PART II.

BLACKWOOD’S

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

NO. DLXX. APRIL 1863. VOL. XCIII.

CONTENTS.

SENSATION DIPLOMACY IN JAPAN, 397

MRS CLIFFORD’S MARRIAGE—PART II., 414

SIR JAMES GRAHAM, 436

THE INEXHAUSTIBLE CAPITAL, 457

CAXTONIANA—PART XV., 471

NO. XX.—ON SELF-CONTROL.

NO. XXI.—THE MODERN MISANTHROPE.

SPEDDING’S LIFE OF BACON, 480

THE YEANG-TAI MOUNTAINS, AND SPIRIT-WRITING IN CHINA, 499

MARRIAGE BELLS, 521

EDINBURGH:

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, 45 GEORGE STREET.

AND 37 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.

_To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._

SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.

PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.

BLACKWOOD’S

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

NO. DLXX. APRIL 1863. VOL. XCIII.

SENSATION DIPLOMACY IN JAPAN.[1]

Footnote 1:

‘The Capital of the Tycoon.’ By Sir Rutherford Alcock, K.C.B. London:

Longmans.

It is one of the most singular features of our institutions that, when

our diplomatic relations with remote and semi-barbarous countries become

so involved that even the Government is at a loss to know what course to

pursue, the public take up the question in a confident off-hand way; and

though, by the force of circumstances, deprived of the information

possessed by the Foreign Office, they do not hesitate either to denounce

or to approve the policy recommended by those who have studied the

subject on the spot, and who alone can be competent to form an opinion

on the matter. It is true that papers are occasionally laid before

Parliament, but what proportion of those who hold such decided views

have read them? In the case of the Arrow, when people voted for peace or

war with China, how many members of Parliament had informed themselves

on the merits of the question? and what did their constituents know

about it? Yet so it is; the ultimate decision upon all important and

complicated questions of foreign policy necessarily rests with the most

ill-informed class. If they generally decide wrong, we must console

ourselves by the consideration that even free institutions have their

drawbacks, but in compensation have made us so rich and powerful, that

we can always scramble out of any scrape they may get us into. In

countries despotically governed, the merits of a secret diplomacy are

inestimable; but where the Government is responsible, though it would be

difficult to substitute an open system, secret diplomacy is attended

with grave inconveniences, for it becomes impossible to furnish that

public who sit, as it were, in appeal, with the whole facts of the case

upon which they are called to decide. It is then clearly the interest of

the Foreign Office to encourage the dissemination of accurate political

information in a popular form, when the publication of it does not

involve a breach of confidence; and inasmuch as Blue-Books are not

generally considered light or agreeable reading, and are somewhat

inaccessible, the diplomatist who has a political story to tell, and can

do it without betraying State secrets, is a public benefactor. In these

days of official responsibility, it is not only due to the public but to

himself that he should have an opportunity of stating his case. It may

happen that his conduct will be brought publicly in question and decided

upon before he has an opportunity of laying before the world all the

facts. Great injustice is frequently done to officials serving in

distant parts of the world, who even at last are unable to remove the

erroneous impressions formed upon incorrect or insufficient information.

This has been specially the case in China and the East: a policy based

upon an acquaintance with the local conditions as intimate as it was

possible for a foreigner to obtain, has been upset by a majority of

ignorant legislators, who too often receive their impressions from

superficial travellers, or residents with special interests at stake. It

is clear that the opinion of a merchant is not so likely to be right in

diplomatic questions as that of a trained official, who has passed half

his life in studying the language, institutions, and people of the

country to which he has been accredited; yet when it comes to be a

question between the mercantile community and the minister, the latter

is in danger of going to the wall.

While, on the one hand, the traditions of the Foreign Office are opposed

to what may be termed diplomatic literature—and they dole out their own

information with a somewhat niggard hand—the British community resident

in the East, hampered by no such restraints, and aided by a scurrilous

press, may prejudice the public mind at home to such an extent that no

subsequent defence is of much avail. We cannot wonder then, if, after

five-and-twenty years’ experience of China and Japan, Sir Rutherford

Alcock should take the opportunity of giving a full, true, and

particular statement of the political difficulties by which he is

surrounded, in anticipation of a crisis which he sees impending, which

no diplomacy will be able to avert, but in which he will on his return

probably find himself involved.

“By whatever measures,” he remarks, “of a coercive nature, we might

seek to attain this object” (the execution of the Treaty in all its

stipulations), “it should be clearly seen that there is war in the

background, more or less near, but tolerably certain sooner or later

to come. During the last two years, whatever a conciliatory spirit

could suggest, with temper, patience, and forbearance in all things,

had been tried. Diplomacy had wellnigh exhausted its resources to

induce the Japanese Government to take a different view of its

interests, and to act in accordance with the spirit of the treaties

entered into. Little more remained to be tried in this direction, nor

could much hope be entertained that better success would follow a

longer persistence in the same course.”

The nature of our political relations with Japan is such, that a history

of three years’ diplomacy in that country is not attended with the

inconveniences which would be incidental to a similar narrative from a

European court. Our relations with other friendly nations are in no way

involved, and there can be no objection to such a work as that now

before us, even in a red-tape point of view. Still, we are not aware of

a work of this kind, from the pen of a minister actually at his post,

ever having appeared; and although our author gives us a most detailed

and graphic account of the moral and social state of Japan, it is the

record of his diplomatic relations with the Government of the Tycoon

that we regard as being at once the most novel and interesting feature

of his book.

“I should probably have hesitated,” says Sir Rutherford in his

preface, “had it not seemed important to furnish materials for a right

judgment in matters of national concern connected with Japan, and our

relations there, while it might yet be time to avert, by the

intelligent appreciation of our true situation, grievous

disappointment, as well as increased complications and calamities. A

free expression of opinion in matters of public interest is not to be

lightly adventured upon, however, and in many cases those holding

office are altogether precluded from such action. At the same time,

much mischief is often done by undue reticence in matters which must,

in a country like ours, be the subject of public discussion. It so

happened that I was relieved from any difficulty on this head by the

publication _in extenso_ of the greater number of my despatches, which

were printed and laid before Parliament. And not only was the

necessity for silence obviated by such publication in this country,

but a similar course was followed at Washington in respect of the

despatches of my colleague, the American Minister, during the same

period. As in each of these series there is a very unreserved

expression of opinion as to the political situation of the country,

the action of the Japanese authorities, the views entertained by

colleagues, and the conduct of the foreign communities, the decision

of the respective Governments of both countries to make the despatches

public, and this so freely as to leave little of a confidential

character unprinted, effectually removed all the impediments which

might otherwise have existed.”

The general reader must not suppose, however, that because politics

engage a large share of the work before us, he will, on that account,

find it dull. Japan is probably the only country in the world in which

diplomacy becomes a pursuit of thrilling excitement. Sometimes it leads

to some curious discovery, and reveals to us some part of the political

machinery in the government of the country heretofore unsuspected and

unknown. Sometimes it furnishes amusing illustrations of the Japanese

mode of diplomatic fencing; at others, it involves a frightful tragedy

or a quaint official ceremony. Without these details to illustrate each

phase through which our political relations have passed, we should never

have been able to realise the difficulties with which our officials in

those remote regions have to contend, or the nature of the opposition

persistently offered by the Japanese Government.

The task of permanently installing for the first time a legation in a

city of upwards of two millions of people having been safely

accomplished, Mr Alcock entered upon his first diplomatic struggle, the

point of which was merely to fix a day for the purpose of exchanging the

ratifications of Lord Elgin’s Treaty. The discussion preliminary to this

formality occupied no less than seven days. At last the details are

arranged, and it is decided that the Treaty is to be carried in

procession through the city, under a canopy ornamented with flags and

evergreens, surrounded by a guard of marines, and followed by fifty

blue-jackets; Captain Hand, with a large number of his officers in

uniform and on horseback, following immediately after the four petty

officers carrying the Treaty. We can well imagine the effect which so

novel a procession was likely to produce upon the inhabitants of Yedo.

When the formalities were accomplished, “signals, arranged by the

Japanese in advance (by fans from street to street) conveyed the news to

the Sampson with telegraphic speed in a minute and a half, a distance of

six miles.” So our Minister hoists his flag, and settles himself down in

solitary grandeur, to pass his life of exile in solving the difficult

problem of reconciling the civilisation he represents with that which

surrounds him, but which the jealousy of the Government will not permit

him to investigate. This does not, however, prevent our author from

entering upon lengthy and interesting philosophical disquisitions upon

the many moral, social, and political questions which must, under such

circumstances, present themselves to a thoughtful mind. He has not been

six weeks so employed when he is suddenly roused from his speculations

by a tragical event which occurs at Yokuhama. As this is the first of a

series of exciting incidents, we will give our readers an epitome of

those which occurred during three years, and the particulars of which

are detailed at length in various parts of the book:—

“A Russian officer, with a sailor and a steward, were suddenly set

upon in the principal street by some armed Japanese, and hewn down

with the most ghastly wounds that could be inflicted. The sailor was

cleft through his skull to the nostrils—half the scalp sliced down,

and one arm nearly severed from the shoulder through the joint. The

officer was equally mangled, his lungs protruding from a sabre-gash

across the body; the thighs and legs deeply gashed.”

In the succeeding tragedies the wounds are invariably of the above

savage nature, but we will not always inflict upon our readers a full

description of the horrible details.

Two months after this the servant of the French Consul is cut to pieces

in the street—cause unknown. By way of varying the excitement, the

Tycoon’s palace is burnt down about the same time, and the Japanese

Ministers propose to stop all business in consequence. This is of course

not considered a legitimate way of evading disagreeable questions.

Diplomatic difficulties continue to be discussed, and the greater part

of the settlement of Yokuhama is burnt down:—

“While yet occupied by these events, we were startled by another of

more immediate and personal import. It was near midnight; Mr Eusden,

the Japanese secretary, was standing by my side, when the longest and

most violent shock of an earthquake yet experienced since our arrival

brought every one to his feet with a sudden impulse to fly from under

the shaking roof. It began at first very gently, but rapidly increased

in the violence of the vibrations until the earth seemed to rock under

our feet, and to be heaved up by some mighty explosive powder in the

caldrons beneath.”

The nerves of our author scarcely recover from the shock of the

earthquake when they receive another of a different description. A hasty

step is heard outside his room, and “Captain Marten, of H.M.S. Roebuck,

threw back the sliding-panel. ‘Come quickly; your linguist is being

carried in badly wounded.’ My heart misgave me that his death-knell had

struck.” Of course it had; they seldom miss their stroke in Japan. “The

point” (of the sword) “had entered at his back and came out above the

right breast; and, thus buried in his body, the assassin left it, and

disappeared as stealthily as he came.” While discussing this matter, in

dashes the whole French Legation—the French Consul-General at the head:

“‘Nous voici! nous venons vous demander de l’hospitalité—l’incendie nous

a atteint.’ Then follows Monsieur l’Abbé in a dressing-gown—a glass

thermometer in one hand, and a breviary in the other; then the

Chancellor in slippers, with a revolver and a _bonnet de nuit_.” What

with an assassination in one Legation and a fire in another on the same

night, our diplomatists have their hands full. Our author, however,

seems to have passed a few nights in comparative tranquillity after

this, before he is again roused at four o’clock in the morning by the

arrival of an express from Kanagawa with the news that about eight

o’clock in the evening two Dutch captains had been slain in the main

street of Yokuhama—“a repetition, in all its leading circumstances and

unprovoked barbarity, of the assassination perpetrated on the Russians.”

After this, beyond a few bad earthquakes, nothing happens for a month or

so, “when, on my return from a visit to Kanagawa, the first news that

greeted me as I entered the Legation was of so startling and incredible

a character that I hesitated to believe what was told me. The Gotairo or

Regent was said to have been assassinated in broad daylight on his way

to the palace, and this, too, in the very midst of a large retinue of

his retainers!” The account, which our author gives at length, of this

occurrence, and of the causes which led to it, is most characteristic:

we have only space for the result:—

“Eight of the assailants were unaccounted for when all was over, and

many of the retinue were stretched on the ground, wounded and dying,

by the side of those who had made the murderous onslaught. The remnant

of the Regent’s people, released from their deadly struggle, turned to

the norimon to see how it had fared with their master in the brief

interval, to find only a headless trunk: the bleeding trophy carried

away was supposed to have been the head of the Gotairo himself, hacked

off on the spot. But, strangest of all these startling incidents, it

is further related that _two_ heads were found missing, and that which

was in the fugitive’s hand was only a lure to the pursuing party,

while the true trophy had been secreted on the person of another, and

was thus successfully carried off, though the decoy paid the penalty

of his life.”

The head of the Regent is said to have been got safely out of Yedo, and

presented to the Prince, who was his enemy, and who spat upon it with

maledictions. It was reported afterwards to have been exposed in the

public execution-ground of the spiritual capital, with a placard over

it, on which was the following inscription: “This is the head of a

traitor, who has violated the most sacred laws of Japan—those which

forbid the admission of foreigners into the country.” After this, with

the exception of a “murderous onslaught made by a drunken Yaconin on an

English merchant at Hakodadi,” there is another lull, varied only by

putting the Legations in a state of defence. They “were filled with

Japanese troops, field-pieces were placed in the courtyards of the

several Legations, and the ministers were urgently requested to abstain

from going outside!” A month passes, and life is absolutely becoming

monotonous, from the absence of the usual stimulant in the shape either

of a fire, a murder, or a good earthquake, when there suddenly appeared,

“as we were sitting down to dinner one evening, the Abbé Gérard, pale

and agitated, bringing with him, in a norimon, M. de Bellecourt’s

Italian servant, who had been attacked, while quietly standing at the

gate of the French Legation, by two Samourai (daimios’ retainers)

passing at the moment, and by one of whom he had been severely wounded.”

A strong digestion must be essential to the comfort of the diplomatist

in Japan, for “next month, a few minutes before the dinner-hour, there

was a rushing and scuffling of many feet along the passages, the noise

of which reached me in my dressing-room, at the extremity of the

building, and presently, high above all, came the ominous cry of

‘Cadjee!’ (fire).” The Legation was nearly burnt to the ground, but the

Japanese servants behaved well, and ultimately succeeded in

extinguishing the flames. We will not recount, in our list of

excitements, all the escapes from murderous Yaconins and disagreeable

rencontres which are recorded, though they would satisfy any moderate

craving for “sensations;” and passing rapidly by, as not worthy of

notice, the case of an Englishman who shot a Japanese (and for having

punished whom Mr Alcock was afterwards fined at Hong-Kong), come at once

to the night of the 14th of January, “when, about ten o’clock, I

received a brief note from Mr Harris, asking me to send surgical aid to

Mr Heuskin, who had been brought in wounded.”

Mr Heuskin was the secretary of the American Legation—a man universally

liked, and a most able public servant. He had received a frightful gash

across the abdomen, which proved fatal, besides other thrusts and cuts

of less moment. His funeral was attended by all the members of the

different Legations, at the risk, however, of their lives. About this

time, says our author, “an event occurred calculated to give greater

significance to the numerous sinister rumours afloat. Hori Oribeno Kami,

the most intelligent, experienced, and respected of the governors of

foreign affairs—the one best versed in European business, and the most

reasonable and conciliatory of his class—disappeared from the scene.” In

other words, he had ripped himself up. The writer of this article, who

had formerly been well acquainted with this minister, happening to

arrive in Japan shortly after his death, received from the Dutch Consul

the following account of the event:—That gentleman had called on Hori

Oribeno Kami one day, had found him in rather low spirits, and, on

inquiring the cause, was informed by the fated minister that he was

about to put an end to himself on the following day; that he had already

issued his invitation-cards for the banquet at which the ceremony was to

take place; and, further, expressed his regret that the custom of the

country limited the invitation to his relations and most intimate

friends, and that he was thus deprived of the pleasure of requesting the

company of his visitor to partake of the meal which was destined to

terminate in so tragic a manner.

The foreign Legations after this come to the conclusion that life at

Yedo is attended by too many anxieties, and retire to Yokuhama till the

Government should promise to make things safer and more comfortable.

This they ultimately pledge themselves to do. Our author has occasion

shortly after to make a long overland journey through the country, and

on the night of his return to Yedo the Legation is attacked by a band of

assassins, who severely wound Messrs Oliphant and Morrison, and very

nearly murder everybody. Some idea of the nature of that midnight

struggle may be formed from the following list of persons killed and

wounded in the passages and garden of the Legation:—

_Killed._

One of the Tycoon’s body-guard, and one groom, 2

Two of the assailants, 2

_Severely wounded._

Tycoon’s soldier, 1

Daimio’s soldier, 1

Porters (one died same day), 2

Assailant (captured—committed suicide), 1

Member of Legation, 1

Servants of Legation, 2

_Slightly wounded._

Tycoon’s guard, 7

Daimio’s guard, 2

Priest in temple adjoining, 1

Member of Legation, 1

——

Total killed and wounded on the spot, 23

With reference to the fate of these assailants, the following extract

from a letter from Mr Alcock to Earl Russell appears in the papers just

laid before Parliament:—

“The Ministers have since informed me that three more of the

assailants on the night of the 5th July have been arrested in Prince

Mito’s territories, and will be proceeded against; also that the only

survivor in the recent attack on the Foreign Minister has confessed

that some of the party were men engaged in the attack on the Legation.

If so—and only fourteen were actually engaged (which has always seemed

to me doubtful)—they will have pretty well accounted for the whole

number: Three having been killed on the spot; three taken prisoners

and since executed; two committed suicide; three more lately arrested;

three supposed to have been killed in the recent attack on the Foreign

Minister. Total, fourteen.”

The following paper found on the body of one of the assailants gives the

reasons of the band for making the attempt:—

“I, though I am a person of low standing, have not patience to stand

by and see the sacred empire defiled by the foreigner. This time I

have determined in my heart to undertake to follow out my master’s

will. Though, being altogether humble myself, I cannot make the might

of the country to shine in foreign nations, yet with a little faith,

and a little warrior’s power, I wish in my heart separately (by

myself), though I am a person of low degree, to bestow upon my country

one out of a great many benefits. If this thing from time to time may

cause the foreigner to retire, and partly tranquillise both the minds

of the Mikado and the Tycoon (or the manes of departed Mikados and

Tycoons), I shall take to myself the highest praise. Regardless of my

own life, I am determined to set out.”

[Here follow the fourteen signatures.]

It must be admitted that the Lonins, as the bravos are called, choose

their victims with great impartiality as to rank and nationality; they

murder servants and ministers, both Japanese and foreign, as the fancy

seizes them. A few days after the massacre at the Legation, two of the

Japanese Ministers were attacked, but their retinue beat off their

assailants: after this nothing particular happened for some time, except

that the Governor of Yedo had to rip himself up “for having offended by

intruding his opinion at a grand council of the daimios (he not being a

daimio).” Meantime the Government offer to build a fortified Legation,

and Sir Rutherford moves his habitation temporarily down to Yokuhama:

the hostile class seem more determined than ever to carry their point,

as we may gather from the following letter left by four of his retainers

at the house of their master, the Prince of Mito, whose service they

leave to become outlaws:—

“We become lonins now, since the foreigner gains more and more

influence in the country, unable to see the ancient law of Gongen Sama

violated. We become all four lonins, with the intention of compelling

the foreigners to depart.”

[Here follow the four signatures.]

Shortly after this, Sir Rutherford, who has been dining down at Yokuhama

with M. de Bellecourt, receives the news at ten o’clock at night, that

Ando Tsusimano Kami, the second Minister of Foreign Affairs, and the one

supposed to be most favourable to the maintenance of foreign relations,

had been attacked as he was on his way to the palace.

“Ando, it appears, instantly divined that he was to be attacked, and,

throwing himself out of the norimon, drew his sword to defend himself.

It was well he lost no time, for already his people were being cut

down by the desperate band of assassins. The next instant he received

a sabre-cut across the face and a spear-thrust in the side that had

wellnigh proved fatal. As in the previous case of the Regent, the

life-and-death struggle was brief as it was bloody. In a few seconds

seven of the assailants lay stretched, wounded or dead, on the ground,

and only one (the eighth) escaped.”

The Minister himself, after lingering for some time between life and

death, finally recovered. While our author is listening to these details

there is an alarm of fire, and he spends the rest of the night in

putting it out.

“It lasted several hours, and a large block of houses was destroyed.

The danger of its spreading over the whole settlement was at one time

very great; and that which made the event more serious was the fact of

some men dressed like the Japanese police having been discovered by

Lieutenant Aplin at the commencement actively engaged in spreading the

fire to an adjoining house.”

This is about the last of our author’s list of sensations; but in order

to complete the thrilling category we will take a leaf or two out of the

Blue-Book of his successor, Colonel Neale, who is appointed to the

charge of the Legation during Sir Rutherford’s absence. No sooner does

he arrive there than he proceeds to test the charms of a residence at

Yedo. A few days after his arrival he writes as follows to his French

colleague, whose three years’ experience has taught him not to move out

of Yokuhama unnecessarily:—

“SIR,—It is with deep regret I have to acquaint you that this Legation

has passed through the ordeal of another murderous assault on the part

of Japanese assassins. About midnight last night, the sentry at my

bedroom door was suddenly attacked and desperately wounded, his life

being despaired of. The corporal going his rounds at the same moment

was murderously assailed a short distance off; but he managed to reach

my door, and there he fell and died. His body was conveyed into the

room in which we were assembled, and was found to have received no

less than sixteen desperate sword and lance wounds. The wounded sentry

was also on the floor of the room, dying fast from nine wounds. This

man, by name Charles Sweet, died the following morning.”

After this, Colonel Neale thinks Yedo disagreeable as a permanent

residence, and retires to Yokuhama; but, to judge by a letter he writes

to Lord Russell a month afterwards, he does not seem to have improved

his position:—

“MY LORD,—It becomes my painful duty once more to lay before your

Lordship the details of the barbarous murder of another British

subject, Mr C. L. Richardson, a merchant residing at Yokuhama, and the

desperate wounding of two other merchants, Mr W. Marshall and Mr W. C.

Clarke, both of Yokuhama; the latter gentleman is likely to lose his

arm. Mr Richardson, nearly cut to pieces, fell from his horse; and

while lying in a dying state, one of the high officials of the

cortege, borne in a chair, is stated to have told his followers to cut

the throat of the unfortunate gentleman. The lady (Mrs Borradaile),

though cut at herself, miraculously escaped unwounded; never drawing

rein, and in an exhausted and fainting state, she reached Yokuhama.

The body of Mr Richardson was afterwards found, and brought here for

interment.”

And so for the present ends the bloody story: we have condensed it as

much as possible, both for the reader’s sake and our own; but,

considering the important interests we have at stake in Japan, we have

felt it our duty to do all in our power to induce people to read the

work before us. After they have gratified that morbid craving for

excitement which seems to be the literary taste of the day, they may

perhaps be induced seriously to think what is to be done under the

circumstances. We have not recounted the efforts which our diplomatic

agents in Japan have made to obtain redress, nor the success which has

attended those efforts. They are to be found detailed at some length in

the work before us. If the reader will take the trouble carefully to

read Sir Rutherford’s account of the administrative system of Japan, and

more especially of the feudal nobility, of the influence they exercise,

and the material forces they control, he will perhaps be able to form

some idea for himself of the best course to be pursued. If he makes up

his mind—as he probably has done—on what he has read in this article, he

will come to a totally wrong conclusion. We did not give him a list of

horrors in order that he might get up and say dogmatically, “Oh, it’s

clear the Japanese don’t want us, and we ought never to have gone there;

and the best thing we can do now is to take ourselves off.” We have only

recited these horrors to lure the superficial politician into the

perusal of a work, the dry parts of which are the most important. He

will learn in it under what circumstances we went to Japan in the first

instance—how it happened that a treaty was as much forced upon us by

circumstances as upon the Japanese—how we never compelled them to make

one, as is generally supposed. He will also find how popular the

foreigner is among the lower and middle classes of the Japanese, how

great is the aptitude of the mass of the population for trade, how

readily they enter into commercial pursuits, and how quickly they adopt

the appliances and inventions of a more advanced and enlightened

civilisation than their own—how anxious they are to improve both their

intellectual and material condition. Then, if he looks at the chapter on

trade, with the statistics it contains, he will observe how steady is

its development, in spite of the obstructive policy of the Government,

and how much room there still is for expansion, what vast resources

still undeveloped the country possesses, what room for progress in every

branch of art and industry. He will find nowhere that the Government

deny our right to be in Japan, or even profess anything but the most

anxious desire to see the Treaty carried out in all its fulness,

whatever they may secretly feel on the subject. They constantly allude

to the difficulties they have to contend with from that one dangerous

class who are opposed to the foreigner, and who, though not numerous,

are so powerful as to be dangerous opponents. Every restriction placed

on trade by the Government, it is professed, arises only from a desire

to gain time for the conciliation of this class; and we have so far

given the ministers of the Tycoon credit for good faith, that we have

consented to postpone the opening of some of the ports as stipulated by

treaty. Inasmuch, then, as the Japanese Government voluntarily entered

into treaty-relations with this country; inasmuch as they profess

themselves anxious to see it carried out, and conscious of the benefit

it is likely to confer upon the empire; inasmuch as the great mass of

the population is decidedly in favour of an extended commercial

intercourse with foreigners; inasmuch as the present value of the annual

trade with Japan is upwards of a million sterling, and certain to

increase; inasmuch as a wealthy British community, consisting of upwards

of three hundred persons, have already established themselves in the

country, and possess a great deal of valuable property, in the shape of

buildings, warehouses, and all the appliances of trade, besides having

large sums of money at stake, which they have invested on the faith of a

Treaty signed by their own sovereign, and the abandonment of which would

be a breach of faith, and entitle them to compensation; inasmuch,

moreover, as the whole of our commercial interests in China would be

imperilled by a blow so fatal to our prestige throughout the East as

withdrawal from Japan;—for all these reasons, we say, the conclusion so

rapidly arrived at by our “dear reader” may be, after all, erroneous;

and there may be serious objections to the course he would propose, even

granting that theoretically he is right in his premises, and that it

would have been better had we never found ourselves driven by the

Americans into making a Japanese treaty. It is possible, nay probable,

however, that we have failed to convince him, and that, gifted with a

prophetic eye, he replies to us—“Very well, you will see you will have a

row.” We confess that in this instance he is right. We do not see how

that is to be avoided. We think it will turn out a good investment of

money, and not be immoral, but we admit the fact.

Indeed, the Japanese themselves seem preparing for it, as the following

anecdote, narrated by Sir Rutherford, will show:—

“When I paid a visit to Hakodadi some months after my arrival, where

there are extensive lead-mines, I asked the Governor why his

Government did not allow some of the produce to be exported,

suggesting that it might be a source of national wealth and revenue;

and the reply was characteristic in many ways. ‘We have none to

spare.’ ‘None to spare!’ I rejoined, in surprise; ‘what can you use it

for? You neither employ it in building nor utensils.’ ‘We want it all

for _ball-practice_.’ They did not choose to export, for reasons not

very easily explained; but they were not sorry, perhaps, to point to

such a use for _home consumption_.”

We cannot flatter ourselves that the feudal class will submit tamely to

the inconveniences which the extension of commercial relations with

foreign countries may entail upon them. The monopolies they now enjoy

are threatened, their power and influence will be diminished in

proportion as the mass of the population is enriched, and their prestige

damaged by the independent bearing of the foreigner. Are the interests

of the country at large to be sacrificed to the prejudices of this

class, and are a people desirous of trade, and anxious to advance in the

arts of civilisation, to be abandoned because an aristocracy shrinks

from contact with the stranger? So long as the Government, whether

sincerely or not, profess their intention of carrying out the Treaty,

and ostensibly manifest a desire for our presence in the country, the

hostility of a single class can be no sufficient reason for the

relinquishment of our treaty-rights. The question is how best to meet a

hostility which places the lives of our countrymen in danger, and

against which, as it threatens the members of the Japanese Government as

well as ourselves, they cannot guarantee us. Hitherto one great

difficulty in chalking out a policy has been our ignorance of the

complex machinery of Japanese government. We have never had an accurate

idea of the relations in which the Temporal and Spiritual Emperors, the

daimios, and the great Councils of State stand towards each other. The

work before us throws more light on this most interesting point than we

have yet received, but still we are groping for a policy. The excessive

reticence of the Japanese in all matters connected with their system of

internal administration, and the secrecy they so religiously observe in

all their communications with foreigners, combined with their habitual

mendacity, make it impossible for us to do more than guess at the best

way of meeting the difficulties as they arise. The longer the

diplomatist resides in the country, and the more he studies its

institutions and the character of the people with whom he has to deal,

the more is he puzzled in deciding upon the best course to adopt. The

only persons who feel no difficulty on this score are the merchants’

clerks who have just arrived, and who love to propound their views in

the local newspapers. There are those even in this country who profess

to understand how to deal with “Orientals,” and because, perhaps, they

may have been at Bombay, consider themselves qualified to lay down the

law upon any question of policy which may arise between Cairo and the

Sandwich Islands; but it is only the superficial observer who classes

all Orientals in the same category; they require as many different modes

of treatment as “Westerns,” and there is no more resemblance between a

Japanese and a Tamul than there is between a Wallachian and a

New-Englander. There is a great danger of such persons applying some

general principle, which is right in the main, to all cases, and failing

to discover when the rule demands an exception. For instance, it is

pretty generally admitted that any concession to an Oriental government

is considered as a sign of weakness; therefore, although you may have

burnt down the Summer Palace of the Emperor of China, and had Pekin at

the mercy of your armies, bully the Government of that country into

conceding our exorbitant demands, or they will think you weak. Such is

the logic of a recent memorial signed by the mercantile community of

China. Again, in Japan, when the Tycoon signed a treaty with this

country, his ministers, foreseeing the difficulties with which they

would have to contend from the opposition of the aristocracy, stipulated

that the ports should be opened by degrees, and the commencement of

trade thus assumed the form of a political experiment. We have given a

list of the bloody results: the Japanese Government points to it, and

prays that a postponement for five years may be allowed in the opening

of the other ports, to avoid the multiplication of tragedies by the

number of ports. The sum appears a simple one: if you have twelve

murders a year with three ports open, how many will you have with six?

The mercantile community demand that the other three be opened according

to Treaty; any concession will be considered a sign of weakness. They

may be right in this instance; and as our diplomatic relations with

Japan are certain not to run smoothly, it will be always open to them to

say there would have been no difficulty had we refused the concession.

However that may be, our Government have given the Japanese credit for a

certain amount of good faith in the efforts they have made for our

protection, and are willing to try the effect of time in softening the

asperities of the hostile class.

The most remarkable result which has yet been produced by the

introduction of the foreigner into Japan has been the abandonment of

Yedo by the aristocracy. It is impossible as yet to foresee the

consequences of this movement. The immediate effect of the exodus of

more than 200,000 armed men will be to render the capital a safer place

of residence for foreigners than it has been heretofore, although it is

probable that disbanded retainers, or “lonins” as they are called, may

still haunt the purlieus of the Legation with the view of carrying out

the policy of their lords in exterminating the foreigner. The Japanese

Government has built a fortified Legation on a very defensible position:

this will be surrounded by a moat and wall, and garrisoned by a small

body of European soldiers. Except when the members of the Mission ride

out, they will be comparatively safe, and even then they will be in no

danger of meeting those processions which were constantly parading the

streets when the city was inhabited by the feudal class, and each of

which was composed of hundreds of armed retainers bitterly hostile to

the foreigner. The ultimate consequences of this movement it is

impossible to foresee. It may be that the daimios have determined to

withdraw from any active opposition, and have retired to sulk in their

own territories; or they may have left Yedo for the purpose of

organising themselves, with the view of bringing about a civil war, and

expelling the foreigner by force of arms. The movement may have

originated among themselves, and been carried out in defiance of the

Government; or it may have been suggested by the Government as a means

of relieving them from the danger and annoyance of further collisions

with the foreigner. The residence of the daimios at Yedo was made

compulsory upon them by the celebrated Taiko Sama, who, after he had

reduced the rebellious aristocracy to submission, devised this method of

keeping them under surveillance. Every noble was compelled to keep an

establishment at the capital, partly as a recognition of the Tycoon as

his feudal superior, partly because those members of his family who were

obliged to reside there served as hostages for the good behaviour of the

prince. It may easily be imagined that this bondage was irksome to so

proud a class, and the present Government may have released them from

it, on condition of their withdrawing their opposition to the fulfilment

of the treaties with foreign powers. It will be seen from the notice we

have already quoted, and which was signed by four lonins, that an old

law exists, which has never been repealed, prohibiting the residence of

the foreigner in Japan; this forms the groundwork of the opposition

policy, and it is believed that the Spiritual Emperor has expressed his

dissent from the act of its infringement by the Tycoon.

Practically, then, it would seem that political parties in the empire

are divided into two classes—one consisting of the Mikado and a large

section of the aristocracy, who do not consider themselves bound by

treaty-stipulations with foreigners; the other, consisting of the Tycoon

and his government, who do; and this latter party, we may conclude, has

the sympathy and support of the mass of the population. As, however, the

Temporal Government has proved itself too weak to cope with the

opposition headed by the Mikado, the question is, how we can best

guarantee the safety of our countrymen, and extort that redress which

the Government is powerless to enforce in cases of violent outrage.

Diplomacy is powerless, for it cannot reach the offenders; and we are

thus driven into hostile action. Either we must insist upon the Mikado

ratifying the Treaty, and be prepared to employ force in case of his

refusing to do so; or we must take summary vengeance upon any individual

daimio who offends. The objection to the first course is, that an

application to the Mikado for a ratification of the Treaty would imply

that it had not been made with the right person in the first instance,

and therefore was not valid. We should thus place ourselves in a false

position, for which there is no necessity, as the Tycoon’s Government

maintain the validity of the Treaty, and deny that any ratification on

the part of the Mikado is requisite. On the other hand, there can be no

doubt that the recognition of the Treaty by the Mikado would at once put

an end to the opposition of the nobles. In the event, moreover, of the

Mikado declining to ratify, we should be compelled to use force. And

although, as Miako, the residence of the Spiritual Court, is not above

thirty miles from the sea, and may be approached for part of the way by

a river navigable for gunboats, we could no doubt succeed in any

operations we might undertake, we might possibly excite a feeling of

hostility towards us, which would not be confined to the feudal class.

The chief objection to the second course—that of proceeding against the

daimios separately—would be that, if it did not lead to a civil war, the

effect of any such retaliation would be a partial and temporary measure.

The first course we have suggested is not alluded to by Sir Rutherford,

and as the exodus of the daimios had not taken place at the time of the

publication of his work, we have not the advantage of knowing our

author’s views upon the probable bearing of this important event upon

the politics of Japan. After discussing the difficulties attending a

policy of conciliation pushed beyond certain limits, and the objections

to the alternative of withdrawal, our author goes on to say:—

“The conclusion would seem to be, that if there was to be any

amelioration, foreign powers must change their tactics; and if these

involved a struggle, and the nation were passive, the feudal classes

alone being actively engaged in such a contest (and this is what might

always be expected from all that is known of the country, always

assuming that no revolutionary element came into play), the struggle

could hardly be a long one. For, some of the most hostile princes

struck down, the rest would probably see the necessity of coming to

terms, and suing for peace with a better estimate of our power to make

our treaty-rights respected, and compel observance, than has yet

entered into the conception of Japanese rulers. So, possibly, we might

purchase peace, and trade with freedom from all obstructive

limitations, as well as with security to life and property. But by no

other means that suggest themselves, after long and patient study of

the people and their rulers, does this end seem attainable—if once we

break with the daimios, and the Government which masks them—to enter

upon a course of coercion.”

Such being our author’s views, it is possible that the measures here

indicated may be those ultimately adopted; but where the question is

surrounded by so many difficulties, any policy must be more or less

hazardous. It will be always easy to wait for the result, and then find

fault with it; but we think that the considerations we have advanced are

sufficiently complicated to disarm hostile criticism, and that we have

no right to test the experiments which our political agents are forced

to make in Japan by the traditions of diplomacy in other parts of the

world.

If we have entered at some length into the political questions suggested

by Sir Rutherford Alcock’s book, it is because we deem it important that

people should not neglect this opportunity of making themselves

acquainted with the state of our relations with Japan. We refrain, in

mercy to our readers, from entering upon the great currency question,

which has hitherto proved the chief stumbling-block to the successful

working of the Treaty, and which involves an interesting financial

problem. We will not follow our author into his dissertations upon

consular jurisdiction in the East, though, were the subject more

popular, there is much to be said upon it. There is room for an essay on

the merits of the Japanese civilisation, and Sir Rutherford touches

thoughtfully upon topics which would afford interesting matter of

philosophical speculation to a metaphysical mind. It is in this sense,

perhaps, that his book is so much more suggestive than any of its

predecessors. Our author has lived long enough in Japan to study the

anomalies presented by its social and political institutions; and

although his knowledge of them is necessarily limited and imperfect, we

are forced to admit that Western civilisation alone does not suffice to

enable us to construct a system of political economy, or justify

conclusions based upon the limited experience of European nations. A

Chinese sinologue, with a German turn of mind, wrote a book on China and

its rebellions a few years ago, in which he incorporated an Essay on

Civilisation. We did not agree in the views it embodied, but we thought

it appropriate to the subject of his work. Our author, during the pauses

which intervened between earthquakes, fires, and assassinations,

pondered over kindred matters, and discusses with us whether, as regards

civilisation, “nations and individuals attain the highest state which

their fundamental convictions will allow.” If there is a part of the

world in which an exile would require all his philosophy, it is Japan;

and Sir Rutherford probably amused himself by working out as a corollary

to the above proposition, “whether the assassination of the British

Minister might fairly be classed among ‘their fundamental convictions.’”

Our author dwells at some length upon the varied nature of the obstacles

he has had to encounter in the course of his diplomacy. The violence and

hostility of the feudal class is by no means the greatest. The tactics

which the Japanese employ in carrying their point consists chiefly in

mendacity and evasion. Nor do they deny that they are habitually

untruthful. Our author illustrates this by the following anecdote:—

“Upon one occasion, an official having been found in direct

contradiction with himself, was asked, somewhat abruptly, perhaps, how

he could reconcile it to his conscience to utter such palpable

untruths? With perfect calmness and self-possession he replied, ‘I

told you last month that such and such a thing had been done, and now

I tell you that the thing has not been done at all. I am an officer

whose business it is to carry out the instructions I receive, and to

say what I am told to say. What have I to do with truth or

falsehood?’”

Again, it is sufficient that a proposition should emanate from the

foreigner for it to excite objection. In spite of professions to the

contrary, the Japanese raise difficulties on principle, even when they

have no intention of ultimately refusing a demand. They are scrupulously

courteous, quick, and subtle, but often childish in argument. Some

notion of the trivial nature of their excuses may be formed from the

reply to Colonel Neale’s despatch to the Japanese Minister narrating the

attempt upon his life, and demanding the punishment, not only of the

assassins, but of the daimio whose retainers they were, and who was

specially charged with the defence of the Legation. This daimio must

have been a party to the attack. It is thus that the Government

endeavours to screen him, denying, at the same time, that there was more

than one culprit:—

“In the mean time the officer, Ito Goombio, a retainer of Matsdairn

Tamban-no-Kami, one of the princes intrusted with the protection of

the Legation, committed suicide, consequently his corpse was examined;

then one wound caused by the ball of a gun, and two sword-wounds with

which he committed suicide, were discovered. Taking these facts into

consideration, it is probable that the same officer managed to get in

by stealth, and was the assailant. Therefore we have decided that,

although the said officer has committed suicide, he cannot escape the

customary punishment of this country; and furthermore, that the

officers (retainers) who were placed there for protection should be

punished, after having been duly examined, for having been wanting in

their duty. As the said prince, the master of the criminal officer

(retainer), was ordered by his Majesty the Tycoon to protect the

foreign nations, he did not neglect to proclaim the order to his

subordinate officers (retainers); but the design which the criminal

officer (retainer), of his own free-will, and without fearing death,

intended to carry out, was most likely owing to a temporary

derangement of his mind, brought on by the present state of affairs

being unchangeable, and being deceived by false reports, spread about

by wanderers, &c. He therefore, very simply, hated foreign nations,

and forgot the orders he had received from the Government and his own

master. Your Government will naturally suppose, from all the facts of

the case, that this proceeds from disaffection of our Government to

your friendship, which causes us great shame and sorrow. His Majesty

the Tycoon also regrets the attack on account of her Majesty the Queen

of Great Britain. Therefore his Majesty has ordered us to write a

letter to your Excellency, in order to explain all the circumstances

of the case, and to beg pardon for all the unsuitable occurrences

which have taken place until now, and to testify our friendly

feeling.”

How is it possible to deal with a Government who, when called to account

for a series of massacres, apologise in this charmingly naïve way for

what they call “unsuitable occurrences?” How did they propose to punish

the man who had already committed suicide? And is “simple hatred” likely

to produce mental derangement? The Government was evidently not

responsible. The daimio was in no way to blame. The assassin was

temporarily insane, and, though dead, would be punished. It is true, two

English marines were hacked to pieces, with twenty-five wounds; but the

real culprits were the “wanderers,” who spread a report. That is a

specimen of Japanese logic.

In ordinary criminal offences, however, the Japanese are prompt to

inflict summary punishment. Here is an original sentence, forwarded to

the British Consul in an official letter:—

“To F. HOWARD VYSE, Esq.

KIHI,

_Vagabond in the village of Torocmigawa_,

You have, while in the service of the English merchant Telge, stolen

300 rio in his absence, which were kept in an unlocked box. As this is

a great offence, you are sentenced to be beheaded.”

The execution-ground was close to the gate of the Legation at Yedo, and

gory heads, fresh chopped off and stuck in clay, occasionally glared

with glassy eyes upon the passer-by. Not far from Kanagawa was a

burning-ground, not unlike a threshing-floor; and English travellers,

with a taste for the horrible, used to make it an object for a ride, to

inspect the human ashes which were strewn there.

But we have looked enough “on this picture” of Japan—it is time to look

“on that.” Those travellers who first saw it in its gala-dress painted

it as they found it, and in some respects have their glowing

descriptions fallen short of the reality. They never heard of “lonins,”

or experienced any “unsuitable occurrences.” They saw a population nude,

peaceable, and contented, a landscape of fairy-like beauty, a sky

unrivalled even in Italy; and they left before they had recovered from

the charming surprise, or had time to appreciate the real value of

attractions so novel and unlooked-for. And yet our author, after a

residence of three years, writes:—

“But for this class of military retainers and Tycoon officials, high

and low, both of which swarm in Yedo, it seems it might be one of the

pleasantest places in the Far East. The climate is superior to that of

any other country east of the Cape. The capital itself, though

spreading over a circuit of some twenty miles, with probably a couple

of million of inhabitants, can boast what no capital in Europe can—the

most charming rides, beginning even in its centre, and extending in

every direction over wooded hills, through smiling valleys and shady

lanes, fringed with evergreens and magnificent timber. Even in the

city, especially along the ramparts of the official quarter, and in

many roads and avenues leading thence to the country, broad green

slopes and temple gardens or well-timbered parks gladden the eye as it

is nowhere else gladdened within the circle of a city. No sooner is a

suburb gained in any direction, than hedgerows appear which only

England can rival either for beauty or neatness, while over all an

Eastern sun through the greater part of the year throws a flood of

light from an unclouded sky, making the deep shadow of the overarching

trees doubly grateful, with its ever-varying pictures of tracery, both

above and below. Such is Yedo and its environs in the long

summer-time, and far into a late autumn.”

Our author’s enthusiasm is not confined to inanimate nature in Japan. He

too, in spite of the disaffection of a particular class, has an evident

weakness for the country people, and gives us many pleasing traits of

national character:—

“Reflections,” he says, “on the government and civilisation of the

Japanese press upon the European every step he takes in this land, so

singularly blessed in soil and climate, so happy in the contented

character and simple habits of its people, yet so strangely governed

by unwritten laws and irresponsible rulers.”

Again—

“Much has been heard of the despotic sway of these feudal lords, and

the oppression under which all the labouring classes toil and groan;

but it is impossible to traverse these well-cultivated valleys, and

mark the happy, contented, and well-to-do populations which have their

home amid so much plenty, and believe we see a land entirely

tyrant-ridden and impoverished by exactions. On the contrary, the

impression is irresistibly borne in upon the mind that Europe cannot

show a happier or better-fed peasantry, or a climate and soil so

genial and bountiful in their gifts.”

We must agree with our author, that institutions, however anomalous they

may appear to us, must have some merit which can so satisfactorily

secure “the material prosperity of a population estimated at thirty

millions, which has made an Eden of this volcanic soil, and has grown in

numbers and wealth by unaided native industry, shut out from all

intercourse with the rest of the world.” So that Sir Rutherford, after

all, gives quite as favourable a picture of Japan as any of the “hasty

visitors,” the accuracy of whose first impressions he thus impugns:—

“Those writers,” he exclaims, “who, on the strength of a superficial

observation, or a flying visit to Nagasaki, have led the credulous

public in Europe and America to believe that the triumph of European

civilisation in Japan is already secure, and that the Japanese

Government is promoting it, must have been strangely deluded! As to

progress and advance in the path of civilisation, the papers laid

before Parliament at this period, in which I passed in review the

progress made in the previous six months—the first after the opening

of the ports under treaties in July last—must have given a very

different impression.”

But this is a gloomy view of affairs not usual with our author; for a

few pages later, remarking on the effect which foreign trade is likely

to produce, he observes:—

“How soon such changes may come it is impossible to say, seeing what

marvellous progress has marked the last seven years. Notwithstanding

their long and resolutely-maintained isolation and exclusivism,

carried even into their political economy, and cherished in the

national mind as their ark of safety and the shibboleth of their

independence, the day has arrived when a British Minister can take up

his residence in the capital, and is received by the Tycoon, not as

were the chiefs of the Dutch factory at Decima—long the only

representatives of Europe—in days now long passed, and never, it is to

be hoped, to return.”

In another place—

“They are a well-to-do, flourishing, and advancing people, and for

generations and centuries have maintained a respectable level of

intellectual cultivation and social virtues.”

Sir Rutherford, in his desponding mood, cites, as an instance of the

obstructive and unprogressive policy of the Government, that they

refused to accept an offer made by Europeans to run monthly a steamer

for them between their own ports; but he writes more sanguinely when he

gives us an account of a visit he paid to the Government steam-factory

at Nagasaki:—

“I could not but admire the progress made under every possible

difficulty, by the Japanese and Dutch combined, in their endeavours to

create in this remote corner of the earth all the complicated means

and appliances for the repair and manufacture ultimately of steam

machinery.”

There he found them making moderator lamps, and farther on there was a

forge-factory in complete working order, with a Nasmyth’s hammer.

“And here we saw one of the most extraordinary and crowning

testimonies of Japanese enterprise and ingenuity, which leaves all the

Chinese have ever attempted far behind. I allude to a steam-engine

with tubular boilers, made by themselves before a steam vessel or

engine had ever been seen by Japanese—made solely, therefore, from the

plans in a Dutch work.”

After this we do not think that the idea which our author ridicules, of

the possibility of railways and steam communication in Japan, is so very

absurd; considering all that he has undergone, it is not to be wondered

at that he should occasionally take a gloomy view of the people and the

country. Generally he is sanguine and complimentary, and nobody has had

better opportunities of judging. He has visited the northern island,

ascended Fusama, spent some weeks at a Japanese watering-place, where he

found “peace, plenty, apparent content, and a country more perfectly and

carefully cultivated, and kept with more ornamental timber everywhere,

than can be matched even in England.” He made an overland journey from

Nagasaki to Yedo, which lasted thirty-three days, and the incidents of

which form one of the most interesting features of the book. There is an

admirable description of a Japanese play, which, judged by the light of

the future, seemed to be a rehearsal of the tragedy about to be

perpetrated a fortnight later on Sir Rutherford himself. Occasionally

the party traversed the territory of a hostile daimio; on these

occasions the inhabitants shut themselves up. Thus, at Nieno, a daimio’s

capital—

“As we advanced through the streets we found every house and every

side-street hermetically closed, not a whisper was to be heard, nor

the face of a living being to be seen. The side streets were all

barricaded and shut out of view by curtains spread on high poles. His

own house, which we passed, was similarly masked by curtains. Even in

the adjoining villages no women or children were to be seen.”

These daimios are always followed by large bodies of armed retainers in

their journeys through the country, and, as the last murder of our

countryman proves, are not to be met without danger. On one occasion,

says our author,

“Mr De Wit and I were riding abreast, and without any escort, having

left them far behind, when, seeing rather a large cortege filling up

the road as we turned an angle, we drew to one side of the road in

single file. No sooner did the leading officer observe the movement

than he instantly began to swagger, and motioned all the train to

spread themselves over the whole road; so that all we gained by our

consideration and courtesy was to run the risk of being pushed into

the ditch by an insolent subordinate.”

Runners always precede these trains, calling upon the people to

prostrate themselves; and the nobles are so accustomed to this act of

homage that a European refusing to perform it incurs a great risk. Our

author enters into great detail in the account he gives us of the habits

and mode of life of the common people, for they alone come under the

observation of the stranger; and we may regard the work before us as the

most exhaustive description of the country and the people which we could

expect from the pen of a foreigner. It is, moreover, admirably

illustrated, and the reader cannot fail to rise from its perusal more

thoroughly enlightened in all that concerns the singular people of whom

it treats, than he could hope to be by all the previous works which have

appeared on the same subject from the days of the Jesuit fathers. We had

marked many passages illustrative of the everyday life of the Japanese,

and some graphic descriptions of those scenes which are most

characteristic and remarkable; but we have dwelt so long on the

political considerations which have been suggested to us by the remarks

of the author, that we can only commend his social sketches to the

notice of the reader. The account of Sir Rutherford’s audience with the

Tycoon is highly entertaining, and the effect of the actual ceremony

must have been ridiculous in the extreme. The attitude of a Japanese in

the presence of a superior almost amounts to prostration. In one room

were “more than a hundred officers in grand official costume, all

kneeling, five and six deep, in rows, perfectly mute, and immovable as

statues, their heads just raised from the floor.” This attitude, when

adopted by a crowd, is rather striking, perhaps, than ludicrous; but

when the crowd begin to walk, the effect must be eminently absurd:—

“The most singular part of the whole costume, and that which, added to

the head-gear, gave an irresistibly comic air to the whole

presentment, was the immeasurable prolongation of the silk trousers.

These, instead of stopping short at the heels, are unconscionably

lengthened, and left to trail two or three feet behind them, so that

their feet, as they advanced, seemed pushed into what should have been

the knees of their garments; besides this, they often shuffle on their

hands and knees.”

The performances of the jugglers, wrestlers, and top-spinners in Japan

have already been constantly alluded to, but our author’s experiences

surpass those of former spectators:—

“One of the most delicate of the performances consisted in making a

top spin on the left hand, run up round the edge of the robe at the

back of the neck, and down the other arm into the palm of the right

hand, still spinning. Another, again, was to toss a spinning-top into

the air and catch it on the hem of the sleeve without letting it fall.

A third was to fling it high in the air and catch it on the bowl or

the angle of a Japanese pipe, pass it behind the back, flinging it to

the front, and then catch it again.”

Certainly an importation of Japanese top-spinners would make the fortune

of any Barnum who could induce them to leave their country with the

certainty of their being obliged to rip themselves up on their return.

Let us hope that the discontinuance of this last trick may be one of the

first-fruits of the introduction of Western civilisation into Japan.

MRS CLIFFORD’S MARRIAGE.

PART II.