little servant-girls now bow to us, on our arrival, with an air of
respectful recognition, as belonging to the fast set of Nagasaki.
There we carry on desultory conversations, full of misunderstandings
and endless _quid pro quo's_ of uncouth words,--in little gardens
lighted up with lanterns, near ponds full of gold fish, with little
bridges, little islets and little ruined towers. They hand us tea and
white and pink-colored sweetmeats flavored with pepper that taste
strange and unfamiliar, and beverages mixed with snow tasting of
flowers or perfumes.

* * * * *

To give a faithful account of those evenings, would require a more
affected style than our own; and some kind of graphic sign would have
also to be expressly invented and scattered at haphazard amongst the
words, indicating the moment at which the reader should laugh,--rather
a forced laugh, perhaps, but amiable and gracious. The evening at an
end; it is time to return up there.

Oh! that street, that road, that we must clamber up every evening,
under the starlit sky, or the heavy thunder-clouds, dragging by the
hand our drowsy mousmé in order to regain our home perched on high
half-way up the hill, where our bed of matting awaits us.




XIII.