Matsudaira Nobushige, the lord of the Yata clan in the province. of Kozuke, called upon the Great Elder, at his official mansion in Sakurada. The lord of the Yata clan was one of the few who, in those black days of envy, turmoil, and storm, read clearly into the character of Ii. He enjoyed the distinction of an intimate friendship with the Great Elder. With his eyes riveted upon those of Ii he began, and the tone of his voice spoke more seriously than his words:

You know well the sentiment of the clan of Mito. We see, both you and I, a great number of Mito ronin crowding into the shadier corners of Yedo. How, pray, do you read the meaning of it? Your zeal for the state only leaves you absentminded over your own affairs and interests. You cannot be so blind, can you, as to mistake where the eyes of the Mito men gather? Upon you, and upon you alone, are they centred. Will you permit a question? An unnecessary danger, is it profitable? What charms has this mistress that you should, in the courting of her, fling your life lightheartedly upon her altar, and, what is more, forget the sacrifice as one would a flower that has withered? Your friend is speaking; and, because he is a friend, he is not always obliged to be an enemy to wisdom. Betake yourself from an unprofitable storm for a short time. Opportunities of serving the state are many: the number of lives at your command is only one. You wish to place the reign of the Shogun upon a lofty rock. A broken reed in a storm contributes but little to that great end. Take my advice, and accomplish your work along the safest lines.

Spoken in all sincerity, the words of the Lord of Yata Castle touched the Great Elder. Ii fell upon his face, and with his forehead upon the mat, he thus thanked his friend:

That dangers are gathering about my person, I am well aware; and I also know that the safest thing for me to do to-day would be to lay down my portfolio, and take myself far away from its responsibilities. I know as well that one life is but little, and that the state is all-important. To steal the ease and safety of one's life in the critical hour of danger to the state- that is not the act of a man. Moreover, humble and powerless as I am, I have had the honor of being selected by the late Shogun to fill the difficult post. I have dared to worshipfully accept the grave office of Great Elder. Long since I have come to look upon my life as a sacrifice upon the altar of state. It is impossible for me, therefore, to give my mind to the fear of death and forget the danger of the state.

Steel and adamant seemed soft compared to the words of Ii. His friend saw that he could not be moved.

"Be it so, then," said the lord of Yata Castle. "Let me beg you to increase your bodyguard. For the sake of the state, pray value your own life. Both life and death are in the hands of Heaven. What can be avoided I shall certainly avoid. Dangers that cannot be avoided I shall face. As for the bodyguard, from the days of old established rites have prescribed the number; and I am not hungering too strongly for the name of a coward.”

His friend had somewhat more to say. A retainer came, and, pros

trating himself, announced: "The retinue and the palanquin of the August Lord stand ready at the gate."

It was the morning of the third of March, 1860. It was snowing heavily, and outside of the Sakurada Gate a stately procession was passing. A little distance away Ii, Kamon no Kami, the Great Elder, was braving his way through the blinding snow into the Yedo Castle. The "Down! down! down!" of the herald calling upon those passing by to fall upon their knees before the retinue of the Great Elder was choked, muffled, and almost lost in the rising wind. The men of the House of Ii in the procession had taken good care to wrap themselves in heavy coats. Their heads and faces were thickly covered, and scarcely more than their eyes were exposed.

Suddenly a few dark shadows flitted out of nowhere. They made straight toward the palanquin of state wherein was seated the Great Elder. The procession halted. The men who stayed the stately palanquin with so little ceremony presented a petition and said: "This is our petition; let us place it into the hands of the Great Elder with our own hands." Such a thing was not to be permitted. The men who presented it knew this as well as the retainers of Ii. Words passed between them. Meanwhile, the procession in front of the palanquin, which formed by far the greater part of the retinue, neither heard a word nor saw the scene about the palanquin of their lord. In all the peace of their innocence, they went their way through the thickening snow, their herald at the head chanting the monotone, "Down, down, down!" Far behind, about the palanquin, the masked men pressed their prayers for an interview with the Great Elder. "Monstrous!" was the ever persistent reply of the retinue: "Clear the way and down with you.” Suddenly there was the report of a rifle-shot. retinue had gone too far to hear it. Instantly nal the petitioners took to their swords. No laid low the men of Ii all about the palanquin. that they were a company of superb swordsmen. no master blades among the bodyguard of the and so unhappily, the thick costumes of the men of Ii embarrassed them a great deal. The shot pierced into the palanquin, and struck the Great Elder on the hip, the ball lodging in the pelvic bone. Ii was not slow to realize the meaning of it all. Soon the shrill dispute of steel outside of his palanquin confirmed what he had already known. Second to none in the handling of the weapon, Ii was content to leave his life to the arbitrament of the sword. He tried to rise and step out of the palanquin; but his limbs did not obey him. If only he could draw his sword! If

The first half of Ii's for that was the siglonger humble, they It must be admitted Not that there were Great Elder. Only,

1

only his legs would support him! Indeed, had he been free to let his sword say a few words in defence of his life, history might have had who knows? another story for us of that stormy morning before the Sakurada Gate. Before the retainers came to themselves, however, half of their number had already taken a sudden flight to Buddha. Seeing himself completely helpless, his leg paralyzed, Ii called out to his retainers from within the palanquin: "Do not leave the palanquin! Stand close!" But few remained to hear his command. A second later, the door of the palanquin was broken open. Wounded, and robbed of motion, caged in the narrow walls of the palanquin, Ii nevertheless taught his enemies to approach him with respect. Three men cut in upon him: still he held his own. His palanquin was literally cut to pieces. At last, from forty-eight wounds he had received, the life of li ebbed out and away from his heroic stature. Seeing him almost lifeless, his enemies dragged him out of the palanquin. One of the ronins, Arimura by name, flashed aloft his sword, exclaiming at the top of his voice: "We have struck down the enemy of the State, Ii Kamonnokami!" And the head of the Great Elder left the shoulders which, Atlas-like, had supported the tottering weight of the Shogunate.

After Ii, the deluge. Now it was the world for the Prince of Mito and his son Keiki. Henceforth, in the very Yedo camp of the Shogun, there was no voice strong enough to dispute the day with the Mito men and their lord. And, as I have previously stated, none more ardent than they could be found among the Imperialists of the day.

Outside the Sakurada Gate, there beside the historic moat of the Yedo Castle, a few ruddy streams wandered into the March snow, marking the spot where passed from life the last great champion of the Shogunate. On the eleventh of April, 1868 - so say the school histories fell the Shogunate. That was the historic day on which Yedo Castle surrendered and was turned over into the hands of the commanderin-chief of the Imperial forces. The school histories are mistaken. The Tokugawa Shogunate died on the third of March, 1860; and the blood of the Great Elder wrote in crimson hieroglyphics its final epitaph ― there beside the historic moat, outside the Sakurada Gate.

ADACHI KINNOSUKE.

THE NEW MANCHURIA.

Now that Russia and Japan as well as China are busy seeking to adjust their respective policies and positions to the radically altered condition of Manchuria consequent upon the late war, it seems opportune to set forth clearly the real status of that country as it is, and as possibly it will be in the near future. In doing this, it may be appropriate to lay particular stress upon Japan's attitude toward China, inasmuch as the insular Empire has risen to a commanding position in the Far East. In the following pages, the writer will endeavor to present the consensus of opinion expressed by the press and publicists of his country, rather than voice his own views.

It is needless to say that the main contention pertaining to Manchuria was disposed of by the peace treaty of Portsmouth; but there were no less important details which that monumental instrument left unsettled. Although the Peking treaty recently concluded between Yuan Shi-kai and Baron Komura goes a long way toward the ultimate settlement of these important issues, there still exists many a factor that furnishes cause for uneasiness. The resourceful Russian Minister, M. Pokotiloff, is now active, plotting and cajoling at the yamen and the court at Peking; and the Muscovite bugles have already rung out clearly enough for such as have ears to hear, heralding, as it were, that the Slav, despite a hundred disasters overtaking him both at home and in the Far East, is not to withdraw his grasping hands once fixed upon the dominions of the Celestial Empire. Who knows that the Northern Colossus may not once again set the terrific snowball rolling down from the frozen shores of Baikal on to the borders of the Flowery Kingdom?

The Muscovite diplomats embrace no moral code but that of the dying patriarch who offered this advice to his first-born: "My son, get money honestly, if you can, but get money." Far from sharing the view of the uncompromising Russophobe, who finds in Russian character nothing but duplicity and treachery, we are none the less forced to admit, unless we fly in the face of facts, that the diplomatic policy of Russia is invariably opportunist, regarding a treaty as an instrument to be adhered to only so long as it is convenient for her to do so. The Muscovite is careful to make pledges as sparingly as circumstances will allow; and when driven to make one as a last resource, he often does so without

the least intention of abiding by it. Unscrupulous and audacious, he does not hesitate to sacrifice the principle of justice or of diplomatic morality upon the altar of his territorial ambition. The question of time does not trouble him any more than the consideration of right or wrong. When he is confronted by an obstacle which seems insurmountable for the time being, he changes his front, and waits and watches events, preparing the while to seize the first opportunity which may come his way. He is too shrewd to brave a war when he can possibly avoid it. He has learned it to be the least expensive method of attaining his desires to act as opportunity serves, falling upon his antagonists when they have their hands full or are looking the other way. His strength of purpose has survived defeat in battle; and, the signs of the times not failing, it will survive even the disastrous effects entailed by the late war.

In face of this knowledge, it is alike difficult and delicate to predict the ultimate fate of Manchuria. Without, however, venturing into the field of conjecture, let us consider what the status of the country in question will be in the immediate future.

Recent advices from the Orient apprise us that the Russian representative at Peking is concocting new designs upon the Manchu Dynasty, trying to extort fresh concessions and immunities not only in Northern Manchuria, but in Mongolia and Sin-kiang. This information should surprise nobody who has the slightest acquaintance with Russian diplomacy. Count Witte sounded a fundamental keynote of the traditional policy of Russia when he declined, at the Portsmouth conference, Baron Komura's proposal that Russia promise not to hold or obtain thenceforth such immunities or privileges as would prejudice the integrity of Manchuria. Indeed, the senior peace envoy of Russia made it clearly understood that he could not enter into any agreement restricting Russia's future activities in Manchuria, which is recorded in the proceedings of the conference recently made public by the Government at Tokio. And yet many a person, by no means non-observant, has been led to interpret the last clause of Article III of the Treaty of Peace as expressing a pledge for the future on the part of Russia. In fact, a distinguished contributor to a recent issue of an eminent American magazine goes so far as to regard it as an outcome of clever "tricks" played by the Japanese representatives who "considered it wise to put Russia on record." Had such really been the case, it would have been more fortunate for both China and Japan, even though Russia might have disregarded her pledge the moment she deemed it to her advantage. As it stands, however, the treaty has, even on paper, no power to prevent the Muscovite Government from wresting from the Manchu ruler such privileges and immunities as would imperil the status quo of Manchuria, and it is reasonably