One day I made an excursion from Tokyo and came on an extraordinary avenue of small wooden red painted _torii_, gimcracky things made out of what a carpenter would call "two by two stuff." By the time I got to the shrine to which the _torii_ led I must have passed a thousand of these erections. In one spot there was a stack of _torii_ lying on their sides. The shrine was in honour of the fox god and there was a curious story behind it. Twenty years before a man interested in the "development" of the district had caused it to be given out that foxes, the messengers of the god Inari, had been seen on this spot in the vicinity of a humble shrine to that divinity. The farmers were continually questioned about the matter. It was suggested that the god was manifesting his presence. In the end more and more worshippers came, and, with the liberal assistance of the speculator, a fine new shrine was erected in place of the shabby one. His hand was also seen in the building of a big burrow--of concrete--for the comfort of the god's messenger. The top of the burrow also furnished an excellent view of the surrounding district, and teahouses were built in the vicinity. Indeed in a year or two quite a village of teahouses came into existence. The place, which was on the sea-coast, had become a kind of Southend or Coney Island, and attracted thousands of visitors. A large proportion of these teahouses would have great difficulty in establishing a claim to respectability. Numbers of lamps which crowded the space before the shrine were the gifts of women of bad character and the inscriptions on these gifts bore the _addresses and profession_ of the donors. The final irony was the provision of a tram service for the convenience of those who wished to worship at another altar than that of the fox god. Although most of the visitors found the chief attraction of the place in the teahouses,[221] they were none the less devout. Every visitor to the teahouses worshipped at the shrine.