many,
and they are all executed with such exact faithfulness to nature that
you would hardly be surprised if they began to move.

Then he sets on the table a dozen metal boxes exquisitely adorned with
coloured lacquer. On the lid of a silver box an adventure of a monkey is
represented in raised work. Pursued by a snake, the monkey has taken
refuge in a cranny beneath a projecting rock. The snake sits on the top.
He cannot see the monkey, but he catches sight of his reflection in the
water below the stone. The monkey, too, sees the image of the snake, and
each is now waiting for the other.

Now the shopman comes with two tortoises in bronze. The Japanese are
experts in metal-work, and there is almost life and movement in these
creatures. Now he throws on to the table a snake three feet long. It is
composed of numberless small movable rings of iron fastened together,
and looks marvellously life-like. Just at the door stands a heavy copper
bowl on a lacquered tripod, a gong that sounds like a temple bell when
its edge is struck with a skin-covered stick. It is beaten out of a
single piece, not cast, and therefore it has such a wonderful vibrating
and long-continued ring.

Let us also go into one of the famous large silk shops. Shining white
silk with white embroidered chrysanthemum flowers on it--women's kimonos
with clusters of blue flowers on the sleeves and skirt--landscapes,
fishing-boats, ducks and pigeons, monkeys and tigers, all painted or
embroidered on silk--herons and cranes in thick raised needlework on
screens in black frames--everything is good and tasteful.

Among the most exquisite, however, are the cloths of cut velvet. This is
a wonderful art not found in any other country than Japan. The finest
white silken threads are tightly woven over straight copper wires laid
close together, making a white cloth of perhaps ten feet square,
interwoven with copper wires. An artist paints in bright colours on the
cloth a landscape, a rushing brook among red maples, a bridge, a
mill-wheel, and a hut on the bank. When he has done, he cuts with a
sharp knife along each of the numberless copper wires. Every time he
cuts, the point of the knife follows one of the copper wires, and he
cuts only over the coloured parts. The fine silk threads are thus
severed and their ends stand up like a brush. Then the copper wires are
drawn out, and there stand the red trees, hut, and bridge in close
velvet on a foundation of silk.

I