Read Ebook: Rare days in Japan by Ladd George Trumbull

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Arashi-yama, made picturesque by its hills everywhere covered with pine trees, its plantations of cherry trees which are said to have been brought from Yoshino in the thirteenth century by the Emperor Kameyama, and its justly celebrated maple groves, was an appropriately beautiful spot for the termination of our excursion. After taking luncheon in one of its tea-houses,--my first meal, squatted on the mats, in Japanese style,--my host and I left the rest of the party and went back to his home in the city by jinrikishas. On the way we stopped at one of those oldest, smallest, and most obscure of ancient temples, which so often in Japan are overlooked by the tourist, but which not infrequently are of all others best worth the visiting. Here the mild-mannered, sincere old priest opened everything freely to our inspection, lighted the tapers and replenished the incense sticks; and even allowed us the very unusual privilege of handling the sacred things about the idols. Finally, putting a paper-covering over his mouth, and after much prayer, he approached on his knees the "holy of holies," drew aside the gilt screens and showed us the inner shrine; and he then took out the shoes belonging to the god and let us handle and admire them.

From his point of view, the pious custodian of the sacred relics was indulging in an altogether justifiable pride. For the temple of Uzumasa is one of the oldest in Japan. It was founded in A. D. 604, by Sh?toku Taishi, the Japanese Constantine, who consecrated it to Buddhist gods whose images had been brought from Korea. Although the original buildings were burned some centuries ago, the relics and specimens of the most ancient art were fortunately saved. Nowhere else in the whole country, except at Nara or H?ry?ji--and there only to those who are favoured with special privileges by the Government--can such a multitude of these things be seen and studied. The antiquarian interest in them is just now enhanced by the fact that many of them, although called Japanese, were really made either in Korea or else under the instruction of Korean teachers. It is one of the shiftings of human history which has now placed upon the Japanese the responsibility of instructing in every kind of modern art their former teachers.

The accessories and incidents of my second excursion to the rapids of the Katsura-gawa were of a totally different order. The day was in early March of 1907, bright and beautiful, but somewhat cool for such a venture. At the Nijo station--for one could now reach the upper rapids by rail--my wife and I met President Harada and one of the lady teachers of Doshisha, and two of the Professors of the Imperial University. Passes and a present of envelopes containing a number of pretty picture cards, from the Manager of the Kyoto Railway Company, were waiting for the party. The ride to the village of Kameoka was pleasant, although even the earliest of the plum blossoms had not yet appeared to beautify the landscape.

I had been anticipating a day of complete freedom for recreation; but the Christian pastor of the village, who had kindly arranged for our boat, had with equal kindness of intention toward his parish, betrayed our coming; and the inevitable under such circumstances happened. The usual committee of Mayor, representatives of the schools and others, were at the station to welcome us. "Could I not visit the Primary School and say a few words--just show myself, indeed--to the children who were all waiting eager with expectation?" Of course, Yes: for how could so reasonable a request, so politely proffered, be reasonably and politely denied? Besides, the children were encouraged to plant and care for trees about the school-buildings; and it was greatly desired that I should plant one to commemorate our visit. Of course, again, Yes. Soon, then, a long row of jinrikishas, holding both hosts and guests, was being hurried over the mile or more separating the station from the nearest school-building. On drawing near we found some 500 or 600 children--first the boys and then the girls--ranged along on either side of the roadway; and between them, all bowing as they are carefully trained to do in Japanese style and waving flags of both countries, we passed, until we were discharged at the door of the large school-house hall.

After luncheon was finished, I assisted at the planting of two small fir-trees just in front of the building, by dropping into the hole the first two or three mattocks full of earth. We were then conducted to the play-ground near by, where the whole school was drawn up in the form of a hollow square. Here, from one end of the square, I spoke to the children for not more than ten minutes, and President Harada interpreted; after which the head-master made a characteristically poetical response by way of thanks,--saying that the memory of the visit and the impression of the words spoken would be evergreen, like the tree which had been planted, and expressing the wish that the future long lives of both their guests might be symbolised by the life of the tree. To tend these trees became a privilege for which the pupils of the school have since kept up a friendly rivalry.

The excursionists were quite naturally desirous of getting off promptly upon the postponed pleasure trip; but this was not even yet easily to be done. For now followed the request to visit two schools of the higher grade and make a short talk to the pupils in them. I compromised on the condition that the two should be gathered into the same assembly; and this was cheerfully, and for the Japanese, promptly done. The combined audience made about three-hundred of each sex--older boys and girls--standing close together, one on one side and the other on the other side of the room, in soldier-like ranks, facing the speaker with curious and eager eyes, but with most exemplary behaviour. Again I spoke for ten minutes; after which followed the interpretation and the address of thanks and of promise to remember and put into practice the speaker's injunctions.

I have dwelt at such length on this seemingly trivial incident, because I should be glad to give an adequate impression of the influence of the lower grades of the public schools of Japan in inculcating lessons of order and politeness upon the children of the nation; and in this way preparing them for fitting in well with the existing social order and for obedience to the sovereign authority of the Emperor, of their parents, and in general of their elders. The common impression that Japanese babies are born so little nervous or so good-natured that they never cry, is indeed far enough from the truth. They do cry, as all healthy babies should, when hurt or when grieved; or, with particular vehemence, when mad. They are almost without exception injudiciously indulged by their parents, their nurses, and in truth by everybody else. But from the time the boy or girl begins to attend school, an astonishing change takes place. How far this change is due to the influence of the teacher's instruction and example, and how far to the spirit and practice of the older pupils, it is perhaps not easy to say. But, in school, both sexes are immediately placed under a close-fitting system of physical and intellectual drill. Thus the pride and ambition of all are called out by the effort to succeed and to excel. The Imperial rescripts, the wise sayings and noble achievements of ancient sages and heroes, the arousement of that spirit which is called "Bushid?" or "Yamato-Damashii," the appeal to the pride and love of country, and instruction in ethics--as the Japanese understand ethics--prolonged from the kindergarten to the University;--all these means are employed in the public system of education with the intention of producing citizens serviceable to the State. They are all needed in the effort of the Government to control the ferment of new ideas and the pressure of the new forces which are shaping the future commercial, political, and social life of the nation, perhaps too rapidly for its own good.

For the interested and sympathetic teacher of children there are no more delightful experiences than may be had by visiting and observing the primary grades of the public schools of Japan. I have had the pleasure of speaking to several thousands of their pupils. At the summons, the boys would come filing in on one side, and the girls on the other side, of the large assembly room with which every well-appointed school-house is now being provided; and as quietly as drilled and veteran soldiers they would form themselves into a compacted phalanx of the large style of ancient Macedonia. Six hundred pairs of bright black eyes are then gazing steadily and unflinchingly, but with a quiet and engaging respectfulness, into the eyes of the speaker. And if his experience is like my own, he will never see the slightest sign of inattention, impatience, or disorder, on the part of a single one of his childish auditors. Further, as to the effect of this upon the older boys when out of school: Although I have been in a considerable number of places, both in the cities and in the country places of Japan, I have never seen two Japanese boys quarrelling or even behaving rudely toward each other so far as their language was concerned. The second item of "advice" in the "Imperial Rescript to the Army and Navy," which precedes even the exhortation--"It is incumbent on soldiers to be brave and courageous"--reads as follows: "Soldiers must be polite in their behaviour and ways. In the army and navy, there are hierarchical ranks from the Marshal to the private or bluejacket which bind together the whole for purposes of command, and there are the gradations of seniority within the same rank. The junior must obey the senior; the inferior must take orders from the superior, who transmits them to Our direct command; and inferior and junior officers and men must pay respect to their superiors and seniors, even though they be not their direct superiors and seniors. Superiors must never be haughty and proud toward those of lower rank, and severity of discipline must be reserved for exceptional cases. In all other cases superiors must treat those beneath them with kindness and especial clemency, so that all men may unite as one man in the service of the country. If you do not observe courtesy of behaviour, if inferiors treat their superiors with disrespect, or superiors their inferiors with harshness, if, in a word, the harmonious relations between superiors and inferiors be lost, you will be not only playing havoc with the army, but committing serious crimes against the country."

The system of education now established in Japan, both in its Universities and in its public schools, has still many weaknesses and deficiencies, and some glaring faults. Nor are Japanese boys, especially when they have grown older and become more wise in their own eyes, always agreeable to their teachers, or easy to manage and to instruct. But of all this we may perhaps conclude to speak at another time. This at any rate is certain: There are few memories in the life-time of at least one American teacher, which he more gladly recalls, and more delights to cherish, than those which signalise his many meetings with the school children of Japan: and among them all, not the least pleasant is that of the three hundred boys of Kameoka, standing in a row upon the banks of the Katsura-gawa and shouting their "banzais" to the departing boat.

And, indeed, having already described with sufficient fulness how one runs the rapids, admires the banks, perhaps visits a shrine or a tea-house on the way, and arrives in safety to find refreshment and rest at Arashi-yama, there is nothing more worth saying to be said on the subject.

Between a series of addresses which I had been giving in his church, in early July of 1892, in Tokyo, and the opening of work at the summer-school at Hakon?, Mr. T. Yokoi and I planned an excursion of a few days to the mountainous region in the interior northward of the Capital City. The addresses had been on topics in philosophy--chiefly the Philosophy of Religion. The weather proved as uncomfortable and debilitating as Japanese summer weather can easily be. In spite of this, however, about two hundred and fifty men, with few exceptions from the student classes, had been constant in attendance and interest to the very end; and I was asking myself where else in the world under similar discouraging circumstances, such an audience for such a subject could readily be secured.

The evening before we were to set out upon our trip, I was given a dinner in the apartments of one of the temples in the suburbs of Tokyo. The whole entertainment was characteristic of old-fashioned Japanese ideals of the most refined hospitality; a brief description of what took place may therefore help to correct any impression that the posturing of geisha girls and the drinking of quantities of hot sak? is the only way in which the cultivated gentlemen of Japan know how to amuse themselves. As the principal feature of entertainment on this occasion, an artist of local reputation, who worked with water-colours, had been called to the assistance of the hosts; and we all spent a most pleasant and instructive hour or two, seated on the mats around him and watching the skill of his art in rapid designing and executing. The kakemonos thus produced were then presented to the principal guest as souvenirs of the occasion. The artistic skill of this old gentleman was not indeed equal to his enthusiasm. But on later visits to Japan I have enjoyed the benefits of both observation and possession, in instances where the art exhibited has been of a much higher order. For example, at a dinner given by my Japanese publishers to Mrs. Ladd and me, we witnessed what has since seemed to both of us a most astonishing feat of cultivated aesthetical dexterity. The son of one of the more celebrated artists of Japan at that time , himself a workman of much more than local reputation, had after some hesitation been secured to give an exhibition of his skill at free-hand drawing in water-colours. When two or three designs of his own suggestion had been executed, in not more than ten minutes each, the artist asked to have the subjects for the other designs suggested for him. Among these suggestions, he was requested to paint a lotus; and this was his answer to the request. Selecting a brush somewhat more than two inches in width, he wet three sections of its edge with as many different colours, and then with one sweep of hand and wrist, and without removing the brush from the paper, he drew the complete cup of a large lotus--its curved outlines clearly defined and beautifully shaped, and the shading of the inside of the cup made faithful to nature by the unequal pressure of the brush as it glided over the surface of the paper.

After the dinner, which followed upon the display of the painter's skill, and which was served by the temple servants, the entire party divided into groups or pairs and strolled in the moonlight through the gardens which lay behind the temple buildings. The topic of talk introduced by the Japanese friend with whom I was paired off carried our thought back to the quiet and peaceful life lived in this same garden by the monks in ancient days; and not by the monks only, but also by the daimyos and generals who were glad, after the fretful time of youth was over, to spend their later and latest days in leisurely contemplation. In general, in the "Old Japan," the father of the family was tempted to exercise his right of retiring from active life before the age of fifty, and of laying off upon the eldest son the duty of supporting the family and even of paying the debts which the father might have contracted. But it was, and still is, a partial compensation for this custom of seeking early relief from service, that the Japanese, and the Oriental world generally, recognise and honour better than we are apt to do, the need of every human soul to a certain amount of rest, recreation, and time for meditation.

The entertainment over, and the uneaten portion of each guest's food neatly boxed and placed under the seat of his jinrikisha for distribution among his servants on the home-coming, I was taken back to my lodgings through streets as brilliantly lighted as lanterns and coal-oil lamps can well do, and crowded with a populace of both sexes and all ages who were spending the greater part of the night in the celebration of a local religious festival. The necessity of sitting up still later in order to write letters for the mail which left by the steamer next day, and of rising at four o'clock in the morning, to take an early train from a distant station, did not afford the best physical preparation for the hardships which were to be endured during the two or three days following.

Asama-yama is the largest now continuously active volcano in Japan. Its last great and very destructive eruption was in the summer of 1783, when a vast stream of lava destroyed a considerable extent of primeval forest and buried several villages, especially on the north side of the mountain. Over most of this area the villages have never been rebuilt. Even the plain across which we rode between the two Karuizawas, and which lies to the southeast, is composed of volcanic ash and scoriae; and since 1892, stones of considerable size have often been thrown into the yards of the villas inhabited by the summer visitors in this region. Yet more recently, there have been exhibitions of the tremendous destructive forces which are only biding their time within the concealed depths of this most strenuous of Japan's volcanos. On the south side of the mountain rise two steep rocky walls, some distance apart, the outer one being lower and partly covered with vegetation. It is thought by geologists that these are the remains of two successive concentric craters; and therefore that the present cone is the third of Asama-yama's vent-holes for its ever-active inner forces.

It had been our intention to follow what the guide-book described as the "best plan" for making the ascent of the volcano; and this was to take horses from the old village of Karuizawa, where it was said foreign saddles might be procured, ride to Ko-Asama, and then walk up by a path of cinders, described as steep but good and solid, and plainly marked at intervals by small cairns. First inquiry, however, did not succeed in getting any trace of suitable horses, not to mention the highly desirable equipment of "foreign saddles." After taking a late and scanty luncheon in a tea-house which for Japan, even in the most remote country places, seemed unusually dirty and disreputable, we went out in further search of the equipment for the climb of the next day. On emerging from the tea-house, right opposite its door, we came upon a gentleman in a jinrikisha, who was a traveller from America--a much rarer sight in those parts twenty years ago than at the present time. Salutations and inquiries as to "Where from" and "What about," were quickly interchanged as a matter of course. It turned out that we were making the acquaintance of the father of one of the Canadian missionaries, who was visiting his son and who was at that very instant on his way to the station to take train to Komoro, a village some fourteen miles over the pass, from which that night a party of ten or twelve were planning to ascend Asama-yama by moonlight. Permission was asked and cordially given for us to become members of this party; and the gentleman in the jinrikisha then went on his way as rapidly as the rather decrepit vehicle and its runner could convey him.

As for us, all our energies were now bent on catching that train; for it was the last one of the day and it was certain that our plans could not easily be carried out from the point of starting where we then were. Our belongings were hastily thrust into the bags and a hurry call issued for jinrikishas to take us to the station. But our new acquaintance had gone off in the only jinrikisha available in the whole village of Karuizawa. What was to be done? A sturdy old woman volunteered her assistance; and some of the luggage having been mounted on a frame on her back, we grabbed the remainder and started upon a sort of dog-trot across the ashy plain which separated the tea-house by more than a mile and a half from the railway station. As we came in sight of the train, the variety of signals deemed necessary to announce by orderly stages the approach of so important an event gave notice to both eyes and ears that it was proposing soon to start down the mountain pass; and if it once got fairly started, the nature of the grade would make it more difficult either to stop or to overtake it. My friend, therefore, ran forward gesticulating and calling out; while I assisted the old woman with the burdens and gave her wages and tips without greatly slackening our pace. The railway trains of that earlier period, especially in country places, were more accommodating than is possible with the largely increased traffic of to-day; and the addition of two to the complement of passengers was more important than it would be at present. And so we arrived, breathless but well pleased, and were introduced to several ladies in the compartment, who belonged to the party which proposed to make the ascension together.

The route from Karuizawa to Komoro is a part of what is considered by the guide-book of that period, "on the whole the most picturesque railway route in Japan." The first half is, indeed, comparatively uninteresting; but when the road begins to wind around the southern slope of Asama-yama, the character of the scenery changes rapidly. Here is the water-shed where all the drainage of the great mountain pours down through deep gullies into rivers which flow either northward into the Sea of Japan or southward into the Pacific. From the height of the road-bed, the traveller looks down upon paddy-fields lying far below. The mountain itself changes its apparent shape and its colouring. The flat top of the cone lengthens out; it now becomes evident that Asama is not isolated, but is the last and highest of a range of mountains. The pinkish brown colouring of the sides assumes a blackish hue; and chasms rough with indurated lava break up into segments which follow the regularity of the slopes on which they lie.

Komoro, the village at which we arrived just as the daylight was giving out, was formerly the seat of a daimyo; but it has now turned the picturesque castle-grounds which overhang the river into a public garden. It boasted of considerable industries in the form of the manufacture of saddlery, vehicles, and tools and agricultural implements. But its citizens I found at that time more rude, inhospitable, and uncivilised than those I have ever since encountered anywhere else in Japan. Our first application for entertainment at an inn was gruffly refused; but we were taken in by another host, whom we afterwards found to have all the silly dishonest tricks by which the worst class of inn-keepers used formerly to impose upon foreigners.

The plan agreed upon for the ascent was to start at ten in the evening, make the journey by moonlight, and so arrive at the mountain's top in time to see the volcanic fires before dawn but after the moon had gone down; and then, still later, the wide-spreading landscape at sunrise. Six horses were ordered for those of the party who preferred to ride the distance of nearly thirteen miles which lay between the inn and the foot of the cone; while the other five--four of the younger men and one young woman--deemed themselves hardy enough to walk the entire way. As the event proved, a walk of twenty-five miles, half of it steeply up hill, followed by a climb of two thousand feet of ash cone, while not a great "stunt" for trained mountaineers, is no easy thing for the ordinary pedestrian.

During these four hours I had been lying on the outer platform of the tea-house, fighting mosquitoes, and trying to get snatches of sleep; since my quota of this sort of preparation for a stiff day's work had been only three hours during the last forty-eight. A crowd of villagers, of all sorts and sizes, had gathered in front of the platform, which, of course, was open to the street, and were fixedly gazing at the foreigner with that silent and unappeased curiosity which need seriously offend no one who understands its motive and the purpose it is intended to serve. One of the village wags and loafers was continuously and monotonously discoursing to the crowd in a manner so amusing as to call forth repeated outbursts of laughter; and it was evident that the subject of the discourse was the strange and ridiculous ways of foreigners in general; if not the strange and ridiculous appearance of the particular foreigner just now illustrating the characteristics universal with the race. Obviously such conditions were not favourable to restful sleep.

The dawn, when we reached the uplands outside the village of Komoro, was as beautiful as dawn in summer in Japan can ever be. Below us lay the village with its surroundings; in front and at our side, the mountain; and overhead the larks were singing, the stars were waning, and the soft light and brilliant colouring of the early morning were creeping up the sky.

As we rose higher and higher above the village, the view behind us widened, and the way became steeper and more difficult for the horses; perhaps in places also slightly dangerous. About half the distance of the mountain's height upward, all vegetation ceases, and the path, joining that from Oiwake, a hamlet lying several miles nearer Karuizawa than does Komoro, proceeds over a steep ascent of loose ash to the edge of the outer ridge. This ridge appears from the villages below to be the summit of the volcano, but is in reality considerably below it. It was near this point that we learned the discouraging experiences of the party of pedestrians who had started out at about midnight of the night before. The native guide whom they employed had lost and then deserted them; the young woman had fainted quite away with exhaustion; the men detailed to procure assistance and have her conveyed to the nearest farmhouse, several miles away, had of course abandoned the excursion; while the others had been able only to have a glimpse from the mountain's top, and were now hastening down in the hope of meeting us, who were ascending with the baskets containing a much-needed breakfast. It was some satisfaction to know that the man whom we had earlier seen wandering around in a clearing on the side of a lower mountain which arose across a wooded ravine was no other than the faithless guide. He had lost himself, after abandoning his charge!

After a mid-day breakfast we began the last stage of our climbing of Asama-yama; and indeed this can scarcely be called a climb in any strict meaning of the word. It is rather a stiff walk--ankle deep or more in scoriae and ashes--up a cone some two thousand feet in perpendicular height. It was obvious that we could no longer hope to have the interesting experiences covered by the original plan. There was no chance of seeing the volcanic fires made more impressive by the darkness of night; and sunrise had already passed by many hours. What was still worse, just while we were eating luncheon, a thick cloud came down upon the mountain and completely shrouded objects even a few rods away. There remained, however, the crater and its unceasing display of the forces raging within. Plodding steadily along, with muscles stiff and aching from the six-and-a-half hours of such a horse-back ride, brought us to the top; and here, of course, the cloud had somewhat of the same effect as that which we had expected to be furnished by the darkness of night.

The side of the cone of Asama-yama is strewn with large, rough fragments of loose lava, and unfathomable rifts extend for the greater part of the distance down to its very base. The crater is almost circular in shape, and nearly a mile in circumference. Its sides and crest are horribly jagged; and its depths, as far down them as one can see, give a lively picture of the popular conception of a veritable hell. The coolies warned us on no account to throw any stones, however small, into the crater; otherwise the god of the mountain might be angered by the insult, and avenge it by overwhelming us with fire and smoke. To escape any touch of such a fate, it seemed to us unbelievers more necessary to keep as much as possible to the windward side of the crater. And, indeed, even with this caution, it was not possible to escape all discomfort. On approaching as near as was at all safe, one saw, as far as sight could reach, great masses of sulphur on the rocks, clouds of steam bursting from the sides and clouds of smoke rising from lower down; while once in about every two minutes sheets of flame sprang out and rose occasionally far above the crater's mouth.

Coming down the cone, we were constantly losing the path, so thick had the cloud surrounding the mountain become. The prospect of descending at any other than the right spot was not at all attractive; for this would mean wandering about indefinitely in those many square miles of the region which had been desolated and rendered uninhabitable by the eruption of more than a century before. This mishap we undertook to avoid by the simple expedient of always keeping within easy hailing distance of each other; and then when any one of the party picked up the lost path, it was easy to reassemble the entire party.

On arrival, our first inquiry was for that old-fashioned Japanese bath, which, when followed by the native form of massage, excels, as a remedy for exhausted nerves and sore and tired muscles, anything to be found elsewhere in the world. The reply of the host was that, of course, the bath had been prepared, but only one other guest had as yet made use of it; if then the foreign gentleman had no objection on this account, he could be served at once. It would take an hour, however, to prepare a fresh bath. Under the circumstances, promptness seemed much preferable to extreme squeamishness; and only an extreme of this trait so inconvenient for the traveller in those days in Japan would raise a mountain of objections, when one knew that every decent Japanese does his washing of the entire body most thoroughly, before he enters the bath.

There is no need to describe the attractions of Ikao, with its main street consisting of a nearly continuous steep flight of steps, and its houses on the side streets hanging over each other as they sit on the terraced slope of Mount Haruna, or border on the deep ravine of Yusawa, through which rushes a foaming torrent. For centuries lovers have met about the old well in the centre of its lower end. All this will be remembered by those who have been there; or it can be read about in the guidebooks. But other engagements prevented a long stay in this delightful spot; nor could time be spared for a visit to Mushi-yu, further up the mountain, where numbers of peasants were coming to avail themselves of the sulphurous gases which were supposed to be good for rheumatic troubles. The acuteness of our self-denial of the last-mentioned privilege was enhanced by an advertisement which was posted just where the path up the mountain diverges from the main way, and where the Christian patriot Neesima spent some of his last hours. This advertisement read: "Hot steam baths! uncommon to the World. Cures rhumatiz, stummach-ake and various other all diseases by Cold caught."

On my return from the excursion to Asama-yama, after a single night spent in Tokyo, I went up into the Hakon? Mountains to attend the Summer School of missionaries and Christian students, which was to be held that year in the village of the same name. Here there would be audiences eager to hear addresses on themes connected with the discussion of ethical and religious problems--matters about which the younger portion of the nation were then not nearly so solicitous as they are at the present time. The attention of the men who were working to bring in the New Japan was more exclusively directed to defensive and offensive armament, and to what is popularly called "science"; and the opinion prevalent among these men seemed to be that all the nation needed for truest prosperity and advancement to the front ranks of civilisation, was a sufficiently large army and navy, and a thorough training for its youth in the sciences and arts which deal with material things. It is a great encouragement and comfort to the real friends of Japan to know that so many of its leaders and of its more promising young men no longer hold these shallow opinions. And if the next generation of Japanese can escape the corrupting and debasing influence of the American and European spirit of commercialism, and can conserve and enlarge and elevate that ancient spirit of their own best men, which they call "Bushid?," there is even prospect that they will equal or excel the Western nations in those spiritual qualities which make nations truly great.

The guide-book of the period remarks that the large inn at Yumoto "would seem to be conducted with a view to the almost exclusive reception of Japanese guests;" but, perhaps owing to the nativity and energy of my escort, I was most royally entertained there. Both luncheon and bath were in the best Japanese style.

Of the various excursions taken by the summer-school, that to ?jigoku, or "Big Hell" , was the most important. The party took boats across the lake and, before starting for the climb, had luncheon at a pleasant tea-house on its shores. We then walked up to the top of the gorge and part way down on the other side. As it has been facetiously said, neither name for the place is a misnomer; and, indeed, one does well to guide one's steps as religiously when going through this gorge as though walking on the very brink of perdition. For the whole gorge is weird and desolate and reeking with the sulphurous fumes that perpetually rise from the ground. At short distances boiling water breaks through the thin crust from below,--sometimes so near the path that to deviate in the least from the footsteps of your guide is dangerous. Not a few lives have been sacrificed by a false step on this treacherous crust. But all of us, being accustomed to walk carefully and follow authorised leadership, went up and returned in safety.

All the lectures and addresses of the summer school at Hakon? were listened to with that fine mingling of concentrated and sympathetic attention and the spirit of independent inquiry which characterises the best minds among the Japanese, as it does the same class in other civilised races. With such minds, clearness, knowledge of his subject, and moral earnestness on the part of the speaker, are the most highly prized qualities. With them also, appreciation and enthusiasm follow upon conviction of the truthfulness of what is said; and the true-hearted teacher considers it a far higher reward to win such recognition from them than to gain a temporary applause or even the permanent reputation for popularity. Without doubt to-day, the ambition, especially, of so many of the younger instructors of college students, to have large classes and to get into the class-books of the Seniors as a "favourite" or "most popular" teacher, is one of the several baleful results of the excessive lengths to which the elective system has been carried in this country. It is leading not a few of the most thoughtful educationists to doubt whether the remark recently made by one of their number be not true; that a considerable portion of the teaching of the present-day college faculties is coming to be of little or no really educative value. In the colleges and universities of Japan at the present time, the dangerous tendencies are of another order; since they have been modelled rather after a European than an American pattern. With them the tendency of the professors and other instructors is to become too exclusively interested in their own reputation for science--not always by any means solidly founded; and to care too little for the mental and moral culture of the great body of their pupils. Besides this, there is the still more acute danger from those students who have failed in their examinations, whether for entrance or for a degree, of whom there are many thousands in the city of Tokyo alone. It is a sad fact that a considerable percentage of these students are recognised as belonging to the criminal classes. Indeed, all over the world, and especially in Russia and China, the chief hopes and the chief risks, to the Government and to society, are lodged with the student classes.

At the close of the engagement at Hakon? I was for the first, but by no means the last, time the recipient of a genuine old-fashioned Japanese "Sayonara." There are many ways of speeding the parting guest which prevail in the different parts of the civilised and uncivilised world. But nowhere else, so far as I am aware, is there anything quite like the way characteristic of the "Old Japan." Even among the Japanese it is being rapidly modified--necessarily so--by the multiplication of railway trains and by the other influences operating to produce a more hurried and self-centred mode of life. But the leave-taking of departing friends has there not yet contracted itself to a mere formal call days beforehand at the house, or to a "Good-bye," an "Au revoir," or the more familiar "So long," or "Take care of yourself, Old Fellow," from the platform of the railway station. The pleasure of having from fifty to a hundred persons--lords and ladies, professors, officials, together with your kurumaya and domestic servants--gathering at a distant station to see you off by train at six-o'clock in the morning is somewhat embarrassing. But one cannot steal away in silence and without notice from Japanese friends; and an old-fashioned "Sayonara," in a country place and on an occasion like that of the breaking-up of the summer-school at Hakon? in 1892, is an experience which, while it makes one ashamed of one's self for being the cause of so great unmerited trouble on the part of others, leaves behind unfading memories of the most encouraging and happiest character.

On a Sunday afternoon a so-called "farewell meeting" was held. At this meeting there was an address of thanks from the Rev. Mr. Honda, the President of the school, speaking in behalf of the central Committee; a complimentary address by one of the younger men; the presentation of written resolutions; an essay in English by a recent graduate of Doshisha Theological School; and a concluding response by the recipient of all these unaccustomed favours. All this together with the singing of several songs, both in Japanese and in English, made up what was called by all "a tender and touching service."

At about eight o'clock a conveyance similar to that which had been employed from Yumoto--a sedan-chair and four coolies--was ready in the front yard of the inn, Hafu-ya. About one hundred members of the school, headed by President Honda and the Rev. Mr. Harada were on hand, ready to walk in train and convoy the parting guest on his way. Eight or ten of the ladies who had been in attendance on the meetings of the school, insisted on accompanying us for about half a mile down the village street. Then I was permitted to get down from the chair and part from the ladies with much ceremony of bowings and interchange of well-wishing for the future. The remainder of the escort tramped steadily on, through mud and water, often more than ankle-deep. The last mile and a half of the way over the mountains, the path was simply horrible. It led down over slippery stones, through shallow mountain brooks; and in one place by such a steep descent that it was necessary to cling to the chair with all one's strength lest one might be pitched headlong from one's seat. But the coolies proved sure-footed and the escort kept cheerfully on their way. In the courtyard of the inn at Ashinoyu, on the other side of the mountains, they gathered around the chair, and without allowing it to be lowered so that I could dismount, they gave in the heartiest manner the national cheer: "Banzai; banzai; ban-banzai," . To raise my hat and bow, with--I am not ashamed to say--a sad heart and moist eyes, was all the way of expressing gratitude which was left to me.

The remaining four weeks of my stay in Japan in 1892 were spent in Nikko. Since every tourist goes to Nikko, and makes the same round of sight-seeing, to be followed by similar exclamations and reflections, there is no excuse for writing about all that. I have, however, two or three memories connected with visits to this celebrated resort which are somewhat notable. While there on this first visit I received a letter and then a call from a young man who had come all the way from Sapporo in Hokkaid? to attend the summer-school at Hakon?; and who was now covering the several hundred miles back to his home on foot. To give his own explanation of the motive for so extensive an expedition, he had wished to determine for himself whether there were a God, or not. He begged the privilege of stopping two or three days at Nikko, in order to continue the conversations which we had begun at Hakon?. I heard that my young friend subsequently joined a Christian church; but after returning to this country I lost sight of him altogether. It was not until seven years later, when I was in New York for a few days, just about to start for a second visit, that he called upon me. He had been spending several years in Germany in the study of engineering, as a Government scholar. He was to remain in this country some months before returning for service in Japan; so that again my young friend passed quite out of my field of vision. Seven years still later, when on the way to Japan for the third time, on inquiry from a young engineer, a friend of my friend, I heard that the latter was in a responsible Government position and still a deeply religious man. I speak of this as an example of the serious and business-like manner in which many a Japanese youth of the last two generations has taken his religious opinions as well as his professional education.

One other incident which connects itself with memories of Nikko is worth mentioning. Through the favour of an introduction from the Head of the House, Prince Tokugawa, to the priest first in rank, and the kindly intervention of a friend whose father had been the teacher of the priest of the second rank, my wife and I were able to witness a ceremony, and to see temple treasures, that have been only extremely rarely or never accessible to foreigners. We were told by letter from the Shrine of Iyeyasu, that everything should be open to us, if we came at any time later than half-past one o'clock, when a representative of the Imperial Family, who were leaving Nikko to-morrow, would have finished paying homage to the memory of the divine ancestor there enshrined. We arrived at the Oratory not earlier than two p. m., and were treated with every show of respect. Although the ceremony was not over, and although the person rendering the act of religious homage was the representative of the mother of the Emperor, we were allowed to enter the shrine and witness its closing scenes. The ceremony was most simple, reverent, and impressive, as is all the worship of Shint?. Kneeling in prayer, bowing in reverence, and drinking the memorial cup of sak?, were its principal features. After these acts of homage were finished, and the worshipper had departed, the priests, without taking off their white silk robes or black mitres, attended us with lighted lanterns and showed every detail of the shrines and all of the relics which it is permissible for any other than royal eyes to see. They lifted up the silk curtains before the beautiful gilt and lacquer work, and passed the lights over the entire surface so that no minutest feature of their beauty might escape us. They brought out the glass cases containing two of Iyeyasu's swords, with scabbards of black lacquer, and his armour, including the helmet which he wore at the battle of Seki-gawara; or--according to my friend's version of the tradition--the helmet which he put on at the end of this battle, with the celebrated saying: "After victory, one should tighten one's helmet." Then followed the exhibition of the more private relics of Iyeyasu, such as his futons, night-clothing, tea-service, etc.; and the original of his motto concerning the wise and safe conduct of life. In short, it was our privilege at that visit to see all that is, according to the guide-book, in the "rooms not accessible to visitors," except the innermost shrine, where is the statue of the hero, and which no one enters but the princes of the Imperial household, and they only on orders from the Department of the Household.

Bringing these two exhibitions of the same human religious nature into close contrast--the devotions and discourses of the Christian summer school at Hakon?, and the simple but stately and solemn and most powerfully influential ancestor-worship of the Old Japan--may well suggest trains of most serious reflection for friends of the nation, both native and foreign. Perhaps nowhere else has the development of this more primitive form of religion been on the whole so strong on the side of its more salutary influences, and more free from the most objectionable and degrading of the features which have generally characterised it. To-day it is probably the most powerful of all bonds to unite the nation's present with its own past, and to bind together for defence and for progress the different classes and elements of the national life. But in its present form it cannot resist the forces that make for change in religious beliefs and practices; especially as these beliefs and practices are represented by the highest ideals of Christianity. On the other hand, the Christianity which converts Japan is not likely to be the precise dogmas, ceremonies, or institutions, which go under this name in the too often misnamed "Christian nations" of the Occident. And it will be well for Japan not to lose the spirit of regard for the unseen, of reverence for the elders, and of obedience to authority, that consciousness of living and acting constantly in the sight of a "great crowd of heavenly witnesses," and the desire to emulate the character and the examples of the heroes of old time, the worthies who have gone on before, which have characterised its earlier form of religion, if it is to preserve and enhance its ancient virtues, while rising superior to its characteristic traits of weakness, failure, and sin.

In this connection I recall with pleasure two or three incidents in my own experience. At the close of an engagement in one of the larger cities, the President of the Government institution in whose behalf most of the lectures had been given, said to me in a voice choked with emotion: "You know, of course, that we Japanese are trained to repress our feelings. I do not know whether it is a good thing or not; but it is so. And I cannot tell you what we all feel." On parting from one of my favourite pupils, who had spent several years in study in this country, he said: "I do not know how to say at all what I feel; but Confucius taught that the gratitude and affection of the pupil toward his teacher stand next to those of the son toward his father." In reality the teacher who succeeds with his Japanese pupils receives a reward of these much coveted friendly bonds, which it is difficult or impossible to hope for even, anywhere else in the world. The foreigner, therefore, who enters into scholastic relations with Japanese students, if he is competent, devoted and tactful, need not concern himself greatly about this part of the returns from his labours; it will surely follow in due time. And there is still enough left in Japan of the Confucian style of arranging social classes in the scale of their values, which has--theoretically at least--prevailed for centuries in China; and which places the scholar at the head of the list and relegates the money-maker to the bottom of the scale. Indeed, it is only very recently that Japanese "men of honour" would have anything to do with business; or that the sons and daughters of the higher classes would intermarry with the business classes. This is undoubtedly one reason for the partially justifiable, but on the whole exaggerated, low estimate of the business morals of the Japanese. It remains to be seen, however, whether the good or the evil results of the change of attitude toward the money-getter, which is now taking place with such rapidity, will prevail; and whether the net results will elevate or degrade the prevalent standards of morality. Certainly, neither Europe nor America has much to boast of, as respects these standards, on a fair comparison with Japan.

This attitude of secretiveness, born of the habit of repressing all appearance of emotional excitement, is further emphasised by the desire, sometimes only to appear and sometimes really to be, independent and critical. The tendency to revolt from authority and to appeal to the rational judgment of the individual has been the inevitable accompaniment of the transition from the "Old" to the "New" Japan. Naturally and properly, too, this tendency has been greatest and most conspicuous among the student classes. As a result affecting the relations of teacher and pupils in the higher institutions of learning, and even among more popular audiences, a certain coolness of demeanour is deemed appropriate. In certain audiences--notably those of such institutions as the Young Men's Christian Association, or of the missionary schools, or of other native schools that imitate foreign ways, approval is expressed by clapping of hands or by other similar means. But this is not characteristically Japanese. The truly native manner of listening is an unflinchingly patient, polite, and respectful, but silent attention. The disadvantage, therefore, under which the occasional speaker or more constant lecturer before Japanese audiences suffers, is this: he may be utterly unaware, or completely deceived, as to the way in which his audience is taking him. It is entirely possible, and indeed has happened to more than one missionary or other teacher, to remain for years self-deceived concerning the estimate his pupils were holding, both of his person and of his instruction.

Another marked characteristic of Japanese audiences is their extraordinary patience in listening. Whatever the subject, and whoever the speaker, and whether his treatment is interesting or dull or even totally unintelligible, the listeners seem to feel the obligation to maintain the same attitude of attention to the very end of the discourse. This endurance on the part of his hearers makes the call for endurance on the part of the speaker who is determined to interest and instruct them, all the more imperative and even exhausting. While lecturing in India, I came regularly to expect that a considerable percentage of the audience would melt away--not always by any means as silently as the snow goes in a Spring day of genial sunshine--before the talk was half or two-thirds over. In Korea, it needed only one or two experiences to learn that, perhaps, the larger portion of the audience came to look, and see . But in Japan, under circumstances most trying to the patience of both speaker and hearers, I have never known more than a handful or two of individuals to steal quietly away, until the proper and exactly ceremonial time for leaving the room had fully arrived. And in such cases it was usually thought necessary for some one to explain the engagement which had made necessary such a breach of etiquette.

What is true of these more scholastic audiences is equally true of those which are more popular. Indeed, it is probably the fact that the non-scholastic audiences in the smaller cities and in the country places are hitherto much less infected with the Western spirit of impatience, which masquerades under the claim to be a sacred regard for the value of time, but which is often anything but that, than are the student classes in the crowded centres of education. At Osaka, in 1892, nearly one thousand officials and business men gathered on a distressingly hot summer's afternoon and sat without any show of desire to escape, listening for more than two hours to an address on a topic in ethics. In Kyoto, in 1907, on invitation of the Governor of the Ken, and of the mayor of the city, fifteen hundred of the so-called "leading citizens" packed the Assembly Hall of the District Legislature, galleries included, and sitting Japanese fashion on the floor listened for three mortal hours, to a speech of introduction, to a biographical address, to a talk on "Japan from the Point of View of a Foreign Friend," and its interpretation, to an address of thanks and to a response by the person who had been thanked.

Nor is this characteristic great patience exhausted by a single occasion. In Tokyo a class of more than four hundred teachers continued, substantially undiminished, through a course of thirty lectures on the "Teacher's Practical Philosophy"; the class in Kyoto which entered for a course of twenty hours on the same subject numbered rather more than eight hundred, and of these nearly seven hundred and fifty received certificates for constancy in attendance. At Nagasaki, Sendai, and other places, similar classes obtained and kept an average attendance of from four hundred to six hundred. At the close of each of these engagements, the class, together with their foreign teacher, always had to be photographed.

It is well known to all travellers in Japan, and to all readers of books on Japan, how much the Japanese, in their intercourse with each other, insist upon a formal and elaborate politeness; and how careful the better classes, and even the body of the common people, are to practice this virtue, so esteemed by them, in all their intercourse with foreigners. But it is far from being generally or sufficiently recognised, how unfortunate and even positively shocking, the disregard--not of their particular forms, but of all attempts at the polite treatment of others, seems to them, as they are so constantly forced to notice its prevalence among foreigners. That a fair degree of genuineness attaches itself to these formal and conventional observances, no one who knows the nation at all thoroughly can for an instant entertain a doubt. Of course, on the other hand, neither non-compliance nor the most exact compliance, mean the same thing with us as with the Japanese. With them, not to treat a person--even a coolie--politely, is positively to insult him. The foreigner who should treat the native domestic servant, when the latter approached on his knees and bowing his head constantly to the floor, with an insult or a blow, might pay the penalty with his life. But the old-fashioned politeness is being put to a difficult test by the conditions of modern life, and by the changes of costume and of customs which are being introduced from abroad. It may seem strange that I speak of changes in costume as influencing the rules for polite social intercourse. But, for example, the Japanese kimono forms a fitting and convenient clothing for ladies who, on indoor festal occasions, salute each other by hitching along the floor on their knees, bowing the head as low as possible at frequent intervals. It is decidedly not so fitting and convenient, however, where courtesy while standing is demanded by politeness; or where it is desired to dance with decency and elegance. On the other hand, the modern gown, whether with or without train, is even less well adapted to the practice of the requirements of the native social ceremonial.

According to the Japanese ideas, a proper respect for the teacher requires that the pupil should receive and salute him, while standing. This rule characterises the ceremonial adopted by audiences of all sizes and as composed of different classes of hearers. In all the lectures before audiences composed principally of teachers--since they were, of course, for the time being regarded as the pupils of the lecturer--the procedure was as follows: A select few, such as the President of the Imperial or of the local Teacher's Association, the Mayor of the city, or his representative, and one or more members of the Committee who had the affair in charge, were gathered some time before the lecture-hour for tea-drinking in the reception room, with the lecturer. At the appointed time--usually a little after, and sometimes much after--this party of the select few proceeds to the audience-room. On their entering the room, the entire audience rises to its feet and remains standing until the speaker has mounted the platform, bows have been interchanged with him, and he has sat down. At the close of the address, the audience rises, bows are again interchanged, and the "teacher," unless some special arrangement has been made and announced for him to remain for further exercises, or to be introduced, leaves the hall first. The audience is expected to remain standing until he has disappeared through the door; it would be very impolite for them to begin sooner to disperse. Indeed, I have never seen my friend, Baron T--, so excited by anything else as he was on one occasion, when the assembly of teachers began to move from their ranks, with the appearance of breaking up, while I was only half-way between the platform and the door.

Perhaps there is no larger proportion of any Japanese audience, who have perfect confidence in the superiority of their own views, or in the originality and conclusiveness of their own trains of thinking, or in their infallibility of judgment and loftiness of point of standing, than would be the case with an audience similarly gathered and constituted in America. I do not mean to say that Japanese student audiences are lacking in docility or difficult to teach. On the contrary, I think they are much more eager to hear about the last things in science, politics, philosophy, and religion, than are the college and university students in this country. And they certainly are on the whole much more in deadly earnest in the matter of getting an education. Something--probably much--of the old Samurai spirit still lingers, which forbade the boy to rest or sleep until he had finished his appointed task. I have had more than one of my own pupils tell me how he had studied on through the night, applying wet bandages to his head, or placing some sharp instrument so as to prick his forehead, if, overcome by sleepiness, he nodded in his task.

As underlying or supporting or modifying all the other characteristic features of the task attempted by the foreigner who expects to be really successful in treating of serious themes with a Japanese audience, is the high value placed on education by the nation at large. At the period of first excitement over the action of the School Board of San Francisco, in 1906, a Japanese friend of mine, a professor in the Imperial University of Tokyo, who had spent some fifteen years of his earlier life in this country, remarked to me with extreme concern and sadness, that now his countrymen were wounded by us at their most sensitive point. "Nothing else," he added, "do all our common people prize so much, for their children and for themselves, as education." In spite of its comparative poverty, and of the feeling which--wisely or unwisely--it shares with America and Europe, that the lion's part of its resources must go to the support of the army and navy, there is none of these nations which is giving so much official attention to the education of all its people as is Japan. As has already been pointed out in another connection, the minister of Education takes rank with the other members of the Ministry. The President of the Imperial Teacher's Association is a member of the House of Peers; he is a permanent officer and his office is not a merely honorary position, is in no respect a sinecure. As I know very well, his active administration includes the care of the details, physical and intellectual, of the various meetings of the Association. The case is as though some Government official of high rank--for example like the late Senator Hoar of Massachusetts--were to be the permanent president and active manager of the general Teachers' Association of the United States. The Professors of the Imperial Universities have court rank, in accordance with the length of the time and the distinction of their services. Distinguished men of science and of literature are appointed members of the Upper House or are decorated by the Emperor, in recognition of their services to the country and of the value of their presence, as men who may be reasonably supposed to know what they are talking about, in the councils of the nation. Diplomats, even of the lower ranks, must be educated in the languages and history of the countries in which they are to be stationed as members of the foreign service. The ability to read, speak, and write English is required of all the graduates of the Government Schools of Trade and Commerce. There is a larger proportion of the children in the public schools than in any other country, with the possible exception of Germany. The proportion of illiterates to the entire population is much less than it is in this country. And in spite of the meagreness of equipment, the incompetence of much of the teaching force, the large amount of crude experimenting, and the numerous and serious deficiencies, which still afflict the system of public education in Japan, the recognition of the absolute necessity and supreme value of education in determining the conditions of national prosperity and even of continued national existence, is intelligent, sincere, and practically operative among all classes throughout Japan.

At the time of my last visit to Japan, in 1906 and 1907, the temper of the entire nation was particularly and indeed uniquely interesting. They had just been through a terrible struggle with what had, at the beginning of the struggle, been quite generally regarded as an invincible European power. They had been, indeed, uniformly victorious; but at the cost of enormous treasure and of the outpouring of the blood of the flower of their youth. The nation was heavily burdened with debt; and its credit, in spite of the fact that the financing of the war had been conducted with very unusual honesty, frankness, and skill, was low for purposes of borrowing large additional sums of money. The great body of the people, who did not know what His Majesty, the Genro, and the most intimate circle of advisers knew perfectly well, considered the nation humiliated and defrauded by the unfavourable terms on which the Portsmouth Treaty of Peace was concluded. As I can testify, there was an almost complete absence of those manifestations of elation and headiness, amounting to over-confidence and excessive self-conceit, which prevailed so widely at the end of the Chino-Japanese war. On the contrary, the great body of the people, especially outside of Tokyo and the ports of Yokohama and Kobe, were in a thoughtful, serious, and even anxious state of mind. This condition could not fail to make itself felt upon the attitude of the audiences toward those who addressed them, in correspondingly thoughtful and serious fashion, on themes of education, morals, and religion. Even in the public schools of the primary grade, the bearing of the boys and girls toward their work is serious; and toward their teachers, respectful and even affectionate.

Indeed, in the year after the war with Russia ended, the demand everywhere in Japan was for the discussion of moral problems; and of educational, economic, and political problems, as affected by moral conditions and moral principles. The lectures to the teachers which were most eagerly welcomed and which made by far the most profound impression, spoke of the teacher's function, equipment, ideals, and relations to society and to the state, from the ethical point of view. A course of lectures on the "Doctrine of the Virtues as applied to Modern Business" was called for by the Government Business Colleges. On my accepting an invitation to speak to the boys in the Fisheries Institute, and asking for the topic which was preferred for the address, the reply was given without hesitation: "Tell them that they must be 'good men,' and how they may serve their country better by becoming good men. Most of these boys come from low-class families, whose morals are very bad, and they have not been well brought up; but we wish them to become honest and virtuous men."

After the aged speaker had taken his seat again, a much younger man, the Vice-Mayor of the city, arose; and beginning by expressing his hearty agreement with the sentiments of the last speaker, he proceeded to emphasise the truth with passionate fervour, and wound up his address by saying: "There are enough of us, one hundred and fifty leading citizens of Osaka, seated around this table here to-night, to change the whole moral condition of the city, and to redeem it from its deservedly bad reputation, if only we truly and fixedly will to have it so."

Several months later I had another similar experience, which I mention here, because it illustrates so well the extraordinary interest in moral issues which characterised the disposition of the nation at the close of the Russo-Japanese war, and which made itself felt in so powerful a way upon all the audiences which I addressed during the year of my stay. Toward the close of the course of lectures and addresses at Sendai, I was invited to visit the barracks where twenty-five or thirty thousand of the recruits for the Japanese army are regularly undergoing their preparation for service. After I had been shown about the entire establishment by an escort of under-officers, the General in command, a distinguished veteran of the Russo-Japanese war, called me into his private office. There, he first of all assured me that he had followed the accounts of the lectures and addresses as they had been published in the various papers, and then thanked me for what had been done in general for the good of his country; but, more particularly, for the assistance rendered to him personally in his work of training the young men for the Japanese army. Upon surprise being expressed as to how such a thing could be, the General began to explain his statement as follows: His great difficulty was not in teaching the manual of arms or the proper way to manoeuvre upon the field of battle. His great difficulty was in giving these recruits the necessary "spiritual" training . At this I again expressed surprise and a wish for further light upon his kindly remark. He then went on to say that since the Government had reduced the term of required service from three years to two, the time was more than ever all too short to inculcate and enforce the right moral spirit on youths, many of whom came from homes in which this spirit by no means prevailed. But a profound moral impression had been made upon the teachers in the public schools all over the land; the teachers would take these moral teachings and impress them upon the pupils under their charge; and "these are the boys that will later come to me." When my thoughts turned homeward--as, of course, they were bound promptly to do,--they awakened a strange mixture of feelings of amusement and of concern; of the former, when the effort was made to imagine any remotely similar conversation occurring with a General or a recruiting officer there; and of concern, at the obvious decline of the spirit of patriotism in the United States, as evinced by the almost purely mercenary way in which all branches of the public service have come to be regarded by the body of the people. That it is difficult to keep the ranks of our small standing army filled by offers of big pay, much leisure, and opportunities for foreign travel, is significant, not so much because of a growing and, perhaps, reasonable distaste for a military career, as of a prevalent conviction that the nation is bound to serve individual and class interests rather than the individual and the class to serve the interests of the nation.

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