quickly told, it took a considerable time in the accomplishment. The play had been going forward simultaneously, and the faithful retainer had now learned beyond doubt the infatuation of his master, and his brow had grown in blackness. He had killed nobody as yet, but his hand frequently sought his sword hilt, and slaughter was imminent. I thought we had finished dinner, but there remained yet another course. All the dishes had been removed, and now came a tray bountifully supplied with plates of bean jelly, rice cake, and other toothsome things. There were also grapes, of which Japan grows some excellent varieties, and hopes shortly to do better. There was also a toothpick, but I did not feel as if I wanted one.

This course disposed of, the host rose and conducted us to another room, where tea is usually served. If there had been a few thick slices of bread and butter with the tea I would gladly have gone forth in search of it. As it was, the prospect of a thimbleful of pale yellow fluid served round with smiles and bows was a little depressing. But our host knew the weakness of the European. We had, when offered our choice, recklessly voted in favour of a Japanese dinner, and we had had it, or, to be more exact, had had some of

it. Still an inch of fish, perilously conveyed to the mouth with chopsticks, a mouthful of soup, and a sniff of greens kept too long in salt water, are not filling. We were therefore unfeignedly glad to discover, in place of the tea-tray, a table bountifully set forth with a good British dinner.

I noticed that the Japanese who had so long sat at meat in the other room took very kindly to the European food, a preference which I fancy is growing. I once asked the disguised prince who came across with us in the Coptic which style of food he preferred, the European or the Japanese.

"The Japanese," he promptly answered. But then he had not for seven years had an opportunity of tasting it.

21

VOL. II.

CHAPTER II.

A PERSONAL EPISODE IN HISTORY.

SITTING one day in the European drawingroom of Mr. Inouyé's counting-house (which, after all, has its conveniences in the matter of chairs), the Foreign Minister told me the story of his life, which is also, in a great measure, the story of the life of the new Empire of Japan. In 1864 Japan was in those throes which surely presaged a new birth of one kind or other, most probably of revolution and rapine. At Tokio the Tycoon reigned, but scarcely governed; at Kioto the Mikado reigned, but in no sense governed. The ancient and curiously solemn farce of dual majesty still prevailed. The Mikado's person and authority were sacred-too sacred for contact with mundane affairs. He lived in his palace surrounded by all the attributes of imperial majesty. His name was revered throughout all the provinces. In theory his power was

unlimited. He could do almost anything but direct the destinies of the nation of which he was the titular head. He could create a new deity, who would presently have his shrines, his priesthood, and his throng of worshippers. But he could not move a regiment of soldiers.

The Tycoons, who had commenced to be Cromwells, whilst not destroying the kingship, had long usurped imperial state, and, in recent relations of foreign Powers, had used the title of majesty. So dark were the internal affairs of Japan to the foreigner that the shadowy emperor interned at Kioto was possibly, after some vague efforts to comprehend his position, absolutely ignored, and foreign treaties were contracted with "his Majesty the Tycoon." It was the existence of these treaties, and the prospect of further and closer intercourse with the scorned and hated foreigner, that accounted for the hot blood now seething in Japan, and threatening to find outlet somewhere, against the foreigner if possible, if not against the usurper who had so far forgotten his duty to the empire as to traffic with foreigners.

In 1854 a treaty had been made with the United States, very narrow in its scope, but illimitable in its consequences. It had been signed at the instance or on the insistence

of Commodore Perry, and bound the Japanese Government to afford succour and protection to seamen and vessels of the United States. If the Japanese Government failed therein, or could, in any plausible manner, be held to have failed, Commodore Perry or some one like him, at the head of a fleet of ironclads, would appear off Nagasaki, bombard the town, and perhaps land troops. The Tycoon, in entering into a pledge with a foreign Power, had given that Power the right to enforce its fulfilment.

In 1858 Great Britain had wrung another treaty out of the Tycoon-one much wider in its scope than that conceded to the United States. The foreigner had already obtained a foothold on the sacred shores of the empire. He lived at Yokohama, built houses, carried on trade, and if any two-sworded man were,

excess of patriotism, to chop off his head, instead of being protected and advanced in favour, he was tried for murder. The foreigners were asking for more open ports. Fresh treaties were talked of, and nothing in the previous conduct of the Tycoon justified the hope that they would not be granted.

The old nobles of Japan saw this degradation and threatened destruction of their country with troubled breasts and growing anger.