names on a slip of paper. These names are
submitted by the priestess to the god to
whom the temple is dedicated: she announces
which has been selected and names the child,
which she sprinkles with water.

The new member of society is then carried
to several other temples—for religious
exclusiveness is unknown in Japan, and the
members of different sects deem it an act of
courtesy to visit each other's gods and do
them reverence. Lastly, it is carried to the
house of the father's nearest kinsman. He
gives it a bundle of hemp to spin it a long
life, and various charms and relics; to these,
if it is a boy, he adds two fans—to represent
swords, and if a girl, a shell of paint—typical
of beauty. The baby then remains free and
unconfined for three years; at the expiration
of that time, whether boy or girl, the clothes
are confined at its waist by a girdle and it is
taught to pray.

The boy receives a mantle of ceremony
at seven years old, and—with appropriate
religious observances—a new name. This
change of name must be one of the most
perplexing of Japanese customs. The boy
changes his name again when he is of age;
and this third name is in its turn laid
by for a fourth when he obtains office—and
every Japanese, unless of the very lowest
rank, holds some official position. But this
is not all; no official subaltern may bear the
same name as his chief; so that every new
appointment to a post of importance necessitates
a change for all those who may happen
to be namesakes of the great man.

One of the old Jesuits compiled a grammar
of the Japanese language, but he declined
explaining the mode of handwriting; he said
that it had been "invented by the devil to
perplex poor missionaries and impede the
progress of the Gospel." We may make a
similar remark as to this system of changing
the name, which extends even to the throne.
Can any mechanical contrivance make the
study of Japanese history and biography
possible?

But, to return to the children. It is said
that children of both sexes and of all ranks
are sent to elementary schools, where they
learn reading and writing, and even, in spite
of the obvious difficulties, acquire some knowledge
of the history of their country. This
education is deemed sufficient for the lower
orders, and it is said that there is not even a
day labourer in Japan who has not received
as much as this.

Children of the upper classes leave these
schools for others of a higher order, in which
they are taught morals and manners; taught
all the wonderful science of good-breeding in
Japan, and the innumerable laws of etiquette
applying to every person of all ranks and
stations in the empire. Then, too, they must
have a thorough knowledge of the almanac
with all its lucky and unlucky days, since it
would not only be disastrous but disgracefully
vulgar to marry, or take a journey, or do
anything of importance, on an unlucky day.

In addition to this, boys are taught arithmetic
and the whole mystery of the Hari-Kari,
or Happy Dispatch. This Happy
Dispatch is no other than the art of
disembowelling themselves, as described in a
previous paper. As it is, to every well-born
man, the possible mode of the termination
of his existence, it is necessary that he
should know not only how to perform the
operation gracefully, but with whatceremonies
it should be accompanied, and what
degree of publicity or privacy the peculiar
occasion may require. Above all, he must be
thoroughly well grounded in all the occasions,
the causes, and the situations in which the
Happy Dispatch may be imperative on a
gentleman and a man of honour.

Princes and all members of the higher
classes ask permission to perform the Happy
Dispatch when sentenced to death, and this
is generally granted. The criminal, however,
does not make away with himself in a quiet
manner. On the contrary, he assembles his
family and friends, puts on his richest
garments, makes a most eloquent speech, and
looking blandly around him, throws aside his
robe and makes the slash upwards and then
across which terminates his existence.

Two high officers of the court meet on the
palace stairs and jostle each other. One is a
hot-tempered, violent fellow, and immediately
demands satisfaction for the insult. The
other is cool and calm; he offers an ample
apology, but declines giving any further satisfaction,
as the occurrence has been purely
accidental. The violent man will not, however,
be appeased, and finding that he cannot
provoke the other to a conflict, he suddenly
draws up his robes, unsheaths his katana,
and slashes himself in the prescribed manner.

The instructions received in youth have
taught the survivor that in this case only one
course is open to the man of honour; he
must, in imitation of his adversary, disembowel
himself. Which he does on the spot,
and so falls dying by the side of the dying
man whom he had unintentionally offended.

In the year eighteen hundred and eight, an
English frigate found an entrance into the
harbour of Nagasaki and detained the Dutch
who boarded her, as prisoners, demanding
fresh beef as their ransom. The governor of
Nagasaki had no alternative; the Dutch
were under his protection and must be
released, so the beef was supplied. Nevertheless,
his conduct would bring disgrace and
ruin on himself and his family. He anticipated
this and partly averted it by disembowelling
himself, and his example was
followed by several others in his house.

The Happy Dispatch is always performed
either publicly—that is, in a solemn assembly
of friends; or privately—that is, in the
presence of the family circle only. It is performed
in public when a man has incurred