A Woman Alone in the Heart of Japan

s for our bids as we handle the wares. The vender is young and gay and graceful, and he gains courage with this sudden rally. He flings the white goods on the air, and reaches them out for us to sample. Frantically he throws his arms about in dramatic despair, in response to low bids. He is a study in fleeting emotions as he dashes off scathing comment and flings merry jokes.

In the bazaars one is lost in a Grecian border of roofed stalls with their offerings of pipes, purses, prints, pictures, fancy toothpicks, box puzzles, and every ingenious kickshaw. A rickety flight leads up-stairs to a similar enigma of stalls, and we follow the narrow alleys where the tide of life is surging. Suddenly there comes a wild stampede. Every man bolts through the passage. The clatter of clogs makes pandemonium. At the exit we find that a distant tinder shanty is in flames, and a fire is always interesting when there is no hope for the building and effort centres on the wares in the neighbouring houses.

The busy