object of the outward respect of his all-powerful
vassal. His indolent existence is passed within
the enclosure of his vast palace, from which an
inflexible policy forbids him to stir. His court
is the rendezvous of poets, musicians, artists,
and astronomers. The rice he eats, is carefully
selected grain by grain. He never puts on the
same garments twice; he never drinks twice
from the same cup; it is instantly broken, lest
profane lips should dare to touch it. Formerly,
he had to remain hours and hours upon his
throne, establishing and securing by his own
immobility the stability of the empire in general.
Were he to stir and turn his head, the portion of
Japan lying in that direction would be threatened
by terrific misfortunes. But no earthy Mikado
being found capable of sitting perfectly motionless,
and many provinces of Nipon having
suffered evils in plenty, a compromise was hit
upon. At present, the crown, placed upon the
throne, suffices to ensure the stability of the
empire, and to spread tranquillity throughout
all Nipon. For two hundred years, Japan has
been at peace, untroubled by any war, external
or civil.

But everything in this world has its day,
dynasties as well as dogs. This haughty
lieutenant of the Mikado, this potent Taïcoun,
chief of the armies and moderator of the
Archipelago, has allowed himself to be circumvented
in the inextricable meshes of etiquette and
vanity. He has been persuaded that the
government of the empire is a heavy burden,
and that an idle and luxurious life is more suitable
to the dignity of his race. Now, he is
relieved of the administration of his dominions
by the Gotaïro, the hereditary first minister,
who for several generations has planted himself
beside the throne. His time is spent in the
empty observance of ceremonies and frequent
audiences; he only leaves his palace at Jeddo a
few times a year, to go and adore the images
of his ancestors; perhaps he will never in his
life behold the yacht, a model of lightness
and elegance, which the English, ignorant
of the actual state of Japanese politics, sent
him as a present. Who knows whether the
Gotaïro be not destined in turn to found a
third dynasty at Oosaka, to the exclusion of the
other two?

The central government of Japan possesses
rare energy, and exercises an absolute authority
in every part of the empire. Information respecting
it, has been necessarily incomplete, as every
inquiry made about it excited suspicion. Ever
beside the civil emperor, who reigns and does not
govern, there is the hereditary first minister or
Gotaïro, who really governs. He is assisted by
a grand council composed of six members, and by
another council of fifteen members whose duty is
to prepare laws. There are, moreover, four other
ministers, the last of whom is the minister of
police, but who must be the busiest of all, if he
be obliged to read the innumerable reports sent
in by the army of spies spread all over the empire.
The French embassy alone gave him no little
trouble, if his agents forwarded all their fans,
crammed full of notes, relating every trifling
action performed by the embassy from the rising
to the setting of the sun.

                      DROPPINGS.

THE leaves that fall on the grassy wall,
    And the rain dropping out of the apple tree!
And is it only a passing dream?
For, I know not why, but these things seem,
    Just now worth more than the world to me.

Fast the leaves fall on the grassy wall;
    Fast drops the rain from the apple tree;
And, if I could feel what I feel now
But a moment longer, I think I should know
    More than ever was known, or known will be.

Wherefore? Leaves fall all day On the wall,
    All day drops rain from the apple tree.
But never before did the leaves and the rain,
And they doubtless will never, never again,
    Seem about to impart such a secret to me.

Mere leaves that fall on yonder wall!
    Mere rain dropping down out of yonder tree!
What matter? If Nature has something to say,
Let her take her own time, let her choose her own
          way,
    So long as at last she will say it to me.

Ah! but leaves will fall, as now, on the wall,
    And rain, as now, drop from out of the tree
Many, many a day, while the chance, I know
Is lost! I have missed what, a moment ago,
    The leaves and the rain had confided to me.

A YARN FROM A RUSSIAN SAILOR.

I HAVE been an officer in a marching regiment
until very lately; I hope I did my duty in that
capacity. The kindness of my superiors, the
good will of my comrades, induces me to hope
that I served with credit. But owing to the large
reductions in the army which have characterised
the reign of the present Emperor of Russia, I
found myself at the age of thirty entirely without
employment. I had no special reason to
complain. I was merely one of that large number
of persons dismissed from many callings and
professions who have lately, I fear, produced
much mischief by their discontents. Yet the
reasons which induced the government to discharge
us from our employments appeared just. A few
years ago Russia was strangled by the immense
number of persons who fed upon the public purse.
The number of the army was almost incredible;
the navy was very large; the civil service, still
amazingly numerous, was then much more so;
but the present Czar at once determined upon
reform. The close of the Crimean war enabled
him to reduce the army very considerably. The
destruction of the Black Sea fleet, necessarily
caused a large reduction in the navy. The reforms
in the civil service were made voluntarily, but
they were much needed, and they will probably
soon be followed by still greater changes in that
department.

The question, however, which perplexed everybody
was this: "What was to be done with all the
people thus deprived of their daily bread?" Many