mance and sunshine.

But I can never get into a heroic vein, and my actual impressions, as I go around the world, are often of so homely a character that I ought not to confess them. How much grander it would be to intimate that my feelings overcame me and I was too much affected for speech. This would sound as a more appropriate welcome to Japan. All that I saw of the coast was the beauty of the green, which came like a memory of childhood, as a memory of America, and in which I rejoiced as in a mere physical sensation, like bathing, or swinging on the gate, or dozing under the apple-trees in the drowsy days of June.

And yet if I could only rouse myself out of this mere boy's feeling of seeing something good-good in the sense of sight and food-there are memories, even around this harbor of Nagasaki, of grand men and heroic days. Here we come again upon the footprints of Francis Xavier. The shadow of that saint rests upon Asia-or perhaps I should say halo rather than shadow, as a word more befitting a saint. Francis was

never a favorite of mine, for I have a choice collection of saints with whom I hope one day to be in a closer communion, and the stories of his gifts of tongues and his taking part in the cruel wars of the European against the native were beyond me. But as I pass from land to land, and see the nature of the field in which he labored, and mark his insatiate devotion to faith and duty, he grows in my esteem, and I bow in adoration of his devotion and genius. Perhaps Xavier had no more interesting field than Japan, and one can picture him, the pale, concentrated priest, walking under these green, impending hills. This is the scene of his mission to Japan. Here began that strange movement of the Japanese people toward Christianity. Here it began, and here, also, it came to an end. This height which we now pass, and where the people of Nagasaki come to picnic, is the hill of Pappenberg. It is an island as well as a hill, and runs up like a cone and is arrayed in winning green. It is written that when the Japanese government resolved to treat Christianity as a crime, and extirpate the faithful, that thousands of the Christians were taken to the brow of the hill

and thrown into the sea. Not far from here is a village, the site of the massacre of thirty-seven thousand Christians who would not bow to the imperial edict, but preferred to die with the cross in their hands.

These are painful memories, but why recall them in Japan? Let us imitate our beloved mother, who has covered with consoling and beautiful green the harsh places-the sites of massacre and death-and forget the dark deeds of an early age, while we rejoice in the bright deeds of our own age, of the men who in our time have taken Japan out of the sepulchre, and given her room and a chance in the arena. There are statelier memories-memories of the daring navigators who forced the seas in heroic days. It was the dream of a northwest passage, of discovering a new road to the Indies—it was the influence which Japan and the East had thrown over the imaginations of men-that led to the series of enterprises in unknown lands and over unknown seas which culminated in the discovery of America. You see how closely our world is knit together, and that you cannot touch a spot which has not some chords, some memory, some associations, responsive to every other spot; and thus it is, strange to say, that Japan and America have so close a relation. In those days Nagasaki was a renowned city, and alone of cities in Japan she touched the outside world. When the warrior-king tumbled the missionaries and converts into the sea, and visited upon the followers of the cross untold misery, even the sacred, crowning misery of crucifixion, Nagasaki was still held as a foothold of the merchant. It was only a foothold. You can see the small, fan-shaped concession where the Dutch merchants were kept in seclusion, and whence their trade trickled into Japan. A flag floats over one of the bazaars, and by the arms of Holland, which it bears, you can trace out the memorable spot.

The "Richmond" steamed between the hills and came to an anchorage. It was the early morning, and over the water were shadows of cool, inviting green. Nagasaki, nestling on her hill-sides, looked cosy and beautiful; and it being our first

glimpse of a Japanese town, we studied it through our glasses, studied every feature-the scenery, the picturesque attributes of the city, the terraced hills that rose beyond, every rood under cultivation; the quaint, curious houses; the multitudes of flags, which showed that the town knew of our coming and was preparing to do us honor. We noted also that the wharves were lined with a multitude, and that the available population were waiting to see the guest whom their nation honors, and who is known in common speech as the American Mikado.

Then the "Richmond" ran up the Japanese standard and fired twenty-one guns in honor of Japan. The forts answered the salute. Then the Japanese gun-boats and the forts displayed the American ensign, and fired a salute of twenty-one guns in honor of General Grant. Mr. W. P. Mangum, our consul, and his wife came on board. In a short time the Japanese barge was seen coming, with Prince Dati and Mr. Yoshida and the Governor, all in the splendor of court uniforms. These officials were received with due honors, and escorted to the cabin. Prince Dati said that he had been commanded by the

Emperor to meet General Grant on his landing, to welcome him in the name of his Majesty, and to attend upon him as the Emperor's personal representative, so long as the General remained in Japan. The value of this compliment can be understood when you know that Prince Dati is one of the highest noblemen in Japan. He was one of the leading daimios, one of the old feudal barons who, before the revolution, ruled Japan, and had power of life and death in his own dominions. The old daimios were not only barons but heads of clans, like the clans of Scotland; and in the feudal days he could march an army into the field. When the revolution came Dati accepted it, not sullenly and seeking retirement, like Satsuma and other princes, but as the best thing for the country. country. He gave his adhesion to the Emperor, and is now one of the great noblemen around the throne. The sending of a man of the rank of the Prince was the highest compliment that the Emperor could pay any guest. Mr. Yoshida is well known as the present Japanese Minister to the United States, a discreet and accomplished man, and among the rising statesmen in the empire. Having been accredited to America during the General's administration, and knowing the General, the government called him home so that he might attend General Grant and look after the reception. So when General Grant arrived he had the pleasure of meeting not only a distinguished representative of the Emperor, but an old personal friend.

At one o'clock on the 21st of June, General Grant, accompanied by Prince Dati, Mr. Yoshida, and the Governor, landed in Nagasaki. The Japanese man-of-war "Kango," commanded by Captain Ito, had been sent down to Nagasaki to welcome the General. The landing took place in the Japanese barge. From the time that General Grant came into the waters of Japan it was the intention of the government that he should be the nation's guest. As soon as the General stepped into the barge the Japanese vessels and the batteries on shore thundered out their welcome, the yards of the vessels were manned, and as the barge moved slowly along the crews of the ships in the harbor cheered. It was over a mile from the

Richmond" to the shore. The landing-place had been arranged not in the foreign section nor the Dutch Concession, carrying out the intention of having the reception entirely Japanese. Lines of troops were formed, the steps were covered with red cloth, and every

obeisance in his honor. There is something strange in the grave decorum of an Oriental crowd-strange to us who remember the ringing cheer and the electric hurrah of Saxon lands. The principal citizens of Nagasaki came forward and