148 
THE LADIES ’ FLORAL CABINET. 
shrubs. The stately cedar is bent into an umbrella, a 
dragon, a circle or a crocodile, as the gardener's fancy 
leads him, and a pine-tree growing in a flower-pot is 
said to be one hundred and fifty years old. 
Bushy trees are stunted and their tops clipped into 
geometrical figures. All present a quaint appearance, 
yet we pity the poor things and wonder if they are 
happy. 
Foliage plants are much sought for; the banana is 
particularly esteemed. Indeed none, save the rich, may 
aspire to it. From a cluster of bushes peers the ishi doro 
(stone lantern) and the tea-house is charmingly situated 
in a romantic seclusion. Could one wish more than 
the cares of the-day laid aside, to sit in its tiny veranda, 
with song of insect, sleepy note of bird and ripple of 
waterfall mingling together and blending with the 
tinkle cf a distant sa-mi-sen (kind of banjo), while the 
full round moon falls athwart Fu-ji-Ya-ma and lights 
up the miniature temple upon its summit? It is elysium! 
Some of the travelers in Japan have lamented that the 
fine old gardens have fallen into decay, and that garden¬ 
ing itself is soon to be spoken of as a thing of the past. 
To be sure the vast tracts enclosed by the castle walls of 
the “ daimios ” have deteriorated, for the feudal system 
has been abolished many years, and the noblemen now 
dwell quietly and without pomp in Tokio. If one could 
enter the gate of the “ya-shi-ki” (dwelling of a noble¬ 
man), or even look over the high walls, I am quite cer¬ 
tain he would see enough of beauty and picturesque 
quaintness to cause him to alter or at least to modify 
his opinion. 
The following incident may not be inappropriate in 
connection with gardens, and illustrates both the inge¬ 
nuity and courtesy of the Japanese. 
My friend had just such an enchanting garden as I 
have tried to describe; there was but one drawback to 
his entire happiness. His neighbor, a retired merchant, 
had a passion for rare poultry, and the hens (like human¬ 
ity, the same the world over), a penchant for my friend's 
garden. By sundry vigorous measures, all were persua¬ 
ded to remain at home, save a magnificent specimen, 
who defiantly clucked her way along the flower-beds 
and water-side, leaving destruction strewn behind her. 
The gentleman, with characteristic patience, bore it 
as long as he could, but finally decided that the mis¬ 
creant must die. But how! After prolonged meditation 
the oriental rigged a fishing-tackle, baited the hook with 
a fine fat worm, and, throwing it cautiously, hid himself 
in the summer-house, and peeped through a crack in the 
paper-window. Presently the unlucky bird came stop¬ 
ping daintily along, and, espying the tempting morsel, 
greedily swallowed it. Presto ! The line jerked sharply, 
and the fowl lay on the ground silenced forever. Then 
my friend sauntered carelessly out and was absorbed in 
Iris plants. When the dusky shades of evening fell, he 
hied him to the spot and, disengaging the hook, carried 
his foe to the servants’ quarters, and ordered the cook 
to dress it for the next day’s dinner. Then sitting down, 
he indited a polite note to his neighbor, saying that he 
had met with a piece of good luck, and beggiug him to 
join him the next day in emptying a few cups of sake 
(rice spirit). 
At the appointed hour the guest appeared, and, after 
exhaustive preliminary compliments on either side, sat 
down to a substantial repast, the main element of which 
was a fowl stewed in shoyu (a kind of salt sauce); this 
dish drew forth the highest encomiums of the visitor. 
After sitting some time over then - wine, he rose to 
depart and, according to custom, the host accompanied 
him to the “ mouth of the house.” As he slipped his feet 
into his sandals, he murmured: 
“Ten million thanks for your kind and bountiful en¬ 
tertainment. That chicken lingers yet upon m3 7 palate.” 
“ No thanks are due me, and you may to-morrow dine 
upon as good a bird.” 
“How?” inquired the departing guest. 
“ How dense is your ignorance! Do you not know 
that you have feasted upon one of your own pets—a tres¬ 
passer of too long standing to be forgiven any further ? 
Do not be angry, it is unseemly; the fowl has fulfilled 
its mission in suppl)Tng us a most excellent meal of 
which you have had your full share! ” 
The cx-merchant gaped in astonishment, while a 
variety of expressions flitted over his face like skurrying 
clouds across the moon; the ludicrous side of the affair 
struck him so forcibly that he buret into irrepressible 
laughter and insisted on his entertainer’s dining with 
him the veiy next day—where the story was repeated 
amid shouts of merriment from the assembled company. 
E. T. Honjo. 
“THE KING’S BUSINESS.” 
Slowly and aimlessly out of the village wandered 
poor, half-witted Nat that pleasant summer afternoon. 
He had no particular destination, “ only goin’ some¬ 
where his reply always to any question in regard to 
his movements. During the morning he had been pa¬ 
rading the village street, his hat trimmed luxuriantly 
with feathers, while he sounded forth his own praise 
through the medium of a tin horn. Of course he had 
attracted attention. A small army of urchins had sur¬ 
rounded him, front and rear, and he had taken their 
shouts and teasing remarks for applause and admira¬ 
tion. But now his grandeur was gone. One by one his 
followers had forsaken him, until at last he was “ left 
alone/in his glory;” and with poor Nat, like the rest of 
us, what does glory amount to when there are none to 
witness? 
And so he moved onward in his drifting, uncertain 
way across the creek at the edge of the village, up the 
hill, until his stalwart form stood out against the sky_ 
for Nat was strong in body though weak in mind ; then 
he passed down on the other side to where the road en¬ 
tered a forest which stretched for miles away. It was 
here quiet and lonely, but Nat fancied this. He occa¬ 
sionally liked to escape from human voices and human 
habitations, to get away by himself and talk with the 
birds, the trees and the flowers. Here in the wood the 
wild vagaries of his brain found full play. Here no one 
disputed his claims to greatness, no one denied his 
being a noted general, a gifted orator or musician, when 
the fancy seized Trim to be such. In fact Nat always 
had “greatness thrust upon him;” he was never an 
ordinary man in his own estimation, and he was not now. 
