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From The Athenæum. Macao, Hong Kong, Shanghai, and the LooJapan, and Around the World: an Account Choo Islands. of Three Visits to the Japanese Empire. Japan, on the 8th of July, 1853, and deliverThen, too, after reaching With Sketches of Madeira, St. Helena, Cape of Good Hope, Mauritius, Ceylon, ing the President's letter, with a commentary Singapore, China, and Loo-Choo. By J. of his own, the Envoy steamed back to China, W. Spalding, of the U. S. Steam-Frigate and conceded a seven months' respite to" the Mississippi. With Eight Illustrations in great and good friend" of the President, to Tint. Low & Co. digest his communication. Thus, it was not till the 31st of March, 1854, that a treaty of amity was signed between Japan and America, by which the ports of Simoda and Hakodade were opened to the ships of the United States, with the right of purchasing supplies and of proceeding inland to the distance of seven Japanese miles; while protection was promised to the crews of shipwrecked vessels. The ninth article further guaranteed to the Americans, "without any consultation or delay," any future privileges or advantages which should thereafter be granted to any other nation. This article, it must be admitted, is by no means the least important of the twelve of which the treaty consists, and savors strongly of Yankee sagacity and adroitness.

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In spite, however, of the ratification of this treaty, and "the perfect, permanent, and universal peace, and sincere and cordial amity" which it guaranteed, it does not appear that the jealousy of the Japanese abated one jot. Thus, we are told:

IN days when the earth's surface is ribbed with railways, and the sea dotted with ships, no nation can be suffered to wrap itself in restrictions, and hold aloof from the other members of the great family of mankind. Whatever the abstract right of a people to be unsociable to stereotype its customs, and shut out all progress and all intercourse with its more lively neighbors, it is a right which must give way in practice. The sea has perils enough without an augmentation of its dangers by the sullen scruples of a race who will neither buoy their own coast nor suffer others to explore it. If there be surplus produce in one country, it is only just that it should be expended in supplying the deficiencies of another. A free market and friendly treatment are rights, not privileges, and he who would withhold them is not simply inhospitable, but an enemy. We cannot wonder, therefore, that all Europe rejoiced when, by the treaty of 1840, the stolid exclusion of "the Flowery Nation" received a blow; nor at the interest with which the measures taken of the Commodore, I suppose he wished to "The 10th of April being the birthday twelve years after by the United States to un- signalize it by a nearer approach to the city seal the islands of Japan were regarded. Pas- of Yedo, and accordingly early in the mornsive isolation is odious enough; but the Niphoning a signal was thrown out for the squadGovernment had long passed all bounds in ron to get under way, which was done, the actively manifesting their dislike to visitors. Mississippi leading up the bay, and the PowDoubtless, a wooden cage is a portable, and, the exception of the Lexington, which got hatan and the sailing ships following, with in some respects, a convenient lodging for aground just as her anchor was away. This shipwrecked guests; but it is one altogether movement being perceived from shore, the at variance with Cousin Jonathan's free no- Japanese interpreters, Moriyama Yenoske, tions. So, on the 24th of November, 1852, Hernyama, Gohara, and Namura Gohachiro, the "noble old frigate Mississippi," which third interpreter, at once rowed off under had brought Kossuth from his Kutahia prison, much excitement. The latter came aboard steamed away from the Cape Henry lighthouse, of the flag-ship; where they ascertained the of the Misissippi, the others went on board bearing Commodore Matthew Calbraith Perry, Commodore's intention of going higher up the Envoy of the United States, to Japan. It the bay. Yenoske objected most strenuously, must be confessed that this functionary, how- urging that the lives of each of the Commisever much impressed with the urgency of his sioners, and himself, were in danger for not mission, cannot be charged with unbecoming preventing (?) it, or remonstrating against haste in the execution of it. He made reguit, or previously advising their Government; lar stages in the good old way,-called and they said they could not tell, but it was not possible to calculate the consequences. In coaled at Madeira and St. Helena, stopped reply, the Commodore said that his instructen days at the Cape, a week at the Isle of tions from the President were to go up to France, five days at Ceylon, again at Singapore, Yedo, and that he would have done so, but

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country, and secrete themselves in the American frigate, were forthwith caged and forwarded to Yedo for decapitation. As these unfortunate youths had succeeded in coming as far as the LooChoo Islands, it certainly seems to have been a barbarous piece of cold-blooded policy to surrender them to their executioners. But in the whole conduct of the Expedition we are unable to trace the slightest attempt at conciliating the natives. There is a great deal of the fortiter in re, but no appearance of the suaviter in modo. Even in dealing with the inoffensive people of Loo-Choo, the American Commodore seems never to have thought of any arguments but Colt's revolvers and board

for the feelings of friendship he entertained | fashion the two young Japanese nobles, Isagi for the Commissioners, who preferred Yoko-Koóda and Kwansuchi Manji, who, smitten hama for holding the conferences. They with a love of travel, had attempted to escape gave it to be understood that the anchoring 99 from the "hermetic of the ships off Yedo would at once require of them the performance of the Hari Kari,' or happy despatch that they would be necessitated to this, according to a custom which it is no use to argue against, to save themselves and those related to them from dishonor; and that such was the case with each of the Commissioners. Hari Kari,' meaning happy despatch,' is the act of disembowelling one's self with a sword, among the Japanese. * The Commodore promised that the two steamers should only go up in sight of Yedo, and without dropping anchor, return. This quieted their apprehensions considerably. About twelve o'clock, when we had gotten a distant view of the great city, the water suddenly shoaled so as to prevent our further progress, when the boats that had been sounding ahead were re-ing-pikes. called, the steamers put about, and the whole squadron proceeded directly down the bay to the anchorage off Nati Sima, or, as called by us, Webster island, with the exception of the Mississippi that was sent to the assistance of the Lexington; but, that ship having kedged off, we towed her to where the remaining ships had anchored. Poor Namura Gohachiro, the third interpreter, who was aboard of during the day's movements, looked the while like a man whose time had come.

As to the book in which the story of the opening of Japan is written, it must be owned we find little to commend. Mr. Spalding tells by the kindness and courtesy of us, that, " Commander Sydney Smith Lee," he was apthat fine officer and estimable gentleman, pointed to the post of captain's clerk. further intimates the style he means to adopt in the following characteristic sentence : — "The writer has endeavored to tell the tale

He

He evinced no interest in anything that was of his travels as his eyes told it to him. He going on around him, and during the day has indulged in no adjectives about the ocean did not look over the side. He complained of sickness, and Jamaica ginger gave him no because he believes that there has been more relief; he put aside his two swords and lay deliberate nonsense written upon it than upon on the cabin sofa; his great inquietude lasted any other thing in all nature." We must until we had dropped anchor off Webster be allowed to supplement a wish that the island, when he experienced the greatest re-writer had extended this restriction of his lief, going over the side into his boat, which adjectives to the subject of English policy and we had towed during the day, looking like one from around whose neck the halter had English character. Mr. Spalding never alludes been taken. The yearly number of those to England save in a vituperative strain. At who now commit the Hari Kari,' or happy Madeira, he tells us, "the mendicants and despatch,' in Japan, is estimated at 400." donkeys would knock Mr. Laurence Sterne's sentimental blubber all in (sic) the head." At St. Helena he sees the spot "which has

The deep boom of the 68-pounders, with which the American Envoy signalled his ap-made that island famous and England infamous proach, convinced "the virgin nation of the sun" that resistance would be disastrous to themselves; but, in spirit, they were as inexorable as ever— witness the sinking crew of a junk which had fouled the Russian frigate Diana. Two men only clung to the frigate, and were saved, and, being asked why their comrades preferred death, they answered"Their laws forbade them going on board a foreign vessel."

forever." At Longwood the application of "a dirty-faced, uncombed-haired English girl" for the fee of admission to the house draws forth the remark, "If we are the dollar people, can any man who has ever visited English domain say that they are not entitled to the name of shilling nation'?" He is not, however, wanting in abuse of his own countrymen. He takes every opportunity of sneering at the After the same rigorous | Commodore. Let the following serve as a

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specimen of Mr. Spalding's merits as a writer and his manner as a gentleman :

of the lungs. He had the antithetical name
of Dry, and, his mind being afterwards
found affected, he was sent home in a mer-
chant ship from the Cape of Good Hope."
"the un-

Mr. Spalding descants largely on
American manner and cockneyism of the Unit-
ed States merchants at Canton," and calls
their address to the Envoy "a bijou of toady-
ism," and closes his account with the wish
that his government "would pay a little at-
tention to the fantastic tricks which its com-
modorial gentry cut up." As regards style,
we confess ourselves often at a loss to under-
stand Mr. Spalding, especially in his sublimer
moods. "Fleecy clouds of deferential beauty,"

"About ten o'clock on the last night of '52 there was a cry from the poop-deck of man overboard!' when the engines were stopped, and the life-buoys suspended from either quarter of the ship were attempted to be gotten away, but not going quickly, nor their matchlocks igniting from some cause, gratings were hove overboard, lights sent up in the mizzen-top, and a metallic boat, the 2nd cutter, in which went Lieutenant Webb and Passed Midshipman K. R. Breese, was lowered and went in search of the unfortunate man. There was much solicitude felt for the poor fellow by those who stood on the poop peering into the darkness astern, eager to hear the least sound that indicated "the corybantic sea,"-" the lightning the man still afloat, but it was scarcely flash of heaven strews an etiolating hand,"shown by the scene enacted during the and "the distribution of religious tracts being absence of the boat. Up came the Commo- adventitious for our objects with a people," dore: 'What's the bearing of that star?Where did that man fall from?' Voice: Show the Commodore where the man fell

these expressions have a meaning which escapes our "un-American" minds. Mr. Spalding treats the English language unhandsomely because it is English: - but on what principle is he so hard upon the Latin?

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from!'-man goes over to port side Take care of the paint! How does she head?' After a lapse of fifteen or twenty minutes the boat was heard returning, when the following was the hail: Mr. Webb?' -Sir? Have you got the buoy?'. 'Yes, sir.' — 'Have you got that man?'. Answer: Yes, sir,' which was one of much gratification, as every one regarded him as gone. The boat, it appeared, had passed him, and, having given up the search, was returning, and would have pulled over him, but for his being discovered in time by a bowoarsman. He was floating without effort on the surface, although there was considerable sea on at the time. The poor fellow, upon being taken on board, was found to have swallowed a great deal of water, and it was thought that he might die from congestion ability and less flippancy and malevolence.

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Belicositz," "nolli me tangere," compossnisse," "Suendib" for Serendib, and "champaigne wine " serve as examples of his incivility to the tongue of Cicero and Quintilian. Indeed, his genius seems to revel in this species of revenge. He tells us that" doomga' means " murderer" in Hindustani, that pal anquin should be pronounced "palankee," and that Parsees wear loose vests of a deep blue and Fez caps of a bright scarlet. It is to be regretted that an expedition of such undeniable interest as that of the Mississippi to Japan should not have been chronicled with more

6 cwt. 1 qr. 7 lb. With such dimensions and such weight it is easy to understand that, when propelled by adequate projectile force, no granite can withstand those monster shells; and Cronstadt must crumble before the repeated and sustained operation of such a bombardment. The mortars for the discharge of these monster shells are in course of manufacture at the works of Mr. C. Mare, Blackwall. They are of wrought iron, and will weigh about 35 tons each.- Examiner.

A PRESENT FOR CRONSTADT.-Messrs. Finch | 3 1-4 inches. The weight of the shell is 1 ton and Kelley, of Liverpool, have recently cast an immense bomb-shell of the hugest and most extraordinary proportions--one of a number which the Lowmoor Iron Company is under contract with the government to supply, and which the company is now rapidly casting and completing. This shell is 9 feet 5 inches in circumference, and 36 inches in diameter. The aperture by which it is charged and the fuse inserted are 23-8 inches in diameter, and the shell itself 2 1-2 inches thick throughout, and at the aperture

From Household Words.
THE TOMB IN GHENT.

A SMILING look she had, a figure slight,
With cheerful air, and step both quick and light,
A strange and foreign look the maiden bore,
That suited the quaint Belgian dress she wore;
Yet the blue fearless eyes in her fair face,
And her soft voice, told of her English race;
And ever, as she flitted to and fro,
She sang (or murmur'd, rather), soft and low,
Snatches of song, as if she did not know
That she was singing, but the happy load
Of dream and thought thus from her heart o'er-
flow'd:

And while on household cares she pass'd along,
The air would bear me fragments of her song;
Not such as village maidens sing, and few
The framers of her changing music knew;

To seek the great cathedral, that had grown
A home for him - mysterious and his own.

Dim with dark shadows of the ages past,
St. Bavon stands, solemn and rich and vast;
The slender pillars, in long vista spread,
Like forest arches meet and close o'erhead
So high, that like a weak and doubting prayer,
Ere it can float to the carved angels there,
The silver-clouded incense faints in air;
Only the organ's voice, with peal on peal,
Can mount to where those far-off angels kneel.
Here the pale boy, beneath a low side-arch,
Would listen to its solemn chant or march;
Folding his little hands, his simple prayer,
Melted in childish dreams, and both in air:
While the great organ over all would roll,
Speaking strange secrets to his spotless soul,
Bearing on eagle-wings the great desire
Of all the kneeling throng, and piercing higher

Chants such as heaven and earth first knew of Than aught but love and prayer can reach, until

when

Allegri and Marcello held the pen.

But I with awe had often turn'd the page,
Yellow with time, and half defaced by age,
And listened, with an ear not quite unskill'd,
While heart and soul to the grand echo thrill'd;
And much I marvell'd, as her cadence fell
From the Laudaté, that I knew so well,
Into Scarlatti's minor fugue, how she
Had learn'd such deep and solemn harmony.
But what she told I set in rhyme, as meet
To chronicle the influence, dim and sweet,
'Neath which her young and innocent life had

grown:

Would that my words were simple as her own.
Many years since, an English workman went
Over the seas, to seek a home in Ghent,
Where English skill was prized, nor toil'd in vain;
Small, yet enough, his hard-earn'd daily gain.
He dwelt alone - in sorrow or in pride;
He mix'd not with the workers by his side;
He seem'd to care but for one present joy -
To tend, to watch, to teach his sickly boy.
Severe to all heside, yet for the child
He soften'd his rough speech to soothings mild;
For him he smiled, with him each day he walk'd
Through the dark gloomy streets; to him he
talk'd

Of home, of England, and strange stories told
Of English heroes in the days of old;
And (when the sunset gilded roof and spire),
The marvellous tale which never seem'd to tire:
How the gilt dragon, glaring fiercely down
From the great belfry, watching all the town,
Was brought, a trophy of the wars divine,
By a Crusader from far Palestine,

And given to Bruges; and how Ghent arose,
And how they struggled long as deadly foes,
Till Ghent, one night, by a brave soldier's skill,
Stole the great dragon, and she keeps it still.
One day the dragon- so 't is said will rise,
Spread his bright wings, and glitter in the skies,
And over desert lands and azure seas
Will seek his home 'mid palm and cedar-trees.
So, as he pass'd the belfry every day,
The boy would look if it were flown away;
Each day surprised to find it watching there,
Above him, as he cross'd the ancient square,

Only the silence seem'd to listen still;
Or gathering like a sea still more and more,
Break in melodious waves at heaven's door,
And then fall, slow and soft, in tender rain,
Upon the pleading longing hearts again.
Then he would watch the rosy sunlight glow,
That crept along the marble floor below,
Passing, as life does, with the passing hours,
Now by a shrine all rich with gems and flowers,
Now on the brazen letters of a tomb,
Then, leaving it again to shade and gloom,
And, creeping on, to show distinct and quaint
The kneeling figure of some marble saint:
Or lighting up the carvings strange and rare,
That told of patient toil and reverent care;
Ivy that trembled on the spray, and ears
Of heavy corn, and slender bulrush spears,
And all the thousand tangled weeds that grow
In summer, where the silver rivers flow;
And demon-heads grotesque, that seem'd to glare
In impotent wrath on all the beauty there,
Then the gold rays up pillar'd shaft would climb,
And so be drawn to heaven, at evening time.
And deeper silence, darker shadows flow'd
On all around, only the windows glow'd
With blazon'd glory, like the shields of light
Archangels bear, who, arm'd with love and
might,

Watch upon heaven's battlements at night. Then all was shade, the silver lamps that gleam'd,

Lost in the daylight, in the darkness seem'd
Like sparks of fire in the dim aisles to shine,
Or trembling stars before eacl. separate shrine.
Grown half afraid, the child would leave them

there,

And come out, blinded by the noisy glare
That burst upon him from the busy square.
The church was thus his home for rest or play;
And, as he came and went again each day,
The pictured faces that he knew so well,
Seem'd to smile on him welcome and farewell.
But holier and dearer far than all,
One sacred spot his own he loved to call;
Save at mid-day, half-hidden by the gloom,
The people call it The White Maiden's Tomb :
For there she stands; her folded hands are press'd
Together, and laid softly on her breast;

As if she waited but a word to rise
From the dull earth, and pass to the blue skies;
Her lips expectant part, she holds her breath,
As listening for the angel voice of death.
None know how many years have seen her so,
Or what the name of her who sleeps below.
And here the child would come, and strive to
trace

Through the dim twilight the pure gentle face
He loved so well, and here he oft would bring
Some violet blossom of the early spring;
And, climbing softly by the fretted stand,
Not to disturb her, lay it in her hand;
Or, whispering a soft loving message sweet,
Would stoop and kiss the little marble feet.
So, when the organ's pealing music rang,
He thought amid the gloom the maiden sang:
With reverent simple faith by her he knelt,
And listen'd what she thought, and what she
felt;

"Glory to God," re-echoed from her voice,
And then his little spirit would rejoice;
Or when the Requiem sobb'd upon the air,
His baby-tears dropp'd with her mournful
prayer.

So years fled on, while childish fancies past, The childish love and simple faith could last. The artist-soul awoke in him, the flame Of genius, like the light of heaven, came Upon his brain, and (as it will, if true) It touch'd his heart and lit his spirit, too. His father saw, and with a proud content Let him forsake the toil where he had spent His youth's first years, and on one happy day Of pride, before the old man pass'd away, He stood with quivering lips, and the big tears Upon his cheek, and heard the dream of years Living and speaking to his very heart,— The low-hush'd murmur at the wondrous art Of him, who with young trembling fingers made The great church-organ answer as he play'd; And, as the uncertain sound grew full and strong,

Rush with harmonious spirit-wings along, And thrill with master power the breathless throng.

The old man died, and years pass'd on, and
still

The young musician bent his heart and will
To his dear toil. St. Bavon now had grown
More dear to him, and even more his own;
And, as he left it every night, he pray'd
A moment by the archway in the shade,
Kneeling once more within the sacred gloom
Where the White Maiden watch'd upon her tomb.
His hopes of travel and a world-wide fame
Cold Time had sober'd, and his fragile frame;
Content at last only in dreams to roam
Away from the tranquillity of home;
Content that the poor dweilers by his side
Saw in him but the gentle friend and guide,
The patient counsellor in the poor strife
And petty details of their common life,
Who comforted where woe and grief might fall,
Nor slighted any pain or want as small,
But whose great heart took in and felt for all.
Still he grew famous, many came to be
His pupils in the art of harmony.

One day a voice floated so pure and free
Above his music, that he turned to see
What angel sang, and saw before his eyes,
What made his heart leap with a strange sur-
prise,

His own White Maiden, calm and pure and mild,

As in his childish dreams she sang and smiled,
Her eyes raised up to heaven, her lips apart,
And music overflowing from her heart.
But the faint blush that tinged her cheek be-
tray'd

No marble statue, but a living maid.
Perplex'd and startled at his wondering look,
Her rustling score of Mozart's Sanctus shook;
The uncertain notes, like birds within a snare,
Flutter'd and died upon the trembling air.

Days pass'd, each morning saw the maiden stand,

Her eyes cast down, her lesson in her hand,
Eager to study, never weary, while
Repaid by the approving word or smile
Of her kind master; days and months fled on;
One day the pupil from the choir was gone;
Gone to take light and joy and youth once more
Within the poor musician's humble door;
And to repay, with gentle happy art,
The debt so many owed his generous heart.
And now, indeed, was one who knew and felt
That a great gift of God within him dwelt;
One who could listen, who could understand,
Whose idle work dropp'd from her slacken'd
hand,

While with wet eyes entranced she stood, nor knew

How the melodious wingéd hours flew;
Who loved his art as none had loved before,
Yet prized the noble tender spirit more,
While the great organ brought from far and near
Lovers of harmony to praise and hear.
Unmark'd by aught save what fill'd every day,
Duty, and toil, and rest, years pass'd away :
And now by the low archway in the shade
Beside her mother knelt a little maid,
Who through the great cathedral learn'd to

roam,

Climb to the choir and bring her father home;
And stand demure and solemn by his side,
Patient till the last echo softly died,

Then place her little hand in his, and go
Down the dark winding stair to where below
The mother knelt, within the gathering gloom,
Waiting and praying by the maiden's tomb.

So their life went, until one winter's day,
Father and child came there alone to pray,-
The mother, gentle soul, had fled away.
Their life was alter'd now, and yet the child
Forgot her passionate grief in time, and smiled,
Half-wondering why, when spring's fresh breezes

came,

And summer flowers, he was not the same.
Half-guessing at the shadow of his pain,
And then contented if he smiled again,
A sad cold smile, that pass'd in tears away,
As re-assured she ran once more to play.
And now each year that added grace to grace,
Fresh bloom and sunshine to the young girl's

face,

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