CHAPTER IX

GRAND SHRINE OF ISE.

Two famous Shinto shrines—at Ise and Kitzuki—are especially revered on account of their great age. Kitzuki is so ancient that no one knows when it was founded. According to tradition, the first temple was built by direct command of the Sun-Goddess herself, in the days when none but gods existed. The approach to the sacred enclosure is most imposing. A beautiful avenue, shaded by huge trees and spanned by a series of gigantictorii, leads from a magnificent bronzetoriiat the entrance to the massive wall that surrounds the temple courts. Within are groves and courts and immense buildings. The people are not admitted to the great shrine itself, but offer their petitions before the Haiden, or Hall of Prayer.Each pilgrim throws money into the box before the door, claps his hands four times, bows his head, and remains for a few minutes, then passes out. So many thousands throng this court that—to borrow Hearn's figure—the sound of their clapping is like the surf breaking on the shore.

Although the shrine at Kitzuki is the oldest, the temples at Ise are more venerated. The inner shrine itself is a plain wooden building set within successive courts, but stately cryptomerias and the most magnificent camphor groves in all Japan give the place an unusual air of grandeur and sanctity.

Wedding and funeral customs are extremely interesting. They have both the religious and the civil marriage in Japan. To make it legal, the parents must sign in the register. Marriages in Shinto temples have been unusual until recently, as they have generally taken place in the home. The custom is changing now, and temple weddings are becoming more frequent. Funeral customs are changing also. Formerly it was always the Buddhist priest who conducted the burial service, now the aristocrats are interred according to Shinto rites.

At a wedding that we witnessed in a Shinto temple the couple first listened to a sermon bythe priest, then they were given tapers at the altar. The bride lighted her candle first, and the bridegroom lighted his from hers. After this the two tapers were put together in such a way that they burned as one, symbolizing the perfect unity of wedded life. The bride was handsomely dressed—theobisfor these occasions sometimes cost over one hundred dollars—and wore the headdress with horns, half hidden by a veil called the "horn-hider." This name would seem to refer to the Buddhist text, "A woman's exterior is that of a saint, but her heart is that of a demon." After the marriage ceremony, the bridal party was photographed in the temple courtyard in a decidedly up-to-date fashion. At the house the bridal couple drank the nuptialsaké, which had been prepared by two girl friends of the bride. This was poured from a gold lacquer vessel into one of silver lacquer—the two representing husband and wife—then into a cup, which the master of ceremonies handed to the bride and afterward to the groom, and from which they both drank.

As Shinto is the faith of the reigning family, the funeral ceremony of a prince throws a good deal of light upon the cult itself. I did not witness such a ceremony myself, so I condensethe vivid description given by the Baroness d'Anethan, who, as wife of the Belgian Minister, resided in Tokyo for many years.

The funeral procession was headed by over eighty bearers dressed in white, the Japanese sign of mourning, each carrying a huge tower of flowers. Following these were officers in uniform holding cushions, on which rested the Prince's numerous grand crosses and orders. Next came various persons surrounding a casket, which contained the favourite food, the shoes for the journey (large woodengeta), the sword to guard against evil spirits during the soul's fifty days' wanderings, and the money to pay for the ferry-boat that crosses the river to Eternity. Finally appeared a beautifully fabricated casket of pure white wood (the Shinto sign of purity), embossed with the family arms in gold, in which the body was arranged in a sitting position. The chief mourner, a young prince, was dressed in the old-fashioned Court mourning, consisting of a wide, full, black silk petticoat, covered partially by a short white kimono, crowned by an unusual form of headdress, made of what looked like stiff black muslin. The two princesses of the family also wore ancient Court mourning—a greyish-brownhakama(a kind of divided skirt)—andhad their black hair puffed out at the sides like great wings and hanging down the back.

Arriving at the cemetery, the Corps Diplomatique walked up a path paved in wood and bordered on each side by covered seats, at the end of which were high trestles supporting the coffin. The service now began, accompanied by weird funeral music. Low white wooden tables were placed before the coffin, all sorts of objects being offered to the departed by the priests. First was a long box, containing the name which His Imperial Highness was to bear in the next world. After this followed a repast of various kinds of fish, game, sweetmeats and fruit—the favourite foods of the deceased. These articles were handed with great ceremony from one priest to another. There were ten priests, and as each one took the dish, which was placed on a stool of white wood, he clapped his hands twice to call the gods, and the last priest, bowing very low, finally set it on the table. After all the food had been deposited, prayers were intoned from an immense scroll, the final ceremony being that each member of the family, and after them, the Corps Diplomatique, approached the coffin, carrying branches of some particular tree, from whichfloated long papers inscribed with prayers. The actual interment took place some hours later, and with the remains of the Prince were buried the various articles of food and clothing.

Our visits to the cemeteries showed us the veneration of the Japanese for their noble dead, and impressed us with the significance of ancestor worship in the Shinto cult. The big graveyard in Tokyo, where Nogi and his wife were buried, was most interesting. Modern cemeteries in Japan are much like ours, each owner having an enclosed lot and misshapen stones or stone lanterns to mark the graves, but they are not so well kept up as in America. Attached to the fence surrounding the lot is a wooden box, in which visitors leave their cards when calling at the abode of the dead. The mourners sometimes burn incense and leave branches of laurel, too. As we approached the resting-place of Nogi and his wife, we saw crowds of people standing near, for although months had passed since their dramatic death, the Japanese were still visiting their graves in great numbers.

In many cemeteries are the statues of "The Six Jizo"—smiling, childish figures about three feet high—bearing various Buddhist emblems. A bag of pebbles hangs about the neckof each one, and little heaps of stones are piled up at their feet and even laid upon their shoulders and their knees. Jizo is the children's god. He is the protector of the little souls who have gone from this world to the Sai-no-Kawara, the abode of children after death, where they must pile up stones in penance for their sins! When this task is done, the demons abuse them and throw down their little towers; then the babies run to Jizo, who hides them in his great sleeves, and drives the evil spirits away. Every stone that is laid at the feet of Jizo is a help to some little one in working out its long task.

Hearn gives an interesting account of a wonderful cave at Kaka, on the wild western coast of Japan, which can be visited only when there is not wind enough "to move three hairs," for the strongest boat could not live in the surf that beats against the high cliffs and dashes into the fissures in their sides. But let one make the journey safely, and he shall find in this grotto an image of Jizo, and before it the tiny stone heaps. Every night, it is said, baby souls make their way to the cavern, and pile up the pebbles around their friend, and every morning the prints of little bare feet—the feet of the baby ghosts—are seen in the moist sand.

Buddhism has become so complicated andchanged in the different countries through which it has travelled since it originated in Southern India, and there are to-day so many sects, that it is difficult to define.

The Ikko sect undoubtedly holds the purest and loftiest form of this faith. Its chief teaching is, that "man is to be saved by faith in the merciful power of Amida, and not by works or vain repetition of prayers. For this reason, and also because its priests are permitted to marry, this body has sometimes been called the Protestantism of Japan."

All the followers of Buddha believe in reincarnation; they feel that life is a struggle, which human beings must get through with as well as they can, and that as they are frail, they return to this earth in various forms in punishment for their sins, always toiling on, until at last their purified souls merge in the Divine and realize calm. As an old Japanese writer puts it, "Though growing in the foulest slime, the flower remains pure and undefiled. And the soul of him who remains pure in the midst of temptation is likened unto the lotus."

There have been many Buddhas, who have returned at different times to this world, Yamisaki being the latest. Buddhism has degenerated in Japan, having absorbed the Shintogods, and as it is based on a pessimistic view of life, it appears to be rather a depressing religion.

Lacquer Work

Buddhist temples are adorned with wonderful carving and lacquer work, and contain bronzes and golden Buddhas. One of the largest and most magnificent in Japan, surrounded by gardens of great extent and beauty, is the Eastern Hongwanji temple in Kyoto. The shrines of the Ikko sect are called Hongwanji, meaning "Monastery of the Real Vow," from the vow made by Amida that he would not become Buddha unless salvation was granted to all who sincerely desired it and testified their wish by calling upon his name ten times. There is no government fund for this shrine, and it has no regular source of income, yet it has been the recipient of munificent gifts from royal personages and men of wealth, and has all the prestige that could come from temporal support and the sanction of government.

When we visited this temple, we were ceremoniously received by the priest in charge and a number of his confrères. The head priest, short, fat and clean-shaven, who met us at the gate, grunted and drew the air through his teeth in greeting us, as a symbol of great politenessand respect. His costume was a black silk robe over a soft white under-garment, and a gold brocade band about his neck.

As we passed into the building, we were told that the present structure, which is said to have cost seven millionyenand was sixteen years in building, was erected on the site of an ancient temple that had been destroyed by fire. It is noteworthy that the new temple contains a system of tile pipes in the roof and ceiling, from which, in case of fire, water may be dropped over the entire area.

EASTERN HONGWANJI TEMPLE, KYOTO.

Before the altar is a broad sweep of stone flooring, and in front of that a railing, outside which the people come to worship. Several were kneeling there as we passed, their palms together in the traditional attitude of Christian prayer. Others were prone on the floor. The ragged, the lame and the desolate, blind and deaf to the passing crowd, knelt upon this bare stone pavement—separated from the altar by a railing beyond which they might not pass—their hands lifted in supplication or adoration, their heads bowed in humility. The scene called to mind the legend of Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer, whose mission Longfellow has so beautifully described. We looked at the silent god standing within the lotus—sacredemblem of humanity—veiled by the pervading incense, and we wondered how many of those unspoken prayers penetrated to the mysterious depths where Buddha dwells.

To the left of the altar is a space reserved for the priesthood, where Buddhist monks come daily to their morning devotions and religious exercises. Although the priests do not live in the temple, they sometimes pass the night here in meditation, seated on the long rows of mats that we saw arranged in orderly fashion. About forty priests are usually in attendance at the morning services, but on occasions of State ceremony larger numbers gather from all parts of the Empire. On the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth of each month services are held in memory of the founders of the temple.

The priests conducted us between the railing and the altar, bowing their heads as they passed. A number of small coins were scattered on the matting—these were offerings left by worshippers. Our hosts, who treated us with unfailing courtesy, pointed out further details of the building, and afterward took us to a room where we were served with tea and small cakes. We were told that this apartment had been donated by the present Emperor.

We followed one of the priests into the walledgarden and through its narrow paths. We crossed brooks on bamboo bridges, and looked into the calm waters. Among the trees were small temples and tea-houses overhanging the water, and curiously shaped stones and crooked pines. Hongwanji garden has all the fascination of a true Japanese garden, and has, besides, the additional charm of age, for it is over three hundred years old. We sat in this ideal spot, in one of the pretty tea-houses with its soft mats and lacquer and polished wood, and again drank tea from wee porcelain cups and ate sugared cakes.

The memory of this temple garden clings to me still. I imagine the priests sitting on the little covered wooden bridge gazing into the calm water with the lotus flowers, while the crickets sing in the silence—crickets who were perhaps once human, now doing penance for their sins. I hear the priests murmur over and overNamu Amida Butsu, the Japanese rendering of the Sanskrit invocation meaning "Hail to the Eternal Splendour of Buddha!" I see them meditating on the unending life that they believe to be in store for them, until evil shall have left them, and they shall be absorbed into Nirvana, "as a dewdrop sinks into the shining sea."

As we left the temple we were shown the great coil of ropes made of human hair. There were originally twenty-nine of these cables, the longest of which measured two hundred feet. It seems that at the time when the old shrine was burned, and they wished to rebuild it, the church had no funds. People came together from all over the Empire, and set to work like beavers. The men gave what they could, in work and money; the women had nothing, yet they, too, wished to help. In a frenzy of religious zeal they cut off their hair—their most treasured possession—and cast it at the foot of the shrine of Buddha. From their offerings were woven the cables that hoisted the tiles to the roof and lifted into place the great wooden pillars of the temple.

The temple of Buddha, with its unpainted exterior, its bare pillars in their naked simplicity, its glint of gold, its magnificent carvings, the delicate fragrance of burning incense, its candles, its wealth of symbolism—all this is a fading memory; yet its fascination lingers. We wonder how much of the temple of Buddha we really saw, how much we felt the presence of that power which is so intimately linked with the spirit of the East and with the genius of the Oriental peoples. We felt the reverence—unexpressedin word or outward act—with which our hosts, the priests, drew our attention to the inscription above the altar, painted in golden Japanese characters by the hand of the late Emperor, which, being interpreted, means, "See Truth."

The temples at Nikko, the finest in Japan, are part Shinto, part Buddhist. A ceremony which we once witnessed there, in the mausoleum of Iyeyasu, the great Shogun, was full of interest. After taking off our shoes at the entrance, we wandered over the mats, looking at the gloriously carved panels, till we were informed that all was ready and were invited to enter an inner room. I was given a peach-coloured brocade robe, which I threw over my shoulders, but was told that it was not necessary to don the skirt, which forms the rest of the ceremonial costume. They gave us two camp-chairs, as we preferred to sit on them rather than on our heels, in Japanese fashion. On either side of us squatted three priests in white and green robes with curious black openwork hats on their heads. We faced the inner shrine, in which stood, on a table, a vase containing the gold paper for purification, such as is seen in Shinto shrines.

THE HONDEN, IYEYASU, NIKKO.

Then began the most unearthly music that Ihave ever heard, made by the three priests on L.'s side, who were musicians. One had a strange instrument made of flutes put together, resembling a small organ, which gave out a sound somewhat like a bagpipe. While this man played a weird tune on his pipes, another with a different instrument made a most unpleasant whistle, like that of a train, which continued throughout the entire ceremony.

Besides the green-robed musicians there were on my side white-robed priests with even quainter head-gear, who moved about on their knees and presented food and drink before the altar with many bows and much clapping of their hands. This service led to the opening of the door of the inner shrine, into which we were afterward taken and served withsaké. Then we were conducted behind one beautiful set of painted screens after another till we came into the innermost place, gloriously decorated in lacquer and painting but in absolute darkness, except for the glow of the lanterns which we took with us. On emerging from these hidden recesses, we left the temple, with polite bows to the priests and thanks for their courtesy. As we walked away from the building, we could hear the screeching instruments, the priests going on with the service as theofferings were brought out of the sacred place.

Just as we were departing, I was given this translation of the Precepts of Iyeyasu, which I have been glad to preserve as a souvenir of beautiful Nikko:

PRECEPTS OF IYEYASULife is like unto a long journey with a heavy load. Let thy steps be slow and steady, that thou stumble not. Persuade thyself that imperfection and inconvenience is the natural lot of mortals, and there will be no room for discontent, neither for despair. When ambitious desires arise in thy heart, recall the days of extremity thou hast passed through. Forbearance is the root of quietness and assurance for ever. Look upon wrath as thy enemy. If thou knowest only what it is to conquer, and knowest not what it is to be defeated, woe unto thee! it will fare ill with thee. Find fault with thyself rather than with others. Better the less than the more.Translated by Prof. K. Wadagaki,of the Imperial University.

PRECEPTS OF IYEYASU

Life is like unto a long journey with a heavy load. Let thy steps be slow and steady, that thou stumble not. Persuade thyself that imperfection and inconvenience is the natural lot of mortals, and there will be no room for discontent, neither for despair. When ambitious desires arise in thy heart, recall the days of extremity thou hast passed through. Forbearance is the root of quietness and assurance for ever. Look upon wrath as thy enemy. If thou knowest only what it is to conquer, and knowest not what it is to be defeated, woe unto thee! it will fare ill with thee. Find fault with thyself rather than with others. Better the less than the more.

Translated by Prof. K. Wadagaki,of the Imperial University.

The Japanese, like Arabs and Hindoos, not content with worshipping at near-by shrines,often make pilgrimages to holy places at a distance. There are several of these resorts in the Empire, some of the most famous being the temple of the Sun-Goddess at Ise, the holy mountain Fuji, the monastery of Koya-san, and the lovely island of Miyajima, in the Inland Sea. As most of the pilgrims belong to the artisan and peasant classes, and have scarcely more than enough for their daily needs, they have evolved a scheme for defraying the expenses of these trips by forming a great number of associations, or brotherhoods, the members of which contribute each a cent a month. At the proper season for the pilgrimage certain members are chosen by lot to represent the brotherhood at some shrine, and their expenses are paid out of the common fund. No distinctive dress is worn by most of them, but those on their way to Fuji and other mountains are attired in white garments and broad straw hats.

OFF MIYAJIMA.

These Japanese pilgrims are not only performing a pious duty, they are also taking their summer vacation. After their prayers are said, as at the various festivals I have described, they do not hesitate to join in all the amusements that are provided. It makes little difference to the mass of the common peoplewhether they worship at a Shinto or a Buddhist shrine, and the Government actually changed Kompira from Buddhist to Shinto without in the least detracting from its popularity. The relics guarded in these temples of Buddha remind us very much of the sacred memorials cherished by the Roman Church—holy garments, holy swords, pictures by famous saints, and bits of the cremated body of a Buddha.

It was from her religions that Japan drew her Knightly Code,Bushido, obedience to which raised thesamuraifrom the mere brutal wielder of swords to the chivalrous warrior. From Shinto he imbibed veneration for his ancestors, the strongest possible sense of duty to his parents, and the most self-sacrificing loyalty to the sovereign. Buddhism gave him a stoical composure in the presence of danger, a contempt for life, and "friendliness with death." It made him calm and self-contained. Finally, thesamuraiobtained from the teachings of Confucius his principles of action toward his fellow men.

Bushidois spoken of as "the Soul of the People." The Greeks of old located the soul in the kidneys, the Romans in the heart, and it is only in recent years that it has been described as in the head; even then the soul atbest is indefinable, so I am at a loss to tell exactly whatBushidomeans.

When I asked a Japanese to defineBushido, he answered, "Loyalty—the loyalty of the servant to his master, of the son to his father. The servant is willing to make any sacrifice for the master. The Forty-Seven Ronins are an example of this. General Nogi is another instance of the same thing. Nogi felt that his death would remind the younger generation of the Spartan virtues of the older days, which they were forgetting, and would be a good thing for the country. He also wished to die in order that his master, the Emperor, might not be lonely."

The Japanese national hymn, as translated by Professor Chamberlain, fitly embodies this sentiment of loyalty to the Emperor:

"A thousand years of happy reign be thine;Rule on, my lord, till what are pebbles nowBy age united, to mighty rocks shall grow,Whose venerable sides the moss doth line."

"Among the rare jewels of race and civilization which have slowly grown to perfection is the Japanese virtue of loyalty," writes Dr. W. E. Griffis; "In supreme devotion, in utter consecration to his master, in service, throughlife and death, asamurai'sloyalty to his lord knew no equal.... Wife, children, fortune, health, friends, were as naught—but rather to be trampled under foot, if necessary, in order to reach that 'last supreme measure of devotion' which thesamuraiowed to his lord. The matchless sphere of rock crystal, flawless and perfect, is the emblem of Japanese loyalty."

The material side ofBushidois the fighting spirit, and the germ of the spiritual side is the idea of fair play in fight—a germ which developed into a lofty code of honour. In feudal times Japanese warriors endured severe discipline. They were obliged to be expert with the fencing-stick, skilled injiu-jutsu, the aristocratic form of wrestling, in archery, and in the use of the spear and the iron fan, as well as the double sword. They felt that mastery of the art of battle gave self-control and mental calm.

Mental exercises were practised more generally in olden times than they are to-day. There are several cults for the training of the mind, such asKiaiandZen, both Buddhist practices. The secret ofKiaicondensed is: "I make personality my magic power. I make promptitude my limbs. I make self-protection my laws."

Zenteaches: "Commit no evil, do only good, and preserve the purity of your heart and will. If you keep aloof from mundane fame and the lusts of the flesh, and are inspired by a firm resolve to attain the Great Truth, the gates of Stoicism will be opened to you."

Bushidois the foundation of the nation, built of rock. It is strong and true, and whatever is built upon it in the future, even if it topple and fall, can always be rebuilt again, for the rock is there for ever. May they build something worthy to rise on such a firm foundation!

NEW LIGHT FOR OLD

THE Old and the New Japan jostle each other at every turn. One day we visited the tomb of the heroic Nogi, who sacrificed his life on the altar ofBushido, and the next we received at the Embassy the pupils of the Tokyo Normal School, who will have so large a share in the continued remodelling of the nation. The Land of the Rising Sun has undergone decided changes within the last fifty years in her desire to make herself the equal of the Great Powers of Christendom; she has been willing to cast aside tradition, to modify her form of government, to adopt Western customs. But none of these things appears to me so vital as the reconstruction of her educational system and the free admission of a new religious belief.

The old system of Japanese education was derived from Chinese models as early as the eighth century, but for many hundred years it was barely kept alive in Buddhist monasteries,and was never fully carried out until the Tokugawa period. The higher institutions were devoted entirely to the study of Chinese history and literature, and their object was chiefly to train efficient servants of the State. Buddhist priests were the usual teachers of the lower classes, but retiredsamuraioften opened elementary schools, such as that pictured so vividly by one of their pupils:[7]

[7]Dr. Nitobe, in "The Japanese Nation."

"This primitive school," he says, "consisted of a couple of rooms, where some twenty or thirty boys (and a very few girls), ranging in age from seven to fourteen, spent the forenoon, each reading in turn with the teacher for half an hour some paragraphs from Confucius and Mencius, and devoting the rest of the time to calligraphy. Of the three R's, 'riting demanded the most time and reading but little, 'rithmetic scarcely any, except in a school attended by children of the common people as distinct from those of thesamurai. Sons of thesamuraiclass had other curricula than the three R's. They began fencing,jiu-jutsu, spear-practice and horsemanship, when quite young, and usually took these lessons in the early morning. As a child of seven, I remember being roused by my mother before dawnin the winter, and reluctantly, often in positively bad humour, picking my way barefooted through the snow. The idea was to accustom children to hardihood and endurance. There was little fun in the schoolroom, except such as our ingenious minds devised behind our teacher's back."

Yet this primitive system of education trained leaders of sufficient wisdom, unselfishness and breadth of view to guide Japan safely from the old to the new. Okubo and Kido, two members of the embassy that was sent to the treaty powers in 1871, discovered, upon landing in San Francisco, that the very bell-boys and waiters in the hotel understood the issues at stake in the election then going on. This convinced them that nothing but education could enable Japan to hold her own beside the Western world. Okubo said, "We must first educate leaders, and the rest will follow." Kido said, "We must educate the masses; for unless the people are trained, they cannot follow their leaders." Between the two, they got something of both.

The younger generation lost no time in availing themselves of their new privileges, and indeed they are to-day so eager for learning that, after their daily work, many of them sit up thegreater part of the night to study. In consequence, they often grow anæmic, nervous and melancholy.

While the Japanese seem now to have adapted their elementary schools to the needs of their people, they have not been so successful with their secondary schools, called "middle" for boys and "high" for girls. The course of study for boys is much the same as in this country, except that instead of Greek and Latin they have Chinese and Yamato—old Japanese. English occupies six hours a week through the whole five-year course, but is taught only for reading, so that while most educated Japanese can understand some English and have read the classics of our literature, they may not be able to carry on a conversation in our language. In girls' high schools there is a room that might be styled "a laboratory of manners," where pupils have a "course in etiquette, including ceremonial tea and flower arrangement." The certificate of the middle school legally admits a student to the government colleges, but as there are only eight of these institutions in the country, they cannot receive all who apply. Consequently, students must pass a rigid entrance examination. There are four Imperial universities, ofwhich that in Tokyo is the oldest and has about six thousand students, and several private universities, one of which, Waseda, has an enrollment of more than seven thousand.

It did not escape the notice of the wisest leaders that perhaps the weakest point in this new educational system was its lack of moral training, all religious teaching being forbidden in government schools. Accordingly, in 1890, the late Emperor issued the Imperial Rescript on Education, a printed copy of which with the Emperor's autograph is sacredly cherished in every school, and upon which nearly all modern Japanese text-books of ethics are based. The most important part of this document reads as follows:

"Ye, Our subjects, be filial to your parents, affectionate to your brothers and sisters; as husbands and wives be harmonious, as friends true; bear yourselves in modesty and moderation; extend your benevolence to all; pursue learning and cultivate the arts, and thereby develop intellectual faculties and perfect moral powers; furthermore, advance public good and promote common interests; always respect the Constitution and observe the laws; should emergency arise, offer yourselves courageously to the State; and thus guard and maintain theprosperity of Our Imperial Throne, coeval with heaven and earth."

I was much interested in two secondary schools in Tokyo. We had the pleasure of entertaining the graduating class of young men from the Normal School. Professor Swift, who accompanied them, had been teaching in Japan for twenty-five years, having had the present Emperor at one time in his school. He said his students had never been received at the Embassy before, and in fact, he thought none of them had ever been in a European house. There were about forty of the Japanese and one young Chinaman. I think most of them were perhaps about twenty years old. They wore European dress, but the Japanese master came in his native costume. According to their rules of politeness, they gathered about the door, and could scarcely be induced to come in to shake hands with us. When they finally did come, they backed into a corner, and in true Japanese fashion had to be invited three times before they would enter the tea-room.

These students go out through Japan to teach English after they graduate. They did not speak English, however, quite so well as I had expected, but no doubt they were a little frightened, and probably they were more used tosuch questions as I heard at one school when the teacher read to the class, "Where was Phineas when the mob gathered about the portal?" Our guests enjoyed the mechanical bear and tiger, for, like most people of the East, the Japanese are especially fond of such toys. The students seemed to take interest in the photographs also, and when one asked for music, we started the Victor and allowed them to choose their own records.

Male and female teachers are trained in separate normal schools, which are government institutions. All their expenses—for board, clothing, tuition and books—are met by the State. After a preparatory course of one year, they take the regular course of four years, which covers a very full curriculum. Music, gymnastics, manual training, law and economics form part of this very modern course of study, and commerce and agriculture may be added. English is also included, but made optional. The necessary training in teaching is given in a practice school attached to each normal school. A shorter course of one year is devoted chiefly to the study of methods and practical work. A severe military training is given in the schools for males. Graduates from the regular course are obliged to serve the State as teachers for seven years, and those from the shorter course for two years.

MISS TSUDA'S SCHOOL, TOKYO.

The second school which particularly interested me was Miss Tsuda's. Miss Tsuda herself was one of several Japanese children from good families who, when they were very young, were sent to America to be educated. Three of the girls, it is said, decided at school how they wished to live their lives. One said that above all things she should marry for love and in the Western fashion, and so it was—she met a young Japanese studying in America, and they were married and returned to Japan. The second one said she wished to be a power, and she returned home and in Japanese fashion was married by her parents to a very prominent leader in political life. Miss Tsuda felt that she wished to help her countrywomen, and that she would remain unmarried and devote her life to education. So, curiously enough, these three women have carried out the ideals of their girlhood.

The school for the higher education of Japanese girls which Miss Tsuda has established is practically a post-graduate course, to fit them for teachers. One class that I visited was reading really difficult English—something of George Eliot's. Miss Tsuda herself is a graduateof Bryn Mawr, and speaks most beautiful English—perhaps the most perfect I have heard from any Japanese. The school is supported chiefly, I understand, by people in Philadelphia. I was told that the Bible was taught, but that the study of it was not compulsory, and that many of the girls were Buddhists. These students are from all stations in life.

The outside of the buildings was in Japanese style, but the schoolrooms were like those in America; the pupils sat in chairs and had desks. I inquired why they did not sit on the mats, and Miss Tsuda said they had adopted chairs and desks because the girls felt that on the whole the chairs were more comfortable, and that they could move more quickly. It is thought the race will grow taller if they all learn to use chairs, instead of sitting on their legs as they have always done. The majority of the girls had writing-boxes and books upon the floors of their own rooms, and kept their bedding in a cupboard after the custom of their people, but they were allowed to have chairs if they asked for them. Hanging upon theshojiwere Christian mottoes, photographs of their relatives, and in one case a picture of Nogi. European food is given here, as well as Japanese, and our methods of cooking are taught.

These students have modern gymnastic training every day, and they also play baseball, which the old-fashioned Japanese think very unladylike. Every Saturday evening they play games, have charades, and act little plays, both in English and Japanese.

On a previous visit, some years ago, L. had gone over the Imperial University with Professor Yoshida. At that time Tokyo University and the Engineering College had lately been amalgamated. He said it seemed strange, coming from an American university, to see the complete neglect of what we call classics, Latin and Greek. All the modern sciences, medicine, the 'ologies and law were studied in English, German and French.

One department, the seismic, established especially for the separate study of volcanic disturbances and earthquakes, was then peculiar to this university. It is particularly interesting to the Japanese, for they are constantly experiencing such disturbances—the late eruption in the province of Satsuma is a hint that results might be still more serious.

In the art schools in Tokyo, which we visited, we saw the students painting and carving in their peculiar, painstaking way.

An American teacher, who is not herself amissionary but has lived with missionaries in Japan for some time, and whom I consider an impartial judge, has given me her opinions on educational matters, including the work of the mission schools. The Japanese need, she feels, both moral and commercial instruction of the kind that only Western teachers can give. This teaching should be well given by the mission schools. At first, as in Korea, these schools were the only sources of Western thought, so they were frequented by all the Japanese who wished for any sort of progress. Everything was gobbled down hungrily. Even if they were not religiously inclined, they pretended to be, for this was their only means of learning English.

At the present time, the government schools teach Western branches, but they are hampered by a narrow-minded educational board with antiquated methods, and tied up by miles of red tape, so that their teaching of Western studies is away behind the times. We might consider the English heard all over Japan a fair sample of the superficiality that prevails, but, to be impartial, we must take into account the difficulties that have to be overcome by students and teachers. Because of the ideographs and other peculiarities of their own tongue, it isfar more difficult for the Japanese to learn English than for us to learn French or German.

Government schools are superior in Japanese branches—they teach Japanese and Chinese classics and ethics, Japanese law and ideals better than the mission schools—and certificates from them give better positions, so ambitious Japanese go to them, but in Western subjects they try to do too many things. The students work only for examinations, not for really substantial progress. This is noticeable, except in rare individuals, who would probably progress under any conditions. The best Japanese educators realize this as well as the foreigners and greatly deplore it.

The reason that some of the mission schools are not so good as they might be is that they are too much occupied with proselyting, and hardly give more than superficial training to students. It would be better for the Japanese in the end if more real educators were sent out rather than so many preachers. If the mission schools would combine in having Japanese teachers for Japanese subjects, there could be concentration of effort and expense.

There is also a crying need, my friend says, of schools for foreign children, because there are no good ones in Japan, and it is expensive tosend the boys and girls to America or Europe. An international foreign language school, too, is much needed.The ignorance of foreign tongues is one of the greatest barriers to amicable relations with other countries.The inscrutability of the Japanese, which we hear so much about, is due principally to their lack of familiarity with languages.

To understand the religious situation in Japan at all, it is necessary to take another backward glance over her history. Except during the two hundred and fifty years of the Tokugawa Period, the country has always been open to foreigners and foreign ideas. Chinese and Koreans, who brought new religions, a new civilization and a new philosophy, were gladly received. Young men from Japan sought learning in other countries, even in distant India. So, when Francis Xavier and his intrepid Jesuits made their way thither in the sixteenth century, they found a cordial welcome awaiting them.

For fifty years Christian work went on; hundreds of thousands of Japanese accepted the Roman Catholic faith. But the Roman Church claims to be superior to the State, and the rulers of Japan saw reason to believe that the priests were aiming at political power. At once theyreversed their former policy, branded Christianity as "Ja-kyo," the "Evil Way," and set about its extermination. Thousands of converts laid down their lives for the new faith in the terrible persecution that followed; foreigners were driven out of Japan, and her own people were forbidden to leave her shores.

After the "Long Sleep" of the Tokugawa Period, the Meiji Era, known as the "Awakening," began in 1867. Once more Christianity was brought in, but this time in the guise of Protestantism, and again it made rapid progress. By the middle of the eighties some Japanese leaders of opinion were even advising that it should be declared the national religion, although this was largely for political reasons. However, full religious liberty was granted in 1889.

In the early nineties came the reaction. The conservative element in the nation began to make itself heard against the mad rush for new things. Japanese students returning from abroad brought stories of vice and crime in Christian lands. The Japanese began to discover, too, that the standard of Christian ethics was a higher one than they had ever known, and demanded a change of life as well as of belief, and that the diplomacy of so-called Christiancountries was often anything but Christian. So those who had simply "gone with the crowd" into the Christian ranks fell away. The churches were sifted.

This revulsion of feeling was not lasting. Gradually the Japanese came to modify their conclusions. Those who remained in the churches did so from conviction, and a stronger church was the result. In this period of reaction Japan simply stopped to take breath, to adjust itself to the new life upon which it had entered. Progress now may be slower, but it is more substantial.

The missionary question is absorbing, if one has time to see what has been done and what is being done now in the schools and kindergartens and hospitals, although to-day these Christian teachers are not playing so important a rôle as they did a few years ago. At first the Japanese went to the foreigners as their advisers and teachers, but now that they have travelled more and know more of Western ideas they do not need them so much. Six hundred thousand dollars goes yearly from America to Japan for missions. Japan is a poor country, but some people feel it is time for the rich men there to come forward and contribute to their own charities, rather than to let foreignersdo so large a share. I feel that there is more need of missionaries in China to-day, especially medical missionaries.

Fifty years ago there was desperate need of medical missionaries in Japan. When Dr. Hepburn opened his dispensary in a Buddhist temple at Kanagawa, diseased beggars were very common on the streets, for hospitals were unknown. Now there are over one thousand public hospitals managed by Japanese doctors, who are well fitted for their profession—some have been educated in Germany and are very skilful.

As there are natural hot springs in Japan, lepers in the early stages of the disease go there in the hope of being cured, but as a cure is not possible, they gradually become worse and cannot leave the country, so one often sees them begging in the streets. The only beggars I have ever seen in Japan have been victims of leprosy.

Up to 1907 there were no hospitals for lepers except those founded by foreign missionaries. In that year the Government established five of these institutions, but as they are always crowded, the poor sufferers cannot be received unless they are very ill. Father Testevinde, a French Catholic priest, founded the first privatehospital for lepers—which is still the largest—in 1889. Miss Riddell, an Englishwoman, has established another, which she is now trying to enlarge.

Eye troubles are especially prevalent in Japan, but the blind earn their living by massage, and the note of their flute is often heard in the street. There is a great deal of tuberculosis, but there are no sanatoriums for consumptives, who are taken into the regular hospitals. As the sufferers are kept in their homes until the last stages, the disease is spreading rapidly.

It is very common to see children afflicted with skin-diseases. Japanese mothers believe that inborn wickedness comes out in this form. Since they no longer shave the children's heads as in the old days, however, the skin trouble is disappearing somewhat. Well-organized dispensaries and district nurses are certainly much needed in out-of-the-way villages, but no provision has as yet been made for such work. Midwives, however, are to be found.

The Episcopal hospital in Tokyo, where Japanese women are taught nursing, is supposed to be the best in the country. Dr. Teusler is doing excellent work there. The Japanese hospitals are not so well managed as the bestforeign ones, and the training for women nurses is not so long or so thorough as in America. It is difficult for foreigners to judge their hospitals, because they are intended for Japanese patients and their whole manner of living is so different from ours. At first, on account of native customs, only the poorer class of women could be induced to take up nursing as a profession, but to-day the better class are engaging in it.

In no branch of medical work has Japan made greater progress or achieved finer results than in the Red Cross. In 1877 theHakuaishawas formed—the Society of Universal Love—which cared for the wounded in the great civil war. Japan joined the European Red Cross League in 1887.

The Japanese Red Cross was finely organized for service during the war with Russia. The first work was the care of the Russian sailors at Chemulpo, who were even presented with artificial limbs by the Empress of Japan. During the war six thousand sick and wounded Russian prisoners were cared for by the Japanese. In return the Russians subscribed to the Japanese Red Cross. The women nurses remained at home stations, all relief detachments at the front consisting of men only, buton the relief ships there were both sexes. An American nurse who was in Japan during the war said we had many things to learn from the Japanese and few to teach, in the way of handling the wounded.

The pamphlet called, "The Red Cross in the Far East," states that if a member dies, hishairor hisasheswith the death certificate and his personal belongings shall be forwarded to his former quarters.

The Red Cross in Japan numbers now more than one million five hundred thousand members, has twelve hospitals and two hospital ships, and nearly four thousand doctors, apothecaries and nurses ready for service. On her first voyage, the hospital shipKosai Maru, was out from March, 1904, until December, 1905, and transported more than thirteen thousand patients. There are Red Cross stations also in Formosa and Port Arthur. The Empress Dowager often attended the meetings of the society, and assisted with large contributions. The Japanese Red Cross is said to be the largest, the best and the richest in the world.

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