Turning left down the lane, I see up ahead a tall, thin chimney, made up of stacked segments, with thin smoke wafting from its tip. This is it - the public bath. I steal in quietly through the rear entrance. Some may say that stealing in through the rear is cowardly or uncouth, but those who take issue with it are generally those incapable of like action, and their indignant grumblings are grounded, in part at least, in jealousy. From times of old, clever men have entered through the rear, appearing unannounced. "Bringing up a Gentleman," volume two, chapter one, page five, makes note of this. It goes on to state, on the following page, that unannounced entrances are the key by which a gentleman secures his proper legacy. As a cat of this twentieth century, I'm well versed in such things. Take heed and mark my words. At any rate, on stealing in I see to my left a mountain of pine wood, split and cut to size. Next to it is a heaping pile of coal. Why, some may ask, is the pine wood a mountain and the coal a heaping pile. There's no deep reason, other than that I've varied my words for effect. Men consume rice, raise birds, catch fish, and hunt beasts. Having consumed all of these in excess, even to their own detriment, they stooped to consuming coal. I can't but pity them. Up ahead, I spy an open door, and through the door lies a cavernous space, empty and still. From far beyond, the din of voices rises. These voices, I decide, must surely lead to the baths. I make my way past the pine kindling and the coal, turn to my left, advance further, and see on my right a series of glassed panes. On the other side of the glass are small round buckets, stacked in triangular fashion, forming pyramids. For round objects, these pyramidal stacks are most incongruous, and I feel for these little buckets. To the south of the buckets is a wooden platform, made to order for yours truly. Its height is roughly a meter, perfect for one good bound. Accepting its call, I spring up lightly, and in front of my nose, before my eyes, I'm face-to-face with the baths. In this whole world, there's no greater delight than to taste what one's never tasted, or see what one's never seen. Some of you may, like my master, frequent these baths multiple times in a week, whiling away thirty to forty minutes at a stint. However, for those like me who've never set sight on these baths, I can't overstate the impact. Miss the final moment at a dying parent's bedside, but don't miss these baths. It may be, as they say, a wide world, but few and far between are marvels such as this.