An incident connected with sending troops to Korea made a deep impression on the nation.  The Okayama Orphan Asylum under the efficient management of its founder, Mr. Ishii, had organized the older boys into a band, securing for them various kinds of musical instruments.  These they learned to use with much success.  When the troops were on the point of leaving, Mr. Ishii went with his band to the port of Hiroshima, erected a booth, prepared places for heating water, and as often as the regiments passed by, his little orphans sallied forth with their teapots of hot tea for the refreshment of the soldiers.  Each regiment was also properly saluted, and if opportunity offered, the little fellows played the national anthem, “Kimi-ga yo,” which has been thus translated:  “May Our Gracious Sovereign reign a thousand years, reign till the little stone grow into a mighty rock, thick velveted with ancient moss.”  And finally the orphans would raise their shrill voices with the rhythmical national shout, “Tei-koku Ban-zai, Tei-koku Ban-zai”; “Imperial-land, a myriad years, Imperial-land, a myriad years.”  This thoughtful farewell was maintained for the four or five days during which the troops were embarking for the seat of war, well knowing that some would never return, and that their children would be left fatherless even as were these who saluted them.  So deep was the impression made upon the soldiers that many of them wept and many a bronzed face bowed in loving recognition of the patriotism of these Christian boys.  It is said that the commander-in-chief of the forces himself gave the little fellows the highest military salute in returning theirs.

Throughout the history of Japan, the aim of every rebellious clan or general was first to get possession of the Emperor.  Having done this, the possession of the Imperial authority was unquestioned.  Whoever was opposed to the Emperor was technically called “Cho-teki,” the enemy of the throne, a crime as heinous as treason in the West.  The existence of this sentiment throughout the Empire is an interesting fact.  For, at the very same time, there was the most intense loyalty to the local lord or “daimyo.”  This is a fine instance of a certain characteristic of the Japanese of which I must speak more fully in another connection, but which, for convenience, I term “nominality.”  It accepts and, apparently at least, is satisfied with a nominal state of affairs, which may be quite different from the real.  The theoretical aspect of a question is accepted without reference to the actual facts.  The real power may be in the hands of the general or of the daimyo, but if authority nominally proceeds from the throne, the theoretical demands are satisfied.  The Japanese themselves describe this state as “yumei-mujitsu.”  In a sense, throughout the centuries there has been a genuine loyalty to the throne, but it has been of the “yumei-mujitsu” type, apparently satisfied with the name only.  In recent times, however,