DEPARTURE FROM AUSTRALIA—CHINA AND JAPAN

Early in 1893 my husband was obliged to resign his Governorship, as our Welsh agent had died and there were many urgent calls for his presence in England. The people of New South Wales were most generous in their expressions of regret, and I need not dwell on all the banquets and farewells which marked our departure. I feel that all I have said of Australia and of our many friends there is most inadequate; but though the people and places offered much variety in fact, in description it would be most difficult to avoid repetition were I to attempt an account of the townships and districts which we visited and of the welcome which we received from hospitable hosts in every place. There were mining centres like Newcastle where the coal was so near the surface that we walked into a large mine through a sloping tunnel instead of descending in a cage; there was the beautiful scenery of the Hawkesbury River, the rich lands round Bathurst and Armidale and other stations where we passed most enjoyable days with squatters whose fathers had rescued these lands and made “the wilderness to blossom like a rose.” It often seemed to me that one special reason why Englishmen in Colonial life succeeded where other nations equally intelligent and enterprising failed to take permanent root was the way in which Englishwomen would adapt themselves to isolation. We all know the superiority of many Frenchwomen in domestic arts, but it is difficult to imagine a Frenchwoman living in the conditions accepted by English ladies in all parts of the Empire.

One lady in New South Wales lived fifteen miles from the nearest neighbour, and her one relaxation after a hard day’s work was to hear that neighbour playing down the telephone on a violin. That, however, was living in the world compared to the fate of another friend! The husband of the latter lady was, when we met, a very rich man who drove a four-in-hand and sent his son to Eton. When they first started Colonial life they lived for five years a hundred miles from any other white woman. The lady had a white maid-servant of some kind for a short time at the beginning of their career, but she soon left, and after that she had only black “gins” (women). I was told that one of her children had been burnt in a bush fire, and her brother-in-law was killed by the blacks. Naturally I did not refer to those tragedies, but I asked whether she did not find the isolation very trying, particularly the evenings. She said, oh no, she was so occupied during the day and so tired when the work was over that she had no time to wish for anything but rest. She was a very quiet, pleasant woman, a lady in every sense of the word, and one could not but admire the way in which she had passed through those hard and trying years and resumed completely civilised existence.

We heard many tales of bushrangers from those who had encountered them or heard of their performances from friends. It is not very astonishing that a population largely recruited in early days from convicts should have provided a contingent of highwaymen. Their two main sources of income were the oxen and horses which they stole and sold again after scientifically “faking” the brands, and the gold which they robbed as it was being conveyed to distant banks.

I have referred to Rolf Boldrewood’s hero “Starlight.” Certain incidents of his career were adapted from the life of the most prominent bushranger Kelly, but whereas Starlight, for the purpose of the story, is endowed with some of the traits of a fallen angel, Kelly seems to have been a common sort of villain in most respects, only gifted with exceptional daring and with that power over other men which is potent for good or evil. He was described as wearing “armour”; I believe that he protected himself with certain kitchen utensils under his clothes. In the end, when hotly pursued by the police, he and his band underwent a regular siege in a house, but by that time the police were able to bring up reinforcements by rail, the gang was forced to surrender, and Kelly and others were executed.

A sordid incident was that on the very night of his execution Kelly’s brother and sister appeared, for money, on the stage in a theatre at Melbourne!

The railroad was the effectual means of stopping bushranging, both by facilitating the movements of the police and by enabling gold to be transported without the risks attendant on coaches, or horsemen who were sometimes sent by their employers to carry it from place to place. A gentleman told me how he had been thus commissioned, and being attacked by a solitary bushranger in a wayside inn, dodged his assailant round and round a stove and ultimately got off safely.

Bushranging was extinct before our arrival in New South Wales, but Jersey had one rather curious experience of its aftermath. An old man had murdered his wife, and, in accordance with the then custom, the capital sentence pronounced upon him by the judge came before the Governor in Council for confirmation. Jersey asked the advice of each member in turn, and all concurred in the verdict except one man, who declined to give an opinion. After the Council he took my husband aside and told him that he had not liked to join in the condemnation as he knew the criminal personally. He added this curious detail. The murderer had formerly been connected with a gang of bushrangers; he had not actually shared in their depredations, but he had received the animals they stole, and it was his job to fake the brands—namely, to efface the names or marks of the proper owners and to substitute others so that the horses or cattle could not be identified. The gang was captured and broken up, the members being all sentenced to death or other severe punishment, but this man escaped, as his crimes could not be proved against him. Nemesis, however, awaited him in another form. He kept his faking iron; and when his wife was found murdered, the fatal wound was identified as having been inflicted with this weapon, and he was thereby convicted.

Another story of those bygone days, though unconnected with bushranging, seems worth preservation. A man was found lying dead in the streets of Brisbane (or some other town in Queensland), and there was no evidence whatever to show how he had come by this fate, though the fact that his watch was missing pointed to violence on the part of some person unknown. A considerable time afterwards certain poor houses were demolished, with the view presumably to building better ones in their place. Behind a brick in the chimney of one of these houses was found the missing watch. A workman who had inhabited the house at the time of the murder was thereupon arrested, and brought before a judge who had come on circuit. The workman protested his innocence, saying that he had seen the man lying in the street and, finding that he was quite dead, appropriated his watch and took it home to his wife. The woman had told him that he was very foolish, as if the watch were found in his possession he might be accused of killing the man, and yielding to her persuasions instead of trying to sell or wearing it he hid it behind the chimney where it was found. The story sounded thin, but on hearing the details of place and date the presiding judge exclaimed that it was true. When a young barrister he himself had been in the same town, and was running to catch the train when a man, apparently drunk, lurched against him; he pushed him aside and saw him fall, but had no idea that he was injured, and hurried on. The workman was acquitted, and I suppose that the judge acquitted himself!

Space has not admitted any record of our visitors at Sydney, but I must mention the pleasure which we had in welcoming Miss Shaw who came on behalf of The Times to examine and report on the Kanaka question. It was universally allowed that The Times had been very well advised in sending out so charming and capable a lady. She won the hearts of the Queensland planters, who introduced her to many sides of plantation life which they would never have troubled themselves to show a mere man. We gladly continued in England a friendship thus begun at the Antipodes, none the less gladly when Miss Shaw became the wife of an equally talented servant of the Empire, Sir Frederick Lugard.One year we entertained at Osterley a number of foreign Colonial delegates and asked representative English people to meet them.

Among our guests were Sir Frederick and Lady Lugard. The latter was seated between a Belgian, interested in the Congo, and I think a Dutchman. After dinner these gentlemen asked me in somewhat agitated tones, “Qui Était cette dame qui Était si forte dans la question de l’Afrique?” and one said to the other, “Elle vous a bien roulÉ, mon cher.”

I explained that it was Lady Lugard, formerly Miss Flora Shaw.

“Quoi—la grande Miss Shaw! Alors cela s’explique,” was the reply in a voice of awe.

In February 1893 Villiers and our younger children left in the Ophir direct for England, accompanied by Harry Cholmondeley, the German governess, and the servants. My brother remained on the staff of our successor, Sir Robert Duff. Our eldest daughter, Margaret, stayed with us, as we contemplated a visit to Japan and a trip across Canada and to Chicago on our way back, and wished for her company.

We travelled by train to Toowoomba in Queensland, where we slept one night, and then went on to Brisbane, where we embarked on board the Eastern Australian ship the Catterthun. Brisbane was still suffering from the after-effects of great floods, and it was curious, particularly in the suburbs, to see many houses, which had been built on piles to avoid the depredation of ants, overturned, and lying on their sides like houses thrown out of a child’s box of toys. Nevertheless Brisbane struck us as a cheerful and prosperous city during our few hours’ stay.

The voyage through the lagoon of the Great Barrier Reef, though hot, was most enjoyable. As is well known this great coral reef extends for over twelve hundred miles in the ocean washing the north-east coast of Australia. In the wide expanse of sea between it and the mainland ships can generally sail unvexed by storms, and from a few hours after we left Brisbane till we reached the mouth of the North Continent that was our happy condition.

We stopped at one or two coast towns and passed through the very pretty Albany Passage to the Gulf of Carpentaria, across which we had a perfectly smooth passage. We then spent a night or two with Mr. Dashwood at Port Darwin, where we were much interested in the population, partly officials of the Eastern Extension Cable Company and partly Chinese. Everything has doubtless changed greatly in the years which have intervened since our visit. Port Darwin was then the chief town of the Northern Territory of South Australia—now the Northern Territory has been taken over by the Commonwealth Government, which appoints an Administrator and encourages settlement. I hope the settlers will succeed, but Port Darwin remains in my memory as a very hot place and the European inhabitants as of somewhat yellow complexion.

The Chinese had a temple or Joss house, attached to which was a sort of hall in which were stored numerous jars recalling those of the Forty Thieves, but containing the bones of dead Chinamen awaiting transport to their own country.

While at Port Darwin Mr. Dashwood very kindly arranged a Corroboree for us. We were told that this was one of the few places where such an entertainment was possible. In parts of Australia farther south the aboriginals have become too civilised, and in the wilder places they were too shy and would not perform before white men.

The whole thing was well worth seeing. The men were almost naked, and had with their own blood stuck wool in patterns on their black bodies. They had tall hats or mitres of bamboo on their heads and carried long spears. The Corroboree began after dark, and the men shouted, danced, and carried on a mimic war to the glare of blazing bonfires. A sort of music or rhythmic noise accompanied the performance caused by weird figures painted with stripes of white paint who were striking their thighs with their hands. They looked so uncanny that I could not at first make out what they were, but was told that they were the women or “gins.” The scene might have come out of the infernal regions or of a Witches’ Walpurgis Night.

Next morning my husband wanted to give the performers presents; he was begged not to give them money, as they would spend it in drink, but he was allowed to purchase tobacco and tea and distribute packets of these. Most peaceable quiet men and women tidily dressed came up to receive them, and it was hardly possible to believe that these were the demoniac warriors who had thrilled us the night before.

While at Port Darwin we visited the prison, and seven or eight Malays, under sentence of death for piracy or some similar crime, were paraded for our inspection. I thought this somewhat hard upon them, but we were assured that such notice would be rather pleasing to them than otherwise, and their smiling countenances certainly conveyed that impression. One odd bit of red-tape was connected with this. Every death-sentence had to go to Adelaide, then headquarters of the Northern Territory Government, to be confirmed, but because when Port Darwin was first established it took many weeks for any communication to go to and fro, no criminal could be executed till that number of weeks had elapsed, although telegraph or post could have reported the sentence and received confirmation in days if not in hours. No doubt all is now different, but I do not suppose that the criminals objected to the delay.

Here, as elsewhere in the semi-tropical parts of Australia, the burning question of coloured labour arose—one wondered, for instance, whether such labour would not have largely facilitated the introduction of rubber. Still Australia must, and will, decide this and similar problems for herself; and if even strictly regulated Indian or kanaka labour would infringe the ideal of “White Australia,” the barrier must be maintained.

Of course our officers on board the Catterthun were white, but the crew were Chinese. At one time an attempt had been made to prevent their employment—very much to Captain Shannon’s distress, as he loved his Chinamen. This veto, however, was not in force when we made the voyage, though the men were not allowed on shore. We had a Chinese Wesleyan missionary on board, and we were told that when his Wesleyan friends wanted him to visit them at Melbourne or Sydney (the former, I think) they had to deposit £100, to be refunded when he returned to the ship, as a guarantee against his remaining in the country.

At Port Darwin we said a final farewell to Australia and sailed for Hong-Kong. Our one port of call during this voyage was at Dilli, port of the Portuguese Colony of Timor. The southern portion of Timor belongs to the Dutch, but our company was under contract to call at the Portuguese port, and we suffered acutely in consequence. The Portuguese had owned a gunboat for five years, during which time they had contrived to knock some forty-nine holes in its boiler. They had had it once repaired by the Dutch, but it was past local efforts, so we had to tow the wretched thing to Hong-Kong, which seriously impeded our progress. The Portuguese could not even tie it on straight, so after we had gone some distance we had to send an officer and a carpenter on board. They found the three officers of the Portuguese Navy who had it in charge prostrate with sea-sickness (not surprising from the way they were tossing about), so they tied the vessel properly behind us, left a card, and returned.

Timor was a picturesque mountainous island, but its commerce as far as we could learn consisted of Timor ponies—sturdy little beasts—and postage stamps. Of course everyone on board rushed off to purchase the latter for their collections.

I rode up with one or two companions to a Portuguese monastery on the top of a hill, where the Father Superior entertained us with exceptionally good port wine. He said that he and his community educated young native chiefs. We tried politely to ascertain whether the education was gratis. The Reverend Father said that the youths did not pay, but each brought several natives who cultivated the plantations belonging to the monastery as an equivalent. Presumably this was not slavery, but what a convenient way of paying school fees! An improvement on Squeers—the scholars learnt, and their attendants toiled, for the public good.

Timor provided an interesting addition to our passengers in the person of a Portuguese Archbishop with his attendant priests. I believe that his Grace had got into some kind of ecclesiastical hot-water and was going to Macao for inquiry, but I do not know particulars. However, on the Sunday following our departure from Timor I learnt that our captain would read the English service and the Chinese Wesleyan would hold one for the crew on the lower deck. I suggested to the first officer that he should offer the Portuguese priests facilities for their rites, as it seemed only proper that all creeds should take part. This was gratefully accepted, but when a few days later I sent my friend again to propose a service on March 25th (the Annunciation) the padre was quite annoyed, and asked what he knew about it! My officer piously declared that we knew all about it, but the Archbishop would have nothing to say to it.

The only rough part of our whole voyage was some twenty-four hours before reaching Hong-Kong, and if we had not had the gunboat dragging behind we should probably have landed before the storm. I was greatly surprised by the beauty of Hong-Kong. Its depth of colour is astonishing and the variety of craft and constant movement in the harbour most fascinating. As viewed from the Peak, it was like a scene from a world-drama in which modern civilisation and traffic were ever invading the strange and ancient life of the China beyond. There were the great men-of-war and merchant ships of the West side by side with the sampans on which thousands of Chinese made their homes, lived and moved and had their being. To the roofs of the sampans the babies were tied by long cords so that they might play on deck without falling into the water. Anyhow, the boys were securely tied—there seemed some little doubt about the knots in the case of girls. Then behind the city were the great red-peaked hills which one sees on screens—I had always thought that they were the convention of the artist, but no, they were exact transcripts from nature.

Across the harbour lay the British mainland possession, Kowloon, to which we paid an amusing visit. We were taken by the Commodore of the Station, and as I believe we did something unauthorised, gratitude forbids me to mention his name. We entered a Chinese gambling-house, which was very quaint. There was a high hall with a gallery or galleries running round—behind were some little rooms with men smoking, I imagine opium. In the gallery in which we took seats were several people, including Chinese ladies. On the floor of the hall was a table at which sat two or three Chinamen who appeared to be playing some game of their own—probably fan-tan. We were given little baskets with strings in which to let down our stakes. As we did not know the game and had no idea what we were backing, we put in some small coins for the fun of the thing, and when we drew them up again found them agreeably multiplied. I had a shrewd suspicion that the heathen Chinee recognised our escort and took good care that we were not fleeced.

The climate of Hong-Kong is said to be very trying, and our brief experience bore this out. We spent Easter Sunday there, and it was so hot that attendance in the Cathedral was a distinct effort. A few days later we went on an expedition to the Happy Valley, and it was so cold that our hosts handed round orange brandy to keep the party alive.

While we were there our daughter Margaret attended her first “come-out” ball, and we felt that it was quite an original performance for a dÉbutante to be carried to Government House in a Chinese chair.Hong-Kong should be a paradise for the young—there were only nine English girls in the Colony of age to be invited, and any number of young men from ships and offices.

Even more interesting than Hong-Kong was our brief visit to Canton. The railway from Kowloon to Canton was not then built, and we went by boat up the Pearl River. Everything was novel to us, including the pagodas on the banks of the river, erected to propitiate some kind of deities or spirits, but once there remaining unused, and generally falling into decay. We reached Canton at daybreak, and if Hong-Kong was a revelation Canton was still more surprising. The wide river was packed with native vessels. How they could move at all was a problem: some were propelled by wheels like water wheels, only the motive power was men who worked a perpetual tread-mill; the majority were inhabited by a large river population called the Tankers, who ages before had taken up their abode on boats when driven by nature or man from land. We were told that they never willingly went ashore, and when compelled to do so by business, ran till they regained their floating homes. But not the river alone, the vast city with its teeming population was so exactly what you see in Chinese pictures that it appeared quite unreal; for a moment I felt as if it had been built up to deceive the Western traveller, as houses were erected and peasants dressed up in the eighteenth century to make Catherine the Great believe in a prosperous population where none existed.

However, Canton was real, and the more we saw during our short stay the more were we astonished by pictures awakened to life. We visited a rich merchant, and his house and enclosed garden, with little bridges, quaintly trimmed shrubs, and summer-houses in which were seated portly gentlemen in silk garments and round hats with buttons on the top, had been transported bodily from the old Chinese wall-paper in my nursery at Stoneleigh. His wife was escorted into his hall by attendant maidens, but so thick was the paint on her face and mouth that for her utterance was as difficult as walking on her tiny feet.

The merchant spoke a little English, but was not very easy to understand. He showed the charmingly decorated apartments of his “Number One Wife,” but I am uncertain whether that was the lady we saw or a predecessor, and in the garden we were introduced to “my Old Brother.” We were entertained with super-fine tea and also presented with some in packets, but we did not find that pure Chinese tea was altogether appreciated by our friends in England. We stayed at the Consulate with Mr. Watters; a most interesting man who, having spent a large portion of his life in China, had become imbued with much of their idealism, and esteemed them highly in many respects. The Consulates of the various European Powers were all situated in a fortified enclosure called the Shameen, outside the city proper. It was very pretty and pleasant, with green grass and nice gardens. Soup made of birds’ nests duly appeared at dinner. As is well known, these nests are made by the birds themselves of a kind of gum, not of twigs and leaves. The birds are a species of sea-swallow which builds in cliffs and rocks. The nests come chiefly from Java, Sumatra, and the coasts of Malacca. Our kind host also provided sharks’ fins, another much-esteemed luxury.

The wonderful streets of Canton with their gaily painted signs and shops teeming with goods of all descriptions, the temples, Examination Hall, and Prison have been described by so many travellers that I will not dwell upon them. We were carried to all the sights in chairs, and under the auspices of Mr. Watters were treated with every civility, though I cannot of course say whether any insulting remarks were made in the vernacular.

Our constant friend, Sir Thomas Sanderson, had written in advance to ensure that Jersey should be treated with every respect by the then Viceroy of Canton, who was Li-Hung Chang’s brother. It was arranged that guards belonging to the Consulate should accompany my husband when he went to pay his ceremonial call so that he might appear sufficiently important. He was very courteously received, and took the opportunity of hinting to the interpreter that when His Excellency returned the visit my daughter and I would like to see him. Directly he arrived at the Consulate he expressed a wish that we should appear, and we gladly obeyed the summons. We discovered afterwards that this was quite an innovation, as the Viceroy had never before seen a white woman. Anyhow, he seemed just as amused at seeing us as we were at seeing him, and asked every sort of question both about public matters in England and about our domestic affairs.

He wanted to know what would be done with my jewellery when I died and why I did not wear ear-rings. Of course he inquired about the Queen, also about the British Parliament. Concerning the latter the interpreter translated the pertinent question, “His Excellency wants to know how five hundred men can ever settle anything”—I fear that my husband could only laugh in reply.The Viceroy and his attendants remained for about an hour. We were seated at a long table facing the Great Man, and Mr. Watters and the Vice-Consul at either end. When our guest and his followers had departed Mr. Watters told us that they had been carefully watching lest anything should have been said in Chinese which could have been construed as derogatory to the British. Only once, he said, had a term been used with regard to the Queen’s sons which was not absolutely the highest properly applied to Princes. The Viceroy was, however, in such a good temper and the whole interview went off so well that they thought it wiser to take no notice of this single lapse from diplomatic courtesy.

It was, probably still is, necessary to keep eyes and ears open in dealing with the “childlike and bland” race. The late Lord Loch once described to me a typical scene which took place when he was Governor of Hong-Kong. A great review of British troops was being held at which a prominent Chinese Governor or General (I forget which) was present and a number of Chinese were onlookers. The Chinese official was exceedingly anxious to edge out of his allotted position to one a little in front of Lord Loch, who was of course taking the salute. If he had succeeded in doing so his countrymen would have at once believed in the Chinese claim that all foreign nations were tributary to the Son of Heaven and have accepted the salute as a recognition of the fact. Lord Loch therefore stepped a little in advance each time that his guest moved forward, and this continued till both, becoming aware of the absurdity of the situation, burst out laughing and the gentleman with the pigtail perforce resigned his “push.”

Thanks to Mr. Watters we were able to buy some exceptionally good Mandarins’ coats and embroideries, as he found dealers who had really fine things and made them understand that Jersey meant business.

From Hong-Kong we sailed in an American ship for Japan, and landed at Kobe towards the middle of April. We had a very pleasant captain, who amused me by the plaintive way in which he spoke of the cross-examination to which he was subjected by many passengers. One man was much annoyed by the day lost in crossing 170° longitude. “I tried to explain as courteously as I could,” said the captain, “but at last he exclaimed, ‘I don’t believe you know anything about it, but I have a brother-in-law in a bank in New York and I shall write and ask him!’”—as if they kept the missing day in the bank.

Kobe is approached through the beautiful inland sea, but unfortunately it was foggy as we passed through, so we lost the famous panorama, but we soon had every opportunity of admiring the charms of Nature in Japan. We had always heard of the quaint houses and people, of their valour and their art, but somehow no one had told us of the beauty of the scenery, and it was quite a revelation to us.

I do not attempt any account of the wonderful towns, tombs, and temples which we saw during our month’s sojourn in the country, as travellers and historians have described them again and again, and Lafcadio Hearn and others who knew the people well have written of the spirit and devotion of the Japanese; but I venture to transcribe a few words from an article which I wrote just after our visit for The Nineteenth Century, giving my impressions of the landscape in spring:

At Tokyo we were hospitably entertained at the Legation by Mr. (now Sir Maurice) de Bunsen, ChargÉ d’Affaires, in the absence of the Minister. The Secretary of Legation, Mr. Spring Rice (afterwards Sir Cecil), added greatly to our pleasure by his knowledge of things Japanese and the trouble he took to explain them.

A letter to my mother, dated April 1893, resumes many of my impressions of a Japan of nearly thirty years ago when it was still only emerging from its century-long seclusion.

The boy in question is now Emperor and has unfortunately broken down in health. Mrs. Sannomya (afterwards Baroness), wife of the Vice-Chamberlain, told me that he was very intelligent, and that the Empress, who adopted him in accordance with Japanese custom, was fond of him. She also told me that the secondary wives were about the Court, but that it was not generally known which were the mothers of the Prince and Princesses. Mrs. Sannomya personally knew which they were, but the children were to be considered as belonging to the Emperor and Empress, the individual mothers had no recognised claim upon them. I believe that this Oriental “zenana” arrangement no longer exists, but meanwhile it assured the unbroken descent of the Imperial rulers from the Sun-goddess. We were assured that the reigning Emperor still possessed the divine sword, the ball or jewel, and the mirror with which she endowed her progeny. The mirror is the symbol of Shinto, the orthodox faith of Japan, and it derives its sanctity from the incident that it was used to attract the Sun-goddess from a cave whither she had retired in high dudgeon after a quarrel with another deity. In fact it seems to have acted as a pre-historic heliograph. By the crowing of a cock and the flashing of the mirror Ten sho dai jin was induced to think that morning had dawned, and once more to irradiate the universe with her beams.

Though Shintoism, the ancient ancestral creed, was re-established when the Emperor issued from his long seclusion, the mass of the population no doubt prefer the less abstract and more ritualistic Buddhism of China and Japan. What the educated classes really believe is exceedingly hard to discover. A very charming Japanese diplomatic lady remarked to me one Sunday at Osterley in connection with church-going that “it must be very nice to have a religion.” Viscount Hayashi summed up the popular creed, in answer to an inquiry on my part, as “the ethics of Confucius with the religious sanction of Buddhism”: perhaps that is as good a definition as any other.

It seems doubtful whether Christianity has made solid progress, though treated with due respect by the Government. Mr. Max MÜller told me that when the Japanese were sending emissaries to the various Western Powers with instructions to investigate their methods both in war and peace, two of these envoys visited him and asked him to supply them with a suitable creed. “I told them,” said he, “‘Be good Buddhists first and I will think of something for you.’” An English lady long resident in Japan threw some further light on the Japanese view of ready-made religious faith. At the time when foreign instructors were employed to start Japan with her face turned westward, a German was enlisted to teach court etiquette, no doubt including “robes montantes en traine.” While still in this service a Court official requested him to supply the full ceremonial of a Court Christening. “But,” returned the Teuton, “you are not Christians, so how can I provide you with a Christening ceremony?” “Never mind,” was the reply, “you had better give it us now that you are here; we never know when we may want it.”

St. Francis Xavier, who preached Christianity to the Japanese in the sixteenth century, records the testimony of his Japanese secretary, whom he found and converted at Goa, as to the effect likely to be produced on his fellow-countrymen by the saintly missionary. “His people,” said Anjiro of Satsuma, “would not immediately assent to what might be said to them, but they would investigate what I might affirm respecting religion by a multitude of questions, and above all by observing whether my conduct agreed with my words. This done, the King, the nobility, and adult population would flock to Christ, being a nation which always follows reason as a guide.”

Whether convinced by reason or example it is certain that the Japanese of the day accepted Christianity in large numbers, and that many held firm in the terrible persecution which raged later on. Nevertheless the Christian faith was almost exterminated at the beginning of the seventeenth century, only a few lingering traces being found when the country was reopened to missions in the latter half of the nineteenth.

Nowadays the Japanese idea unfortunately appears to be that Christianity has not much influence on the statesmanship of foreign countries, and their leading men in competition with the West seem too keen on pushing to the front in material directions to trouble much about abstract doctrines. Belief in a spirit-world, however, certainly prevailed among the masses of the people whom we saw frequenting temples and joining in cheerful pilgrimages.

The great interests of our visit from a social and political point of view was finding an acute and active-minded race in a deliberate and determined state of transition from a loyal and chivalrous past to an essentially modern but still heroic future. Neither the war with China nor that with Russia had then taken place, but foundations were being laid which were to ensure victory in both cases. The Daimios had surrendered their land to the Emperor and received in return modern titles of nobility, and incomes calculated on their former revenues. The tillers of the soil were secured on their former holdings and instead of rent paid land-tax. Naturally everything was not settled without much discontent, particularly on the part of the peasants, who thought, as in other countries, that any sort of revolution ought to result in their having the land in fee-simple. Much water, however, has flowed under the Sacred Bridges of Japan since we were there, and I do not attempt to tread the labyrinths of the agrarian or other problems with which the statesmen of New Japan had or have to deal.

One thing, however, was evident even to those who, like ourselves, spent but a short time in the country. The younger nobles gained more than they lost in many ways by the abandonment of their feudal prominence. Their fathers had been more subservient to the Shoguns than the French nobility to Louis XIV. The third of the Tokugawa line, who lived in the seventeenth century, decreed that the daimios were to spend half the year at Yedo (the modern Tokyo), and even when they were allowed to return to their own estates they were obliged to leave their wives and families in the capital as hostages. The mountain passes were strictly guarded, and all persons traversing them rigidly searched, crucifixion being the punishment meted out to such as left the Shogun’s territory without a permit. On the shores of the beautiful Lake Hakone at the foot of the main pass villas were still pointed out where the daimios rested on their journey, and we were told that a neighbouring town was in other times largely populated by hair-dressers, who had to rearrange the elaborate coiffures of the ladies who were forced to take their hair down before passing the Hakone Bar. True, the daimios lived and travelled with great state and had armies of retainers, but at least one great noble confessed to me that the freedom which he then enjoyed fully compensated him for the loss of former grandeur.

My daughter who “came out” at Hong-Kong had quite a gay little season at Tokyo, as we were hospitably entertained by both Japanese and diplomats, and amongst other festivities we thoroughly enjoyed a splendid ball given by Marquis Naboshima, the Emperor’s Master of Ceremonies.

We were also fortunate in seeing the actor Danjolo, commonly called the “Irving of Japan,” in one of his principal characters. The floor of the theatre was divided into little square boxes in which knelt the audience, men, women, and children. From the main entrance of the house to the stage ran a gangway, somewhat elevated above the floor; this was called the Flowery Path, and served not only as a means of access to the boxes on either side, but also as an approach by which some of the principal actors made a sensational entrance on the scene. A large gallery, divided like the parterre, ran round three sides of the house and was reached from an outside balcony. European spectators taking seats in the gallery were accommodated with chairs.

The main feature wherein the Japanese differed from an English stage was that the whole central part of the former was round and turned on a pivot. The scenery, simple but historically correct, ran across the diameter of the reversible part; so while one scenic background was before the audience another was prepared behind and wheeled round when wanted. To remove impedimenta at the sides or anything which had to be taken away during the progress of a scene, little black figures with black veils over their faces, like familiars of the Inquisition, came in, and Japanese politeness accepted them as invisible.

Danjolo, who acted the part of a wicked uncle, proved himself worthy of his reputation and was excellently supported by his company. All the parts were taken by men; some plays were in those days acted by women, but it was not then customary for the two sexes to perform together. Now I believe that the barrier has been broken down and that they do so freely.

When we had a Japanese dinner at the Club the charming little waitresses gave dramatic performances in intervals between the courses.

Certainly the Japanese are prompt in emergency. A Japanese of high rank once told me how the Rising Sun came to be the National Flag. A Japanese ship arrived at an American port and the harbour authorities demanded to know under what flag she sailed. This was before the days when Japan had entered freely into commercial relations with other lands, and the captain had no idea of a national ensign. Not to be outdone by other mariners, he secured a large piece of white linen and painted upon it a large red orb. This was offered and accepted as the National Flag of Japan, and is still the flag of her merchant fleet. With rays darting from it, it has become the ensign of her warships, and, as a gold chrysanthemum on a red ground, represents the Rising Sun in the Imperial Standard. According to my informant, who told me the tale at a dinner-party in London, the whole idea sprang from the merchant captain’s readiness of resource.

Whatever changes Japan may undergo, it must still retain the charm of its pure, transparent atmosphere with the delicate hues which I never saw elsewhere except in Greece. In some respects, unlike as they are physically, the Japanese recall the quick-witted, art-loving Greeks. Again, Japan, with its lovely lakes and mountains and its rich vegetation, has something in common with New Zealand, and, like those happy Islands, it has the luxury of natural hot springs. I shall never forget the hotel at Miyanoshita where the large bathrooms on the ground-floor were supplied with unlimited hot and cold water conducted in simple bamboo pipes direct from springs in a hill just behind the house.

Still more vividly do I recall the Japanese who did so much for our enjoyment at Tokyo. Amongst others was the delightful Mrs. Inouye, whose husband, as Marquis Inouye, has since been Ambassador in London. Marchioness Inouye has remained a real friend, and constantly sends me news from the Island Empire. Nor must I forget how much we saw under the guidance of my cousin, the Rev. Lionel Cholmondeley, for many years a missionary in Japan, and Chaplain to the British Embassy there.