enormous wickedness of certain mythical bandits whom at last he has most valiantly suppressed, tells one that there are antelopes in the vicinity for the shooting and that he will be delighted to provide horse and an escort if the Ta Jen will condescend to pursue them, and so passes on with empty words and bows of farewell.

The crowd grows ever denser and denser, for now are added a deputation of lamas from surrounding lamaseries come to pay their respects to the 'Perfect Jewel,' the Living Buddha. They are of two kinds, the one religious order clad in yellow robes of ceremony with the blue silken cuffs to their long gowns and yellow hats with a red button atop, while the other is dressed for the occasion in deep red, though its members must not be confused with the so-called 'Red' Lamas, who are the secular and military branch of the order. From a casual study of the neighborhood as represented in the present gathering one would hazard a guess that at least one third of the whole population are lamas, and in this one would probably not be far wrong. It was a wise political move of the old Chinese Emperor Chien Lung when he so strongly furthered the development of the lama orders, for by this means he kept the population of Mongolia within manageable bounds, and indeed some students affirm that he so reduced it that another two hundred years will see it well-nigh extinguished.

Be that as it may, there is no denying that the lamas, secular or religious, are the paramount force in the country for good or evil, for every family has its eldest son within the sacred ranks and is therefore bound up with the aims and purposes and demands of the body as a whole.

As one instance of their authority and power let us ask a question or two

of this Mongol next to the gateway. 'Who owns this city and lamasery?' indicating the ruined site before us, some two miles square. 'The Ssu Lama,' is the reply. 'Who owns the ground on the far side of the river to the south?'-a distance of some eight or ten miles. "The Ssu Lama also, and those are his flocks that you see feeding there.' 'Indeed, and how many are there in that flock?' 'Oh! not many,' is the answer, 'about five thousand only, but he has many more to the east and the north that you do not see from here.'

This one instance gives a faint idea of the riches and power of the lama potentate, who resides for the most part in Peking, from whence he comes on an occasional visit to his pastures in the summer, passing thence to the neighboring town of Dolon-nor or Lama-miao with its two huge lamaseries accommodating over one thousand priests and as many acolytes. Thus one may easily comprehend the respect which is accorded to this dignitary by the Chinese authorities, who claim indeed that Mongolia lies beneath their control, but who have no desire to find a hornet's nest of angry lamas buzzing about their ears, as might easily happen if any disrespect were shown to the potentates of either Lama-miao or Urga.

By this time it is three o'clock in the afternoon, everyone who has any claim on the culinary department is fed, and time is beginning to hang heavy on their hands, the more so as a steady rain has set in from the west, thus confining the majority of the women to the tents and courts lest their finery should get wet. The younger and more and more energetic spirits among the men get out their ponies and begin to ride around the ruins of the city, partly to watch for the arrival of the Ssu Lama

and partly to display their special talent to the best advantage. An onlooker might not find their style quite approximating to that favored in the Occident, but he would be forced to admire the way in which they put their ponies at the fallen city walls and surmount the masses of rubble without a stop or a stumble, and to admit that it is a feat which would be but seldom attempted by a foreign rider. Quite probably the sure-footedness of these Mongol ponies is due to the fact that I they are not shod, and although their hoofs are in a broken condition that would bring sorrow to the heart of any veterinary they seem in reality to be none the worse for it.

So the afternoon wears on, a few of I the crowd drifting away homeward under the dispiriting influence of rain, until about six o'clock the sound of a motor horn is heard in the distance. The guard turns out and is lined up in some sort of order, their officer pushing them into place with the butt end of his whip, while the majority of the Mongols leap to their saddles and are away across country to meet the arrivals.

The débris of fallen buildings, for it must be remembered that this is Shangtu, the ancient capital of the great Kublai Khan, presents no ob

stacle to the equestrian skill of these Mongols, though amusingly enough the procession is headed in its wild dash by the slight figure of a young girl, who takes all the jumps and even the city wall itself in true Amazonian style. The automobiles come into view now through the opening of the West Gate, curious anomaly in this otherwise historic scene, and drawing up in front of the Lamasery begin to disgorge their contents. There is a wild blare of trumpets, conchs, and horns as the Ssu Lama emerges, the majority of the people bowing to the very ground in their greeting, though it is difficult to tell whether their reverence is for the portly figure of the Ssu Lama himself or for the slight boy of eleven or twelve, the Living Buddha reincarnated and returned to his people. A Chinese officer evidently deputed as escort from Kalgan, whence the motor-cars have come to-day, follows in the rear of the two dignitaries, and all three make a hasty dash for the shelter of the reception yurts, the Ssu Lama bowing to the crowd en route. This appears to conclude the show for the majority of the people, who yoke up their oxen and wend their way homeward, but a few of the more influential are graciously permitted to remain and have the honor of an official reception.

DESPITE exclusion laws, agitators, and suggested boycotts, there is a part of Tokyo's life that flows on calm and unruffled, as it has done for decades, nay, for generations. This is the Yomisé, or the night shops of the capital, an institution that existed long before Commodore Perry knocked at the closed doors of this land, and that forms one of the most delightful links binding the bustling, hustling, modern Tokyo of to-day with the Yedo of Old Japan when feudal Shoguns exercised supreme sway. As the name suggests, these night shops commence business after day has fled, and practically the entire neighborhood surges about in the narrow streets, laughing, merry, hunting bargains, meeting friends.

To one who has lived a fair length of time in Tokyo, especially to one who has endeavored to enter into the lives and spirit of the people, these Yomisé are replete with cheerful recollections.

One treasures a little tray, the only thing saved from the earthquake's destruction, because it came from a particularly happy Yomisé jaunt. One remembers how the first actual bargaining in the Japanese language, with the aid of that little handbook that the firm of Kelly and Walsh issues, raised many a good-humored laugh as one dived again and again between its tiny covers to get the right word or phrase, determined to do the bargaining in the vernacular and unaided. Can one forget the silvery peal of laughter that rang out as a pair of dark auburn eyes mischievously flashed

mocking mirth, devoid of any malice, at the crude attempts of the stranger to talk the lingo of Dai Nippon? And at the Yomisé, all this comes back in pleasant retrospection. Truly, 'there's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.'

In the company of an Australian friend whose conversation is as alluring and instructive as it is pleasant, we mingled with the surging, jostling, pushing, laughing, chattering sea of humanity. The Yomisé are one of the edokko's or Tokyo-born native'sgreatest relaxations, and an excellent relaxation they are for both mind and body. In the moonlight the children, in their multicolored summer kimonos, look like gigantic butterflies. Under the mental oppression caused by discriminations, boycotts, and rumors of boycotts, the foreigner sometimes feels that it would be a merciful dispensation of Providence if he could always remain a child, if there were no adult creation which so often wrecks the wonderful fashionings of the Master Architect.

We accost first a flower-seller. It is a puzzle to decide what to buy. Children in Christmas toyland could not be more perplexed than we are. Despite Shakespeare, the lean man and the man who hath no music in his soul may yet be fit for better things than treason and stratagem, but what hope is there for him who loves not flowers? My friend cast covetous looks at a beautiful clump of azaleas, of the kirishima variety, blossoming in a bamboo bowl, its crushed-strawberry

hues outrivaling anything that the skill or knowledge of man could fancy. My thoughts went back to South China where, for a paltry five cents, paltry five cents, you can get a bunch of violets or a 'posy' (rose) with maidenhair fern that sends you into transports of delight, and drives you to plagiarize Omar:

I wonder what the florists buy

One half so pretty as the things they sell.

In many lands, under various climes, I have never yet passed a flower shop without telling myself that these creations from the garden of Eternal Love were never meant to be used in sordid commerce, like pretty women put up for sale to the highest bidder in some slave-market. In Japan, however, this feeling becomes immensely softened because the Japanese loves his flowers with all his heart and soul, talks to them as though to his dearest friends, and seeks inspiration from them.

The time creeps round to midnight and the Yomisé are getting ready to close. From their 'unshoppy' atmos

[DR. RUDOLF SCHADE of Berlin has discovered a new and authentic addition to the tales of Hoffmann among the papers of his grandfather, the novelist Rudolf von Bayer, who set down the tale exactly as he heard it from the lips of the writer. The introductory paragraphs are, of course, by Dr. Schade himself.]

In his pocket notebook the poetnovelist Rudolf von Bayer, who was one of the intimates of Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann, describes one of those family symposia in the wineshop of Lutter and Wegner in Berlin, which was famous for its literary associations. It was a June evening in the year 1821 and the date can be even more closely

fixed by the statement that on that very evening the drama Fluch und Segen, by Ernst von Huwald, had been given. The time must therefore be after the eighteenth of June, because mention is made of the first performance of Der Freischutz, which took place on that date.

A group of Hoffmann's intimate friends, among them the writer Tromlitz, were gathered at a table in the classic alcove when Hoffmann appeared, after the performance, followed presently by the actor Ludwig Devrient. My grandfather, as he explicitly says, set down the conversation and the little story 'immediately,' so that its authenticity is beyond question.

'I am led about by evil spirits,' exclaimed Hoffmann as he came in, 'consenting to behold such sentimental children's tales. The wolves were excellent, but I was shamed to the bottom of my black soul to see them forced to waste their art on such stupidities. And the public! Ready to play the critical Berliners, they let themselves be charmed when the little boy runs away and sells himself to the rope-dancer so that his papa may not be put in prison.'

'All the same, if it is well acted, the piece will make a hit,' said Tromlitz. 'You are sentimental, Colonel,' said Hoffmann, 'and have every prospect of getting fat.'

'It is impossible,' Lutter put into the conversation, 'to value morality too highly.'

'Yes, we must be moral,' affirmed Hoffmann. 'I have made even our friend Devrient into a moral man.'

At this moment the celebrated actor came in.

'Karl,' he called out to the waiter, 'a glass of Burgundy!'

on, 'was in a specially good humor on this particular evening, and gave his whims a free rein. He drew mine host Lutter and Karl the waiter also into the conversation. Lutter, who was as jealous as Othello, had to yield completely, and after the conversation, through some chance word, happened to turn on Bamberg, our master of the supernatural improvised a story which, told in the cirle of a wineshop, was designed to make Lutter even more ill at ease since it was intended to strip Karl's nature of its superficial mantle of simplicity and expose him as the dangerous possible Don Juan. The scene of the story was in Bamberg and I must especially emphasize one thing: that it was wholly and throughout an improvisation, as we learned directly.'

I may add to this explanation by our authority that Bamberg had a special significance in Hoffmann's life, since he had lived there himself from 1808 to 1818 and had there established his literary reputation. As for the setting of the literary story itself, it may be well to say that in Hoffmann's famous story, 'Master Martin the Cooper,' the trade of cooper, or barrel-maker, also plays a part. I print the improvisation here from the loose sheets of paper one hundred years old, which my grandfather left and which I was the first to collect carefully. A genuine Hoffmann, with the gleam of the wineshop upon it, emerges:

THE THREE WISE MEN

THERE stood in the ancient city of Bamberg, not far from the Burghof, a stately house in which lived a stately man, rather plump and greatly beloved, since the publican's trade makes its practitioner flourish and wins him the

'Our friend Hoffmann,' Bayer goes

longer young, this Herr Balthazar, but he was more hale and hearty than is