of respect to each other, and to hear them
inquiring after one another's health, showering mutual compliments all
the time, one would have thought they had not seen each other for eight
years, instead of eight hours.

One winter the snow fell long and thick, until all the ground in field
and forest was covered several feet over. The bamboo branches bent with
their weight of white, the pine boughs broke under their load, and even
the stone idols along the wayside were covered up. At first, even with
the hardest work, the young woodcutter could scarcely get and sell wood
to buy enough food to keep them both alive. He often went hungry himself,
so that his father might have his warm wine.

One day he went by another path up one of the mountain dells with his
rope basket strapped to his back, and the empty gourd-bottle at his belt.
While gloomily grieving over his hard luck, the faint odor of rice-wine
seemed borne on the breeze.

He snuffed the air. It was no mistake. "Here's luck, surely," said he,
throwing down his bundle.

Hurrying forward he saw a foaming waterfall tumbling over the rocks in a
thick stream.

As he drew near, some of the spray fell on his tongue. He tasted it,
smacked his lips and throwing down his cord and basket to the ground,
filled his gourd and hastened home to his father.

Every day, till the end of his father's life, did he come to this
wonderful cascade of wine, and thus the old man was nourished for many a
long year.

The news of this fountain of youth spread abroad until it reached the
court. The mikado, hearing of it, made a journey to Mino to see the
wonderful waterfall. In honor of this event, and as a reward of filial
piety, the name of the year-period was changed to Yoro, (Nourishing Old
Age).

* * * * *

To this day, many people young and old go out to enjoy picnic parties at
the foot of the waterfall; which now, however, runs honest water only,
which makes the cheeks red; and not the wonderful wine that once tipped
the old daddy's nose with perpetual vermilion.

THE EARTHQUAKE FISH.

Mukashi, mukashi, (as most Japanese stories begin), long, long ago, when
the gods came down from heaven to subdue the earth for the mikados, and
civilize the country, there were a great many earthquakes, and nothing to
stop them. The world continually rocked, and men's houses and lives were
never safe.

Now the two gods who were charged with the work o