—'And the plots. What are they like?' she asked.

—'Perhaps you know,' I answered, 'we have had certain customs which resembled those of Greece and Rome. Consequently the plots of such books, like the Greek and Roman comedies, are much influenced by those customs and do not suit the tastes of modern refinement.'

—'Am I too curious if I ask the nature of those customs and manners?'

—'Oh no! In Greece and Rome there was, perhaps you know, a certain class of females called Hetaira, also a class of males called parasites. They mixed pretty freely with men of good standing, and, of course, are not to be judged by the same standard as the disreputable of modern days. In Japan, also, there existed an almost identical class. I am referring to those females known to the occidental races by the name of Geishas, and the men we call Taiko-Mochi, i.e. 'tam-bour,' though the latter were comparatively few in number. The chief profession of the Geisha was music. Indeed, the books I have just referred to are peopled with this class. Novelists in those days were never recognised as legitimate literati, and were quite content to be associated with the so-called town people, and to write chiefly about their surroundings. The very condition of the higher classes supplied but few subjects for romance, and the altered social conditions of present-day Japan clearly shows the reason why their works do not suit the modern taste.'

—'I suppose that sort of people, I mean the class resembling those of Greece and Rome, exists no more.'

—'Yes, they still exist. The modern Geisha, as a rule, are the same in kind, but not in quality. In the days gone by, that is, during the feudal period, social discipline was very rigid, and the occasional adventures of those people were regarded as good subjects for Romancers, whilst the modern ones are far too degraded—they have either no romance, or too much, to be made the subject of romance. Excuse my telling you such things, I only do so from a sociological point of view.'

—'Science will cry out, if you make use of her name in such a place.'

—'Never mind, but listen! The fiction written in the new era differs, widely differs, in the selection of subjects, from that of the old. Only remember! Even those books, I mean the old love stories, portrayed a great deal of female chivalry and heroism. Indeed, a spirit of chivalry was the forte of the period. I can tell you, if you like, one plot which I recollect.'

—'Do, please.'

—'There was a young Samurai, X., and a maiden, Y., who loved each other. They were not decreed by fate to marry. X., the young Samurai, was the second son of his father, and, therefore, not the heir. He was adopted by another Samurai, and eventually marries Z., the daughter of the house. Now, in Japan adoption is, as it was with the Romans, a common custom; it was more so in days gone by. This was natural enough because, apart from other reasons, every Samurai was a retainer of a feudal lord from whom he received a certain allowance annually for his services, and his family depended upon him. In default of a male heir, the house, in other words the family, lost every privilege and emolument. The succession, however, could be made good by an heir, adopted from a blood relation, or even from a totally strange family. On the other hand, the second or third son of a Samurai had no legal status as a Samurai, and was vulgarly called "Cold Rice Meals" or "Back Room Resident." Personal service of a Samurai house to its lord was only required of its head. Succession of Samurai—the title as well as emolument—was according to primogeniture, and, therefore, a second or third son could scarcely get a livelihood, unless adopted by another Samurai, or unless a totally different kind of profession be adopted, or else he was made, by some lord, head of a new Samurai house, by virtue of some well-merited distinction, which was a matter of rare occurrence. Well, X. was adopted by the family of Z., his future wife according to that custom.