since learned to quaff
Japan's fragrant beverage guiltless of milk or sugar, I drain the cup.
Miss Cherry-blossom, sitting upright upon her heels, folds her dress
neatly under her knees, gives her loose robe a twitch, revealing to