rassing question of remuneration. I could not press surreptitious silver into the palm of this obliging lover of England and slayer of Chinamen, but a friendly dinner would put us on terms of franker intimacy. So we descended the winding path from the ramparts, crossed the moat, and marched home to the Iwai-ya. We drank cherry-blossom and saké; we bathed, and dined off the best fare which our host could provide; we discussed the character of native and foreigner, arriving at the conclusion that, while the best type of Japanese inhabited Shikoku, the wiliest and worst of foes were Russian. We had not time to go deeply into ethnology, for at half-past eight my guest buckled on his sword and with many protestations of affectionate regard returned to barracks.
No shadow of trickery marred our joyous reminiscences of Dōgō. When we left the landlord presented a bill so ridiculously low, that we bestowed on him as much again in tea-money. Not to be outdone, he loaded our departing rickshaws with four bottles of beer. And the photographer, whose camera was worth a fortune to him as a means of gratifying all sorts and conditions of men, took an excellent group of that smiling host and his cheery household.
The voyage to Kobe was no less agreeable. We had for fellow-passenger a distinguished middle-aged officer, who had fought on the losing sides in the revolution and the Satsuma rebellion headed by Saigō Takamori, whose grave we had seen at Miyajima. Experience had long since convinced him of the folly of anti-progressive movements, and he realised as clearly as the most democratic reformer that national security was best served by adopting Western ideas. We had no idea of his rank until a small boat put off at
