On my return from the excursion to Asama-yama, after a single night
spent in Tokyo, I went up into the Hakoné Mountains to attend the
Summer School of missionaries and Christian students, which was to
be held that year in the village of the same name. Here there would
be audiences eager to hear addresses on themes connected with the
discussion of ethical and religious problems--matters about which the
younger portion of the nation were then not nearly so solicitous as
they are at the present time. The attention of the men who were working
to bring in the New Japan was more exclusively directed to defensive
and offensive armament, and to what is popularly called “science”;
and the opinion prevalent among these men seemed to be that all the
nation needed for truest prosperity and advancement to the front
ranks of civilisation, was a sufficiently large army and navy, and a
thorough training for its youth in the sciences and arts which deal
with material things. It is a great encouragement and comfort to the
real friends of Japan to know that so many of its leaders and of its
more promising young men no longer hold these shallow opinions. And if
the next generation of Japanese can escape the corrupting and debasing
influence of the American and European spirit of commercialism, and can
conserve and enlarge and elevate that ancient spirit of their own best
men, which they call “Bushidō,” there is even prospect that they will
equal or excel the Western nations in those spiritual qualities which
make nations truly great.
The Committee of the Summer School at Hakoné had sent a young man to
escort me to the place of meeting; and in his company I took the early
morning train for Kozu. This village, with its charming view of the
Bay of Odawara, the volcano of Oshima, and the islet of Enoshima, in
front, and on turning around, when the weather is favourable, of Fuji
behind, was as far toward our destination as the train could carry us.
From there, through the celebrated castle-town of Odawara, we took
the tram to Yumoto. In feudal times many bloody conflicts were fought
in and around Odawara. For here dwelt in succession some of the most
celebrated of the families of Daimyos in the days of the “Old Japan.”
One of these, the Hōjō, was overthrown in 1590 by the cruel Hideyoshi.
And the fact that this was accomplished by a sudden attack while
the generals within the castle were discussing, and could come to no
agreement, as to the best plan of defence, has led to the proverbial
saying, _Odawara hyogi_, or “the Odawara conference”; which means:
“Endless talk defeats prompt and efficient action.”
The guide-book of the period remarks that the large inn at Yumoto
“would seem to be conducted with a view to the almost exclusive
reception of Japanese guests;” but, perhaps owing to the nativity
and energy of my escort, I was most royally entertained there. Both
luncheon and bath were in the best Japanese style.
[Illustration: “DARK AND SOLEMN AND STATELY CRYPTOMERIAS”]
Early in the afternoon a sedan-chair, which had been securely tied on
either side to a long bamboo pole so as to fit it for carrying by four
coolies, was standing in front of the inn. Into this I was mounted, my
luggage having been strapped on underneath; the whole was then raised
aloft on the shoulders of the men, and started off in impressive style
with orders from my escort to go slowly, as he would remain behind to
settle the bills and would then overtake us shortly. We were to go
up the mountains by the old Tōkaidō, and _via_ Hata. But the sturdy
bearers made such light weight of their burden that the young man did
not catch them except by hard running; and then only when they had
nearly finished the ten miles or more over the mountain pass, which
lay between Yumoto and the village of Hakoné. The interest and joy of
that memorable ride over the Hakoné mountains will never be forgotten.
Indeed, it is as fresh to-day as it was eighteen years ago. The weather
was superb; the sky an Italian blue, and the temperature a summer heat
softened by the woods and the elevation of the mountains. For miles the
way lay along the heights on one side; and on the other the mountains
fell away below into valleys whose depths were not visible, but beyond
which other mountains could be seen through that soft haze which is
responsible for so many of the most beautiful atmospheric effects in
the Land of the Rising or--as the Japanese like to say--now Risen Sun.
Both above and below was verdure everywhere,--of dark and solemn and
stately cryptomerias, of light and feathery bamboo, and of various
other trees, and of hanging vines. Clear mountain streams broke in
water-falls from the cliffs over our heads; crossed the highway as
brooks or rivulets; and turning again to water-falls, took another leap
into the valley below. The road had formerly been paved with stone
blocks and lined with cryptomerias at regular intervals on either
side. But since the Tōkaidō railway was finished in 1889, it has ceased
to be the great thoroughfare between the capital cities; the paving
has been buried in mud or washed away by the floods which have found
here their most convenient passage down the pass; and the young trees
and shrubs have largely encroached upon its Imperial domain. All this,
however, together with huge red lilies and other flowers which had
pre-empted the deserted royal highway, made it more attractive for the
occupant of the sedan-chair on that July afternoon. To be carried up
was indeed an ignoble way to make such a journey; but the demands of
etiquette, which are somewhat more inexorable in Japan than with us,
seemed to make submission unavoidable.
But reminiscences derived from the history of the remoter and more
recent past, added much to the sentiments belonging with propriety to
this manner of journeying along the Tōkaidō. I was travelling along an
important part of the highway over which, from the seventeenth century
onwards, the Daimyos and their gorgeous retinues went to pay their
respects and to acknowledge their allegiance to the Shōgun at Yedo.
One could easily revive something of the picture which is described
as follows by Black in his “Young Japan”: “But what a scene it used
to present! How crowded with pedestrians; with _norimons_ (the
palanquins of the upper crust), and attendants; with _hagos_ (the
modest bamboo conveyance of the humble classes); with pack-horses
conveying merchandise of all kinds to and from the capital or the
busy towns and villages along the route; with the trains of daimyos
or lesser gentry entitled to travel with a retinue; and with the
commonalty, men, women and children on foot, all with their dresses
turned up for facility of movement, and for the most part taking the
journey pretty easily; frequently stopping at the numerous tea-houses
or resting sheds by the way, and refreshing themselves with a simple
little cup of weak green tea, and a cheery chat with whomsoever might
stop like themselves to rest. It used to seem that distance was no
consideration with them. They could go on all day, and day after day,
if only they were allowed (which they generally were) to take their own
time and pace. The value of time never entered into their thoughts.”
But, as the author just quoted adds, “the numerous trains of armed
men passing in both directions were the most striking feature of
the scene.” These were the _samurai_, or two-sworded gentlemen, the
knightly retainers of the feudal lords, without whom as body-guard
and signs of his power and magnificence, no one of these lords could
fitly perform his act of homage. The etiquette of the road was strictly
defined; and breaches of it were perilous and the not infrequent
causes of bloody encounters. The principal villages along the route
were the stopping-places for the night of these populous and sometimes
troublesome processions; but they were greatly in favour with the
keepers of the inns and tea-houses--in general, persons of the lowest
class and vilest morals--who vied with one another in furnishing all
kinds of the entertainment and conveniences demanded by this sort of
travellers the world over, and in all times of its history.
My coolies trotted on, marking time with a monotonous “_ichi_,”
“_ichi_,” “_ichi_,” (“one,” “one,” “one”) and an occasional shifting of
the poles to the other shoulder, without break until we reached, near
the top of the pass, the decayed and almost deserted village of Hata.
Then, at a signal from the traveller, they set down the chair in front
of a dilapidated and disreputable-looking tea-house, and went inside
to take tea and cakes at his invitation. A crowd of naked or scantily
dressed children, numbering thirty-one by actual count and of various
sizes, from tiny babies on the backs of nurses almost as tiny, to
half-grown boys and girls, gathered to see the then unaccustomed and
truly wonderful sight. They surrounded my chair and stood gazing at
me with a silent, mild-mannered, but unabashed curiosity. In order to
have a little fun with them, I pulled my hat far down over my face;
with perfect soberness and no seeming appreciation of a joke, they
fairly lay down on their backs on the ground in order to get a sight of
my face under the hat. Nowhere else are children shown so much favour
as in Japan; probably nowhere else are children happier; but nowhere
else that I have ever been are the children so sober and amusingly
solemn, even in play. The scattering of a few _sen_ among them on
parting, however, brought the excitement of the day to its culmination,
and, doubtless, went far toward making the occasion for a long time
memorable. What a contrast this to the magnificence of travel which was
the accustomed sight of the village in the good old times of feudalism
under the Shōgunate of the Tokugawas!
After the coolies had loitered over their tea-drinking and smoking as
the time to be allowed for the remainder of the journey would permit,
and although the escort had not succeeded in overtaking us, we started
again on our way. From Hata to Hakoné the beauty of the scenery was
not so alluring; but there were certain features of equal historical
interest. Chief among them, perhaps, was the remnants of the old
barrier and guard-house (_Hakoné no seki_), where all travellers were
formerly challenged and required to show their passports. The barrier
itself was removed in 1871; but part of the stonework still remained at
the time of my visit. In this neighbourhood is a large red torii (one
of those archways, so universal in Japan, formed of two upright and two
horizontal beams, which were originally says Mr. Satow in the Second
Volume of the _Asiatic Transactions_, “perches for the fowls offered
up to the gods, not as food, but to give warning of daybreak”). By its
side stood a wooden shed containing two iron rice-boilers, said to have
been used by Yorotomo on his hunting expeditions. On the right stands
one of the Emperor’s summer palaces, a very unpretentious structure of
wood in foreign style. A short run along the shores of the lake brought
us to the inn, Hafu-ya, where the coolies were ordered to deposit their
burden by my escort who, shortly before we entered the village, had
succeeded in overtaking them.
[Illustration: “ASHI-NO-UMI, WHICH IS, BEING INTERPRETED, ‘THE SEA OF
REEDS’”]
The Lake of Hakoné, or to call it by its original name,--now used
only in poetry,--_Ashi-no-Umi_, which is, being interpreted, “the
Sea of Reeds,” is somewhat more than three and a half miles long and
eleven miles around. In spite of its name, “the reedy,” its deepest
part measures down no less than thirty-seven fathoms. Away from the
shores, its waters are cold and dangerous for swimmers. My room was
on the side of the inn toward the lake, and looked across a small
garden upon its fickle waters and pretty shores. But, what was a yet
more important advantage to its point of view, across the lake a fine
view of Fuji terminated the northwestern horizon. Always, when the
weather conditions permitted, the “incomparable mountain” was before
the uplifted eyes. On one occasion, it was my good fortune to have a
view that is comparatively infrequent and that has been celebrated
by a goodly number of those short, sentimental poems, which it is a
part of the old-fashioned culture to be able to produce at a moment’s
notice and in unlimited number. At a certain period of the year, and
only at an early hour of the morning, when the conditions of light
and atmosphere are just right, the head of Fuji, more than twenty
miles distant as the birds fly, can be seen mirrored in the Lake of
Hakoné. But I had sight of a still rarer act of grace on nature’s
part, which undoubtedly would have evoked a flood of poems from my
Japanese friends,--only, alas! that I was the sole person in all the
world to see it. And I, alas again! I am no poet. But, perhaps, it is
not correct, either from the scientific or the literary point of view,
to speak of Japanese poems as constituting a “flood”; since they are
for the most part in length of thirty-one syllables. But the sight was
this. A small cloud of the purest white formed itself into a wreath
of most perfect shape, and then floated down through the blue sky to
lay itself upon the side of the mountain near its summit. There it
lay until the mountain’s embrace slowly dissolved it away. I suppose
I may be pardoned for giving my attention to this rather than to the
sermon which was being preached at the time; since the sermon was in a
language of which at the time scarcely a word was intelligible to me.
The following week was most pleasantly spent at Hakoné, in the
manner best approved by the successful summer schools. The hours not
occupied by its sessions and by conversations with its members, were
for the most part given to excursions. There are many of interest
in the neighbourhood; as any traveller of to-day will be informed
on consulting his guide-book. Indeed, Hakoné attempts to vie with
Miyanoshita as respects its attractions for tourists in the summer
season. But the two are scarcely comparable on terms of equality. Those
who prefer hot baths, easier access, drier air, and the comforts of
an excellent foreign hotel, with its correspondingly higher prices,
will choose Miyanoshita. But those who like privacy, a charming lake
for bathing, fishing, and water picnics, who can put up with the
discomforts of living in rude Japanese country style, will save money
and learn more about country folk in Japan, by choosing Hakoné. The
trouble with such Japanese inns as the Hafu-ya, at the time of my
visit, was this; instead of furnishing really good Japanese food,
supplemented and modified somewhat by foreign elements, they thought
to please foreigners by abominable attempts at imitation of the
worst style of French cooking. And there was then a supply of young
fellows as ambitious, ignorant and conceited about their ability to
do French cooking as about their ability to teach English after they
had committed to memory all the words in a small dictionary,--as far,
for example, as the letter _K_. But for the time of my stay, the joy
of opportunity, the interest of learning, the pleasures of forming
life-long friendships, and the delights of nature, made any physical
discomforts seem of no account.
Of the various excursions taken by the summer-school, that to Ōjigoku,
or “Big Hell” (also called by the less startling title of _Owaki-dani_,
or “the Valley of the greater boiling”), was the most important. The
party took boats across the lake and, before starting for the climb,
had luncheon at a pleasant tea-house on its shores. We then walked up
to the top of the gorge and part way down on the other side. As it
has been facetiously said, neither name for the place is a misnomer;
and, indeed, one does well to guide one’s steps as religiously when
going through this gorge as though walking on the very brink of
perdition. For the whole gorge is weird and desolate and reeking
with the sulphurous fumes that perpetually rise from the ground. At
short distances boiling water breaks through the thin crust from
below,--sometimes so near the path that to deviate in the least from
the footsteps of your guide is dangerous. Not a few lives have been
sacrificed by a false step on this treacherous crust. But all of us,
being accustomed to walk carefully and follow authorised leadership,
went up and returned in safety.
All the lectures and addresses of the summer school at Hakoné were
listened to with that fine mingling of concentrated and sympathetic
attention and the spirit of independent inquiry which characterises
the best minds among the Japanese, as it does the same class in
other civilised races. With such minds, clearness, knowledge of
his subject, and moral earnestness on the part of the speaker, are
the most highly prized qualities. With them also, appreciation and
enthusiasm follow upon conviction of the truthfulness of what is said;
and the true-hearted teacher considers it a far higher reward to win
such recognition from them than to gain a temporary applause or even
the permanent reputation for popularity. Without doubt to-day, the
ambition, especially, of so many of the younger instructors of college
students, to have large classes and to get into the class-books of
the Seniors as a “favourite” or “most popular” teacher, is one of the
several baleful results of the excessive lengths to which the elective
system has been carried in this country. It is leading not a few of the
most thoughtful educationists to doubt whether the remark recently made
by one of their number be not true; that a considerable portion of the
teaching of the present-day college faculties is coming to be of little
or no really educative value. In the colleges and universities of Japan
at the present time, the dangerous tendencies are of another order;
since they have been modelled rather after a European than an American
pattern. With them the tendency of the professors and other instructors
is to become too exclusively interested in their own reputation for
science--not always by any means solidly founded; and to care too
little for the mental and moral culture of the great body of their
pupils. Besides this, there is the still more acute danger from those
students who have failed in their examinations, whether for entrance
or for a degree, of whom there are many thousands in the city of
Tokyo alone. It is a sad fact that a considerable percentage of these
students are recognised as belonging to the criminal classes. Indeed,
all over the world, and especially in Russia and China, the chief hopes
and the chief risks, to the Government and to society, are lodged with
the student classes.
At the close of the engagement at Hakoné I was for the first, but by no
means the last, time the recipient of a genuine old-fashioned Japanese
“Sayonara.” There are many ways of speeding the parting guest which
prevail in the different parts of the civilised and uncivilised world.
But nowhere else, so far as I am aware, is there anything quite like
the way characteristic of the “Old Japan.” Even among the Japanese
it is being rapidly modified--necessarily so--by the multiplication
of railway trains and by the other influences operating to produce a
more hurried and self-centred mode of life. But the leave-taking of
departing friends has there not yet contracted itself to a mere formal
call days beforehand at the house, or to a “Good-bye,” an “Au revoir,”
or the more familiar “So long,” or “Take care of yourself, Old Fellow,”
from the platform of the railway station. The pleasure of having from
fifty to a hundred persons--lords and ladies, professors, officials,
together with your kurumaya and domestic servants--gathering at a
distant station to see you off by train at six-o’clock in the morning
is somewhat embarrassing. But one cannot steal away in silence and
without notice from Japanese friends; and an old-fashioned “Sayonara,”
in a country place and on an occasion like that of the breaking-up of
the summer-school at Hakoné in 1892, is an experience which, while
it makes one ashamed of one’s self for being the cause of so great
unmerited trouble on the part of others, leaves behind unfading
memories of the most encouraging and happiest character.
On a Sunday afternoon a so-called “farewell meeting” was held. At this
meeting there was an address of thanks from the Rev. Mr. Honda, the
President of the school, speaking in behalf of the central Committee;
a complimentary address by one of the younger men; the presentation
of written resolutions; an essay in English by a recent graduate
of Doshisha Theological School; and a concluding response by the
recipient of all these unaccustomed favours. All this together with the
singing of several songs, both in Japanese and in English, made up what
was called by all “a tender and touching service.”
But what was for me at that time the marvel of the whole affair came
the following morning. A severe typhoon had been raging along the coast
for several days. Although the wind had not been so terrific in the
mountains back from the sea, it had been sufficiently strong to rock
violently the inn where I was staying, and to keep the waters on which
my room looked out furiously agitated. The rain had been constant and
some of the time torrential. By this Monday morning, however, the wind
had chiefly subsided; the rain was no longer a down-pour, but it had
by no means wholly ceased; nor was there any sure means of knowing
when it would be entirely over. The highways were deep in mud, and the
smaller mountain paths were rivulets of swiftly flowing water. The bare
rocks of the mountains were as treacherously slippery as weather could
make them without coating them with ice. Certainly it was not a very
proper, convenient, or safe time for an escorting procession to cross
the mountains! And since we were returning by Ashinoyu and Miyanoshita,
the first part of the route would be at its best rougher and more
difficult for the bearers of a sedan-chair than the route over the
Tōkaidō had been. But the demands of Japanese courtesy are inexorable.
For me to deprecate the taking of so much trouble was wholly
unavailing; to have declined to receive it would have resulted in a
grievous disappointment to many others, and might even have occasioned
a breach of friendship. I have since learned to let the Japanese have
their own way in all such matters; and when one has thoroughly learned
this lesson, there is no other people with whom the relations of host
and guest are so full of heightened enjoyment to both parties. But
I must confess that on that morning there was no little sympathetic
suffering mingled with a large measure of happiness.
At about eight o’clock a conveyance similar to that which had been
employed from Yumoto--a sedan-chair and four coolies--was ready in
the front yard of the inn, Hafu-ya. About one hundred members of the
school, headed by President Honda and the Rev. Mr. Harada (the former
now Bishop of the native Methodist Church of Japan, and the latter
the recently elected president of Doshisha) were on hand, ready to
walk in train and convoy the parting guest on his way. Eight or ten
of the ladies who had been in attendance on the meetings of the
school, insisted on accompanying us for about half a mile down the
village street. Then I was permitted to get down from the chair and
part from the ladies with much ceremony of bowings and interchange
of well-wishing for the future. The remainder of the escort tramped
steadily on, through mud and water, often more than ankle-deep. The
last mile and a half of the way over the mountains, the path was simply
horrible. It led down over slippery stones, through shallow mountain
brooks; and in one place by such a steep descent that it was necessary
to cling to the chair with all one’s strength lest one might be pitched
headlong from one’s seat. But the coolies proved sure-footed and the
escort kept cheerfully on their way. In the courtyard of the inn at
Ashinoyu, on the other side of the mountains, they gathered around the
chair, and without allowing it to be lowered so that I could dismount,
they gave in the heartiest manner the national cheer: “Banzai; banzai;
ban-banzai,” (“ten thousand; ten thousand; ten times ten thousand
years”). To raise my hat and bow, with--I am not ashamed to say--a sad
heart and moist eyes, was all the way of expressing gratitude which was
left to me.
From Ashinoyu the greater number of the friends turned back; but about
a half-dozen of the younger enthusiasts kept on undaunted all the way
to Yumoto, a distance of fully nine miles. The route from Ashinoyu to
Miyanoshita discloses many points of interest. By turning aside from
it and climbing some of the heights above, several distant and rarely
beautiful views may be had; but neither the weather nor my method
of conveyance at that time permitted of such an interruption. The
picturesquely situated but insignificant village of Dogashima was just
visible through the mist, in the always darksome valley several hundred
yards below the path; and with the glimpse of it we were obliged to be
contented. After an excellent luncheon at Miyanoshita, a jinrikisha
carried me swiftly down hill all the way,--past the pleasant hotel,
hot springs, white Russian chapel, and shop-windows full of mosaic
wood-work, which are the attractions of Tonosawa--to Yumoto, the point
of starting for my trip of some ten days before over the Tōkaidō. From
here by tram to Kozu, and from Kozu by train to Tokyo, was a journey
tame enough as compared with that of the morning.
The remaining four weeks of my stay in Japan in 1892 were spent in
Nikko. Since every tourist goes to Nikko, and makes the same round of
sight-seeing, to be followed by similar exclamations and reflections,
there is no excuse for writing about all that. I have, however, two or
three memories connected with visits to this celebrated resort which
are somewhat notable. While there on this first visit I received a
letter and then a call from a young man who had come all the way from
Sapporo in Hokkaidō to attend the summer-school at Hakoné; and who was
now covering the several hundred miles back to his home on foot. To
give his own explanation of the motive for so extensive an expedition,
he had wished to determine for himself whether there were a God, or
not. He begged the privilege of stopping two or three days at Nikko,
in order to continue the conversations which we had begun at Hakoné.
I heard that my young friend subsequently joined a Christian church;
but after returning to this country I lost sight of him altogether.
It was not until seven years later, when I was in New York for a few
days, just about to start for a second visit, that he called upon
me. He had been spending several years in Germany in the study of
engineering, as a Government scholar. He was to remain in this country
some months before returning for service in Japan; so that again my
young friend passed quite out of my field of vision. Seven years still
later, when on the way to Japan for the third time, on inquiry from a
young engineer, a friend of my friend, I heard that the latter was in
a responsible Government position and still a deeply religious man. I
speak of this as an example of the serious and business-like manner in
which many a Japanese youth of the last two generations has taken his
religious opinions as well as his professional education.
One other incident which connects itself with memories of Nikko is
worth mentioning. Through the favour of an introduction from the Head
of the House, Prince Tokugawa, to the priest first in rank, and the
kindly intervention of a friend whose father had been the teacher of
the priest of the second rank, my wife and I were able to witness a
ceremony, and to see temple treasures, that have been only extremely
rarely or never accessible to foreigners. We were told by letter from
the Shrine of Iyeyasu, that everything should be open to us, if we came
at any time later than half-past one o’clock, when a representative
of the Imperial Family, who were leaving Nikko to-morrow, would have
finished paying homage to the memory of the divine ancestor there
enshrined. We arrived at the Oratory not earlier than two p. m., and
were treated with every show of respect. Although the ceremony was not
over, and although the person rendering the act of religious homage
was the representative of the mother of the Emperor, we were allowed
to enter the shrine and witness its closing scenes. The ceremony was
most simple, reverent, and impressive, as is all the worship of Shintō.
Kneeling in prayer, bowing in reverence, and drinking the memorial
cup of saké, were its principal features. After these acts of homage
were finished, and the worshipper had departed, the priests, without
taking off their white silk robes or black mitres, attended us with
lighted lanterns and showed every detail of the shrines and all of
the relics which it is permissible for any other than royal eyes to
see. They lifted up the silk curtains before the beautiful gilt and
lacquer work, and passed the lights over the entire surface so that
no minutest feature of their beauty might escape us. They brought out
the glass cases containing two of Iyeyasu’s swords, with scabbards of
black lacquer, and his armour, including the helmet which he wore at
the battle of Seki-gawara; or--according to my friend’s version of
the tradition--the helmet which he put on at the end of this battle,
with the celebrated saying: “After victory, one should tighten one’s
helmet.” Then followed the exhibition of the more private relics of
Iyeyasu, such as his futons, night-clothing, tea-service, etc.; and the
original of his motto concerning the wise and safe conduct of life. In
short, it was our privilege at that visit to see all that is, according
to the guide-book, in the “rooms not accessible to visitors,” except
the innermost shrine, where is the statue of the hero, and which no
one enters but the princes of the Imperial household, and they only on
orders from the Department of the Household.
Bringing these two exhibitions of the same human religious nature into
close contrast--the devotions and discourses of the Christian summer
school at Hakoné, and the simple but stately and solemn and most
powerfully influential ancestor-worship of the Old Japan--may well
suggest trains of most serious reflection for friends of the nation,
both native and foreign. Perhaps nowhere else has the development
of this more primitive form of religion been on the whole so strong
on the side of its more salutary influences, and more free from the
most objectionable and degrading of the features which have generally
characterised it. To-day it is probably the most powerful of all bonds
to unite the nation’s present with its own past, and to bind together
for defence and for progress the different classes and elements of the
national life. But in its present form it cannot resist the forces
that make for change in religious beliefs and practices; especially as
these beliefs and practices are represented by the highest ideals of
Christianity. On the other hand, the Christianity which converts Japan
is not likely to be the precise dogmas, ceremonies, or institutions,
which go under this name in the too often misnamed “Christian nations”
of the Occident. And it will be well for Japan not to lose the spirit
of regard for the unseen, of reverence for the elders, and of obedience
to authority, that consciousness of living and acting constantly in
the sight of a “great crowd of heavenly witnesses,” and the desire to
emulate the character and the examples of the heroes of old time, the
worthies who have gone on before, which have characterised its earlier
form of religion, if it is to preserve and enhance its ancient virtues,
while rising superior to its characteristic traits of weakness,
failure, and sin.