Everything important connected with the Imperial Court of Japan is regulated by law in the most careful manner. These regulations include, not only the Peerage of all ranks, but also those natives who belong to the civil service or who have been judged deserving of recognition on account of some special contribution to the public welfare. The latter system of nominal honours is called “ikai,” or more commonly “kurai”; but it has no outward badge to represent it. The holder of a fourth or higher grade of “ikai,” however, even when he is no longer in Government service, receives an invitation on the occasion of certain state festivals,—as for example, the Birthday evening party. The heir of a Peer is entitled to the fifth-grade junior “ikai” as soon as he reaches his majority. A number of wealthy merchants possess this nominal honour, which they have gained by contributions of money to public purposes. Besides these, there are those who have been “decorated,” both natives and a few foreigners, all of whom have their court rank prescribed according to the Order and the Degree of the decoration conferred. Of these decorations, the six grades of “The Order of the Rising Sun” are the most coveted; because this Order is bestowed only for “conspicuous personal merit”; and hitherto it has been only sparingly bestowed. When the Grand Order of Merit and The Grand Cordon of the Chrysanthemum are added to the First Class of the Rising Sun, the fortunate person has been invested with the highest honour accessible to a Japanese subject. Only eight personages, exclusive of Imperial Princes, and mentioning only those who are still alive, have attained so high an honour. At the head of this list stood Prince Ito; and following him are such well known names as Yamagata, Oyama, Matsukata, and latest of all, Admiral Togo.

It can easily be imagined that fixing the order of precedence at the Imperial Court of Japan is not a matter in which the inexpert foreigner can intermeddle safely, whether by way of his own proposed conduct, or even of the expression of wishes or of opinion. The actual arrangement, as given in the “Japanese Year Book” for 1908, mentions by name about eighty gentlemen and twenty “court ladies,”—the precedence of all other persons who have either the occasional or the regular privilege of attending court being fixed, by general rules, according to their rank. Foreigners having decorations come in the same position as natives of the same Order and Class of decoration. For example, those who have the 2nd Class Order of the Rising Sun have with it a court rank between the Counts and the Viscounts; and those who have the 3d Class of the same Order fall between the Viscounts and the Barons.

Holders of the 3d and higher classes of the “Orders of Merit” have the right to request cards of invitation to certain of the Court functions, attendance at which is a much coveted privilege. To some of these a few foreigners may obtain invitations, either through the official representative of the country to which they belong, or through some influential native friend; but for certain other of these functions such a thing is very difficult or impossible. This fact is not infrequently the occasion of much heart-burning and complaining on the part of the foreign tourist; and of no small embarrassment to foreign Ambassadors and Ministers, and even to the Departments of “The Household” and of Foreign Affairs, of the Japanese Government. Perhaps the citizens of the United States are no more unreasonable in this matter than are the citizens of other countries; but I am inclined to think that they are. At any rate, it is well to remind ourselves that, while our sentiment which exalts personal worthiness above court rank is quite justifiable, both on moral and on political grounds, it is an essential effect of this very sentiment, when sincere and refined, not to wish to go where one is not desired, or where one’s presence is not in every way an appropriate part of the social or ceremonial occasion. From the point of view of those who issue the invitation it is also to be remembered that to summon everybody who might wish to attend would not only deprive the particular function of all meaning, but would be to face a physical impossibility. Besides, no one who is not either actually invited or unintentionally overlooked, can lay any slightest claim to a “right,” in the case of any similar engagement. The accredited representatives of foreign countries are, indeed, entitled to be treated, not only politically but socially, with a deference which is something more than personal; and to certain others—as has already been said—a similar social distinction has been conceded as a “right.” But as for the rest of us, I fail to see how either ethics or etiquette prescribes to courts any other obligations than those which we, ourselves, as private persons, choose to follow. We invite only those whom we, for one reason or another, want to have come; and, if we are truly self-respecting, we do not ourselves want to go where we are not wanted.

The two most conspicuous of the ceremonial occasions which are open to a selected few among the foreign residents or visitors in Japan, and to which invitations are especially coveted, are, perhaps the Court Ball given by the Japanese Minister of Foreign Affairs, on the evening of the Emperor’s birthday, and the Audience given by both Their Majesties, on New Year’s morning, in the throne-room of the Imperial Palace in Tokyo.

The annual Court Ball on the night of the third of November, 1906, was given by Viscount and Viscountess Hayashi, at the official residence of the Minister of Foreign Affairs. The daylight hours had fully justified the Japanese impression with regard to the “regulation” weather for His Majesty’s birthday. It was delightfully clear and cool, without being in the least uncomfortably chilly. We had risen at six o’clock, and had left the house soon after seven in order to reach, on time, the parade-ground, at Oyama, where the Emperor was to review about thirty thousand picked troops, of the different branches of the service. After His Majesty had once made the circuit of the large field on horseback, he sat on his horse, while the entire force,—first, the infantry, then the artillery, and, finally, the cavalry, passed in review before him. The rain of the night before had laid the dust so that it was not difficult to take in a view of the entire field at once. The order of the troops was, indeed, excellent, but they did not make at all so brilliant a display as the fifteen thousand Turkish troops which I had seen called out to guard the now dethroned Sultan, Abdul Hamid, at a Selamlik, in the Spring of 1900. Japan’s Emperor needs no guard, however, to protect him against his own subjects.

When we reached the outer gate of the residence of the Minister we found the driveway to the entrance so blocked with a crowd of carriages and jinrikishas that it was only by a succession of jerks forward and sudden stoppages that any approach whatever was possible. And when we were still several rods away, something—we were unable to ascertain just what—about the harness appeared to give way, leaving us glad to complete the journey, by dodging the jinrikishas and ducking under the horses’ heads, on foot. On entering, we found that the accommodations of the mansion, in order to provide for the more than fifteen hundred guests (of whom rather more than one hundred were foreigners), had been greatly enlarged by temporary structures built out over the nearer parts of the surrounding garden. The principal rooms added in this way were a large salon, or assembly hall, and a refreshment hall. Both these rooms were beautifully decorated, with that mixture of lavishness and reserve in which the best Japanese art of decoration so much excels, with silks, flags of the nations, artificial cherry trees in full bloom, and real pomegranate and persimmon trees loaded with fruit. All these were still further decorated and illuminated by concealed electric lights.

It was a curious misnomer to speak of this assembly as a “Court Ball.” Many of the nobility of high, and some of Imperial, rank were indeed there; and the official world, both Japanese and foreign, was very fully represented. But few cared to dance; and few could have danced, if they had desired to do so. Japanese ladies, in general, do not enjoy dancing; although in olden time they took part in out-door sports, such as polo: but they cannot dance in foreign style when dressed in the native costume, which is appropriate to them and in which many of them appear very attractive and even beautiful when judged by Occidental standards. Dressed in foreign costume, however, very few of them look well; almost all of them are uncomfortable, both because the clothing is physically irksome and also because they are conscious that they do not look well. Besides this, the ball-room was small and from the first insufferably crowded with those who, in the carefully regulated order of their court rank, were somewhat languidly and even wearisomely doing their duty solemnly, in honour of His Majesty’s birthday. But most of the men of middle age and older, the men of mark in the army and navy, in the state, and in business enterprises, still consider dancing as unmanly and unworthy of a dignified gentleman.

At the Court Ball there were none of those forms of entertainment which make the garden-parties and other less stately social functions of the Japanese so enjoyable to the foreign guest. In spite of this fact, however, the evening was far from being dull. The sight of the brilliantly lighted and beautifully decorated rooms, and of the crowd of notable persons gathered in them, afforded in itself a rare species of instructive entertainment. Besides this, it gave the opportunity of meeting many friends and of hearing kindly and encouraging words from them. Among these was Baron M——, the Minister of Education, Mr. Z——, who spoke definitely about the plans of Marquis Ito for having us visit him in Korea; and the Japanese Minister to Siam, with whom we had become well acquainted, seven years before, while on the same ship from Kobé, Japan, to Singapore.

The most interesting interview of all, however, came latest in the evening. For as the Japanese friend who had consented to be our escort on this occasion was gathering his party together for a return home, and we were in his company passing through the refreshment salon to the cloak-rooms, a party of Japanese gentlemen, seated at a table by themselves near the place of exit, called to him to bring us to them that we might be introduced. These gentlemen proved to be, Marquis Saionji, then Prime Minister, our host, Viscount Hayashi, Minister of Foreign Affairs, Minister Kosai Uchida, then of the Peking Legation, and Admiral Shimamura. The latter was jestingly introduced to us as “a very destructive man,” having sunk no fewer than thirteen Russian ships, but as being now “a man of peace.” Whereupon the Admiral gravely said: “Let us drink to peace,” a toast which was heartily responded to by all present. I take this occasion to say again, that of the greater men in the army and navy of Japan,—many of whom I have met in a friendly way, and with some of whom I have become rather intimately acquainted,—I have never seen one who gave the slightest sign of a pugnacious temper or of desire for war. Of this brave and loyal, but eminently modest and peaceful disposition, Admiral Shimamura is a conspicuous example. He was staff-officer on board the flag-ship Matsushima in the Japan-China war, and was wounded in the battle of the Yellow Sea. He was Chief Staff of the Standing Squadron at the time of the Boxer troubles in 1900. He was singled out by Admiral Togo as his chief staff officer, when the latter was appointed Commander of the Fleet at the outbreak of the war with Russia. At the time of my interview, he was President of the Naval Staff College; and soon after was ordered to represent his country at the Hague Peace Conference of 1907. In Japan, more emphatically than with us, it is not the men who would have to do the fighting who are ready to engage in loose “war-talk”; with us much more than in Japan, it is an unscrupulous, and in certain instances, a subsidised press, and a body of ignorant and selfish “promoters” of trade interests and labour unions, together with the politicians whom they control, who are chiefly responsible for propagating false impressions and stirring up feelings of strife between the two countries. Should so deplorable an event ever occur under existing conditions, I, for one, have little doubt that the ultimate verdict of history would charge us with being the principal criminal. But these are after thoughts, and quite different from those which filled our mind as we went to sleep at the end of nineteen hours of sight-seeing and of social converse in celebration of His Majesty’s birthday on November 3, 1906.

The most stately, formal, and except for a carefully selected class, unapproachable, of the regular functions of the Imperial Court of Japan, are the New Year’s Audiences. On the morning of the first of January, at the earliest hour of all, the Imperial Princes or princes of “the blood,” go to the Palace to congratulate and felicitate His Majesty, and to signify their continued and undiminished allegiance. At a somewhat later hour follow the highest ranks of the Japanese nobility; then in due succession, according to their court rank, come to the Palace the Japanese diplomats, the higher officials in the army, the navy, and the state, the holders of decorations of the Third and higher Classes, and certain of the professors in the Imperial University, and of the Shintō priests. In this way, four groups take their turns at the Imperial Audience, during the successive morning hours from nine o’clock onwards. The foreign diplomats are received in audience in the early afternoon.

The drive to the Palace showed us the Capital City as it appears only when it is decked out in characteristically Japanese fashion, on this, Japan’s most notable gala time of the entire year. The weather of the day was glorious, bright sunshine and soft dry air. There appeared not to be a hut in Tokyo too small or too poor to be decorated with at least two tiny pieces of pine boughs tied together with a bit of new straw rope. Even the draught horses and the stakes to which the scows were moored in the canals were ornamented with pine, bamboo, and fern-leaves, and with little white Shintō “prayer papers” fluttering in the gentle breeze. The larger houses and shops, the banks and business buildings, had set into the ground at each side of their doorways and gates young bamboo trees, of from four to eight feet high, around which young pine trees were tied compactly into a form resembling a huge bouquet. To this an added significance is given by tying into the queerly knotted rope at its centre a collection of fern leaves, strands of straw, stalks of rice, streamers of Shintō paper, dried fish, and an orange or a boiled lobster. Peace, plenty, long life, prosperity, and happiness,—everything that the human heart can desire or hope for—are supposed to be symbolised in this way. Along the narrower streets, where only native shops of the smaller sort and of unfamiliar specialties abound, the line of the projecting roofs, which was itself not more than six or eight feet above the ground, was decorated with a deep fringe of plaited straw, held together by a rope that carried little flags and gay lanterns. Not at all a gorgeous or expensive style of decoration, surely! But universal and expressive of thoroughly human sentiments, mingled, indeed, with quaint ancestral beliefs and superstitions, it certainly is.

On arrival at the Palace, we were shown into a dressing-room to remove our overcoats and wraps, where the ladies were assisted by three Japanese maids, two of them in foreign dresses of silk with trains, and the third more splendid in the old-style Japanese court dress. When, about fifteen minutes later, the time for the Audience of our “degree” had arrived, a Master of Ceremonies came and ushered the party into a large and beautiful salon, where about one hundred persons, with five or six exceptions all Japanese, were waiting for the coming of their turn to enter the throne-room. All were in court costume; the officers of the army and navy in full-dress uniforms, wearing their decorations and cocked hats trimmed with black or white ostrich tips; and the University professors decked out in coats of antique style elaborately embroidered with gold, cocked hats with feathers, and gold bands down their trousers. It was, indeed, a sight to delight the eyes of those who are delighted with such sights, and one that any person interested in brilliant colour schemes and the human impulse to parade, might look upon for once with a measure of keen enjoyment.

In good truth, there was an abundance of time to enjoy, and even to sate one’s self with the brilliant spectacle; for it was fully three-quarters of an hour before we were convoyed to the throne-room. One was led anew to admire the superior physical endurance of the ladies, who had trains weighing many pounds each to support and manage all the meanwhile. It was a relief to know, however, that the sum-total of suffering caused in this way could not have been great, for there were not more than a half-dozen ladies in the whole company.

The former custom of making the New Year’s Audiences more particular and personal has now, for all except the Princes of the Blood, the higher Japanese nobility, and the Diplomatic Corps, been abandoned; it had become too seriously burdensome, especially upon the Empress, who in her sincere and self-sacrificing devotion to her manifold Imperial duties and benevolent enterprises, is constantly tempted to exceed her strength. Instead, therefore, of Their Majesties undertaking to stand for many hours, while those received by them advanced and were introduced and made their bows, the ceremony has been in a manner reversed. When, then, we entered the throne-room, we found that it had been divided along its entire length into two about equal parts by a thick cord of red silk. Along the side of this cord, opposite the throne, the entire number, which had now increased to about one hundred and seventy-five, were allowed to arrange themselves as they chose. This arrangement having been accomplished, and all having quieted down, the Imperial party entered without flourish of any kind to announce them, at one end of the side opposite to their guests; and when they had reached its centre, right in front of the throne, they stopped and bowed three times to those waiting in audience, all of whom, of course, acknowledged the Imperial salutation by themselves bowing as low as their somewhat more than ordinarily stiff costumes would permit. The Imperial procession then passed out of the throne-room at the other end from that at which it had entered. This was all there was of the Audience at New Years, to which the privilege of an invitation is so much coveted and which it is so impossible for one outside the circle prescribed by court rules to obtain.

Of late years a somewhat comic supplement has been added to the ceremonial drama in the form of a function which bears the suggestive but not euphonious title of “Tails and Tea.” It has become the custom for some one of the foreign diplomatic corps, usually the acting Doyen, to invite to his official residence for tea that same afternoon a considerable number of those who have not attended any of the audiences of the earlier part of the day, as well as all those who have been in attendance. This function not only gives the opportunity for much chat such as is customarily inspired by tea-drinking on similar occasions, but it also has the added advantage that it affords to some of the ladies the gratification of displaying their trains to a larger circle of admiring or critical spectators, and to others the consolation of seeing some of the elements of the pomp of the morning, whose tout ensemble has been denied to them.

In 1899, the year of my second visit to Japan, audiences with the Emperor for foreigners, not connected with royal families or members of the diplomatic corps, were more rarely granted than they are at the present time. Indeed, our Minister at that date, who was greatly respected and beloved by the Japanese, told me that he had ceased asking them for his own nationals, unless some indication of favourable disposition toward any particular request were first received from the other side. It was then toward the close of my work in behalf of the educational interests of the nation, and when the lectures in the University and before the Imperial Educational Association had come to a successful end, that the Department of the Household, moved by the representations of the Department of Education, sent to our Minister the assurance he desired. This was followed by the formal request for the Audience, which was promptly granted. The date, however, could not be at once definitely fixed; for His Majesty was suffering from a slight indisposition which had led his physicians to forbid him every sort of exposure. This indefiniteness of itself made indefinite the date when we could leave Tokyo without a serious breach of politeness; or else without Imperial permission granted for an imperative reason.

We were summoned back from Kamakura, where we were spending a day or two as the guests of Baron Kuki, by a telegram from Colonel Buck, which informed us that the time for the Audience had been set for the morning of the next day, at ten o’clock. On our way from the Legation to the Palace it was a real pleasure to hear the Minister say—what my subsequent experiences have convinced me is strictly true—that the friendly services and courtesies of educated men were worth more for cementing relations of friendship between the two nations than a great amount of what is called diplomacy. As to this, I am inclined to insist once more upon the judgment that financial greed and commercial rivalry have been of late, and still are, the chief causes of war between nations. Witness the powerful influence of the South-African gold and diamond interests in bringing about the Boer war; and of the infamous procedure of Bezobrazoff’s Yalu River Timber Company, with its issue in the Russo-Japanese war. A vigorous but unscrupulous “trade policy” is almost certain ultimately to lead to a war policy.

Arrived at the Palace, Minister Buck and I were taken through long corridors to a drawing-room adjoining the audience chamber, where Counts Toda and Nagasaki were, with other gentlemen, already in waiting. Here we were kept engaged in conversation for perhaps ten or fifteen minutes before being ushered into the audience chamber. But before its doors were thrown open, Count Toda remarked that “His Majesty was very gracious this morning and wished to shake hands with Professor Ladd.”

When the Minister and I had entered the room in the prescribed form—he, two or three steps in advance, and each of us bowing low three times (at the threshold, about half way, and just in front of His Majesty)—the Emperor, who was standing near the other end of the chamber, addressed through his interpreter a few questions to Colonel Buck. He particularly inquired after his health, and whether the buildings or trees of the Legation had been injured by the severe storm of the day before. I was next introduced, the Emperor cordially extending his hand. His Majesty then inquired about my coming to Japan, the time of my leaving; expressed his pleasure at seeing me, and gratification at the work which had been done; and, finally, the hope that he might some time see me again. This last utterance I understood as a permission to withdraw. And this was promptly done, by backing out and bowing the requisite three times in the reverse order.

It was more than seven years later and on my third visit to Japan that the honour of another private audience was accorded to me by the Emperor. At this time, the newly arrived First and Second Secretaries of our Embassy, with their wives, and Mrs. Ladd, were all to be presented. The gentlemen would have audience with both the Emperor and the Empress; the ladies with the Empress only. The whole party, on arriving at the Palace, was rapidly conducted along the corridors, past the waiting-room where my own deceased friend, Minister Buck, and I had rested for a few minutes on the former occasion, to the room of waiting set apart for the Empress’ guests. There three of the gentlemen-in-waiting and three of the maids of honour met us; and introductions followed. After twenty minutes of chatting together, the men of the party were taken in front and to one side of the door of the audience chamber, to await the summons of His Majesty. They had not long to wait, for he makes it a point to be very prompt in such matters. Here, to my no small surprise, I learned that my decoration gave me precedence of the Secretaries of the Embassy, and that I would therefore be presented first. Ambassador Wright then led the way into the audience chamber, leaving the others standing outside. After exchanging inquiries with the Ambassador as to his health, on my being presented the Emperor held out his hand and cordially welcomed me. I expressed my thanks for the honour done in permitting me to see him again, and congratulated His Majesty on the successful termination of the war and on the apparently prosperous condition of his country. His Majesty then said that he had heard with pleasure of the work which I was doing for the moral education of his young men; that it would prove very useful for Japan; and that he wished to thank me for it. I expressed the great pleasure I was taking in the work, and my sincere gratitude for so favourable an opportunity. Whereupon he expressed the hope that I would continue it. I replied that it would be an honour as well as a pleasure, if I might be permitted to continue to be of service, however small, to Japan; since, next to my own country, I had learned to love Japan best of all. When this was interpreted to the Emperor, his face, which is ordinarily very immovable—almost like a mask—showed a gleam of satisfaction which was unmistakable; and he again thanked me and took my hand for the second time.

After the two Secretaries had been presented, to both of whom these conventional sentences were said: “Have you been before in Japan?”; and “I am glad to see you,”—we all withdrew backward, bowing in the customary fashion. We were then taken at once to the audience-room of the Empress, before the door of which we were asked to wait a moment. Here, too, the same order of precedence was observed. On taking my hand, Her Majesty said, with an air of great kindness, that Minister Makino had told of my work for the moral education of Japanese young men, and that it would be of great value to the country. Her Majesty also asked concerning my plans; where I was going and how long I was expecting to stay. After she had taken my hand again to dismiss me, the other two gentlemen were presented, and the same two sentences said to them which the Emperor had said. The ladies had already been presented; and on rejoining them, we were all immediately ushered out of the Palace. (I have always had a sly suspicion that the gentlemen in waiting, at least, consider—and not altogether unnaturally!—this sort of service toward foreigners to be something of a bore.)

The last of my audiences with His Imperial Majesty of Japan was by far the most notable, and, indeed, unique. At a “farewell meeting,” held on Friday evening of the week preceding the date of my sailing home, in September of 1907, I was confidentially informed to expect a private audience on the following Monday. The more formal summons, which came the next day through the private secretary of the Minister of Education, was couched in the following quaint language:

The anxiety of my escort, who was the same person as the writer of the letter, lest we might be unpardonably late in keeping the appointment, was so great that our carriage arrived at the designated gate (a comparatively private one) of the Palace, a full half-hour before the time. But, leaving my Japanese friend at the entrance room of the Department of the Household, I was conducted along what seemed like endless corridors, by the state rooms of the palace, whose elegant beauty of proportion and reserve in decoration I thus had an excellent opportunity for admiring, to a waiting-room at the other end of the Palace, which I at once recognised as the one customarily assigned to those who were to have an audience with the Emperor. Soon both the doors of this room were closed and the occupant was left to his reflections in the completest possible in-door solitude. The silence was impressive, profound. At rare intervals, the distant cawing of a crow somewhere in the Imperial grounds, or muffled footsteps in some far-off corridor, were the only sounds to be heard. As I strove to occupy my mind with recalling the memorable experiences of the past year, in Korea as well as in Japan, my imagination persisted in dwelling upon the comical problem: “What should I do; how explain my presence, with my scanty knowledge of Japanese, to persons who know no English; how escape from the Palace,—in case there should have been any misunderstanding about the matter?”

Quite promptly at 10.25, however, the door of the waiting-room was thrown open and I was motioned to follow the Palace attendant who stood in front of it. Not a word was spoken by either of us. On reaching the corridor in front of the audience chamber, two gentlemen-in-waiting, dressed in frock coats, were there,—one in front of the entrance and one in the corner nearest the waiting-room. The latter motioned me to stand by his side. In a minute or two a slight rustle announced the entrance of the Emperor into the audience chamber; the gentleman-in-waiting who stood before its entrance bowed low and drew back, beckoning me to come forward; and I then first became aware that, this time, no one was expecting to present me. Doubtless, it saved the chance of no little embarrassment that previous experiences had left me precisely informed as to what I ought to do. The Emperor was standing in his accustomed place, in military undress; his interpreter was on his right hand; and two gentlemen were standing in the farthest corner at the back of the room.

As he reached out his hand, His Majesty began to express, in simple but sincere fashion, his satisfaction at the instruction and advice which had been given to his people, and added renewed assurances of his gratitude for the service. In few words, he was assured by me of the great pleasure which had been taken in the work of the year, and of the debt of gratitude which was felt for the opportunity to be of service to Japan. His Majesty then said that he had heard of my intention soon to depart for home, wished me a safe and prosperous journey, and expressed the hope that my family and friends would be found in health and prosperity on my arrival. He then dismissed me by extending his hand again for me to take.

I have spoken of the four audiences which I have had the honour to enjoy, with His Majesty, the Emperor of Japan, with some detail and with all the frankness within the limits of a courteous reserve, because they seem to me to throw light upon his personality as a man and as a ruler of men. There has never been any diplomatic reason or political motive for noticing me or my work in any distinctive way. I am only a teacher; and I have had no ambition for any higher title than that of “teacher,” no desire for any more imposing kind of service. But His Majesty’s painstaking to recognise, and to signalise with his favour before the nation, his appreciation for any services rendered to the “moral education” of his people, has been as unmistakably sincere as it has been distinctive. And there is abundant reason to believe that this painstaking regard for the moral and other welfare of his people, irrespective of considerations of diplomatic policy, or rank, or expectation of similar favours in return, characterises throughout the Imperial rule of the present Emperor of Japan. One would have to search hard among the world’s present day rulers to find another so affectionate, so solicitous, so self-sacrificing, where the interests of his people are concerned, as Mutsu-hito, His Imperial Japanese Majesty.

Let it be remembered that the present Emperor succeeded to the Throne on the January of the year before the one (1868) on the third of November of which he became sixteen years of age. A civil war had placed him upon the throne, with something like the real Imperial power which had been withheld from his ancestors for so many generations. There was partisan strife and confusion of opinion and of counsel everywhere. Since his day, the nation has passed through one civil war, and two bloody and expensive foreign wars. Meantime, too, it has in a manner to astonish the civilised world, come forward into the rank of one of the nations destined to lead the world’s civilisation. Without laying any stress upon the traditional way among the Japanese of ascribing all manner of success and prosperity to the virtues of the Emperor, it is simple matter of historical fact that the patience, wisdom, and benevolence of their present ruler are, either directly or indirectly, responsible for the escaping of much evil and the securing of much good on the nation’s behalf. Japan has been guided out of the old era into the new by a very remarkable body of men; but among them all, there is probably not one who will not tell you in all sincerity, if he can be induced to speak freely and in confidence upon the subject, that, all things considered, His Imperial Majesty must be conceded to be the most patient, wise, and benevolent guide and supreme ruler of them all.

THE END