the two "l's" at the outset. It was curious to
see the little interpreter in his daily struggles
with the letter "l,"—struggles which always
terminated in his discomfiture. Like all his
Japanese brethren, he could never come to terms
with "l." That slippery consonant invariably
resisted or evaded them. And, in his special
case, one unhappy result of this long contest
was, that he never afterwards became familiar
with American gentlemen who had "l's" in
their names, but always regarded them with a
species of polished distrust.

The first time that I caught hearing of a pure
Japanese melody was one evening, after some
weeks of uninterrupted intimacy with the
strangers, when their shyness even on this point
had worked itself away. I was sitting in the
room of two or three tawny young students of
medicine, one of whom, while poring over a pile
of manuscripts quite as unintelligible as the
ordinary prescriptions of M.D.s of more enlightened
nations, beguiled himself by murmuring
fragments of a new and unknown song. These
students, it seemed, were musical as well as
medical, in a very high degree; for they
presently joined in the chorus very excitedly, and
worked it and themselves up with great energy.
This was precisely what I wanted, but how to
induce them to repeat it often enough to enable
me to take a copy was a real difficulty. Two or
three encores were easily obtained; but when
they saw the "American" at work with his notebook,
they were sorely puzzled. That anybody
should want to get possession of their unimportant
tunes, was a thing not dreamed of in their
philosophy. It happens that some of our musical
signs exactly resemble some of their Katakana
phonetics, and, catching sight of these, they
became more and more bewildered. No interpreter
was near, and it would not do to leave them
while they were in this ripe artistic mood, to
go and seek one. Finally, by means of shambling
phrases in Japanese broken beyond all
hope of repair, and an exhausting process of
explanatory gesticulation, they were brought to
a vague understanding of the purpose. Here
a new difficulty arose. Finding that their
national music was to be critically heard, and
even to be recorded, it behoved them, they
thought, to set it forth in its worthiest aspect,
to put it in its best dress for company, and
the way in which they afterwards abstained
from giving the simple naked air, and substituted
instead strange and complicated variations
on the same theme, was perfectly distracting.
A persistent repetition of the same variation
would not have been so bad, but their
liberal fancy sanctioned no such limited offering.
Each time it came with a sufficient difference
to upset all calculations founded upon the
preceding recital, the general family resemblance
only being discernible. It was of no use.
The first effort was a failure, and midnight
came before I had perceptibly advanced in my
task.

I had, however, discovered the field, and it
was only necessary to work it. The next day
I caught my favourite interpreter; and the
way began to clear. One after another, I
jotted down their commonest melodies, to their
infinite amazement. But when, after all was
arranged, the drawing-room pianoforte was
approached, and their own native tunes came
briskly out from under foreign fingers, their
ecstasy was without limits—I could hardly
say without bounds, since they testified it by
leaping about in some cases like young
kangaroos.The great men, and the lofty men, and
the officers with two ancient swords of inestimable
worth, and even the Treasury censor—the
greatest creature among them except the three
ambassadorial magnates themselves, who, I
privately believe, listened at a partition, since they
could not with dignity appear to share the
festivities—all these came forth obedient to the
glad tidings, and eager for the welcome sounds.
And then. Sakanoto Tekeshiro, worthy medical
and musical disciple of Apollo, or the corresponding
Japanese deity, lifted his voice, and
sang lustily; and his companions joined in the
chorus, which they made very loud and very
long; and this was the song they sang—the first
Japanese song ever publicly heard outside their
own land:

{IMAGE}

{MUSICAL SCORE}

This is the opening of a Japanese song of the
seasons, or rather of the different months of the
year, each month, I believe, having its separate
stanza. The above might be translated thus,
fitting the English words to the music:
           Spring-time now is near,
           Swiftly fades the passing year,
           Smiling throngs appear,
           Smiling throngs appear;
               Here before our open dwellings,
               Let the fir-trees rise!
               Let the fir-trees rise!

A more rigorous translation would be as follows: