to do it, sure; but it's not a fair thing. Don't you see? I hope to see the day when any young Japanese can come to America and learn all he wants to. But the time will come all the quicker, I reckon, if we turn down these young fellows in their attempt to sneak out. Anyway, I hope so."

Davis thought for a moment and then returned to the charge:

"Thanks, Commodore. You've just about shut me up. But liste. Just let Just let me put this to you-What's going to become of these fellows? They want to come to our countrythey're in dead earnest-not a bit of doubt about that. Well, suppose we turn them down-what does it mean? They'll have their heads hacked off, both of them. If we put them ashore, the police will arrest them, and there won't be any mercy shown. Why, it's like driving them up to the executioner ourselves. What's their What's their crime, except that they got excited over our coming here, took a fancy to us and wanted to see more of our civilisation? That's all. And after all, were we sent here simply to get a formal treaty signed ? Wasn't there some idea of waking up these people to their sleepy little island? And here we've got a couple to wake up-the first of the crowd-and what are we going to do with them? Isn't it the easiest thing in the world, if we make up our mind to it, to take them back to America without letting any of their own people know? We wouldn't hurt anyone's feelings. Say Commodore, isn't that the real American thing to do? Can't we let 'em stay"?

Davis's eloquence carried his hearers with him. Even the commander of the ship who had been so obdurate, remained silent. A flush of emotion appeared on the face of Commodore, and it was evident that he was inclined to turn in favour of the young Japanese. He lifted his face and looked around those present.

"Well, gentlemen? Williams ? ... Watson what do you say?"

Dr. Watson suddenly recalled the skin disease which he had noticed on the wrist and fingers of one of the Japanese as he was writing under the lamp.

"Well. Commodore," he said, "It's up to me to speak as a doctor. I noticed that one of the Japanese had scabies on his his hands. Scabies is a disease we don't have much to to do with, but I don't think it's a safe thing to have aboard the ship. I guess I ought to let you know about that-though I

don't want to be hard on the young fellows".

This took the wind out of Davis's sails. Another change came over the face of the Commodore. Now he had good reason to disregard the compunction and regret which the thought of refusal naturally aroused. After a long silence, he said:

"You see how it is, Davis. I have as much sympathy as you with these two Japanese. But here is something we've got to take into account before our feelings. It's doubtful whether it would be any kindness to let these men stay. Gentlemen, you will all agree with me-we must

consider the health of our men first... well, Williams, put them ashore, please. Smooth them down as best you can. Davis, order a boat out for them, will you please?"

The order was soon carried out. Dr. Watson watched the two Japanese climb down the ladder. That was the end. They yielded to their fate, finding that is was in vain to appeal to the Americans, even with tears. The Doctor observed that, once they knew the refusal was final, they accepted their fate in manly fashion, with good grace. The Doctor retired to his room-but not to sleep that night.

IV

Two days later Dr. Watson went ashore in the morning with another officer. It was a fine day. After strolling on the beach, they walked to the rear of the town. Many children followed them, keeping close behind with the grimmest tenacity, despite all efforts to shake them off.

They came to a building that looked like a barrack, with a soldier keeping guard at the gate with a spear-like weapon. People were crowding up to the fence and peering through. They moved off as Watson approached, as if afraid of him. He looked through and saw, about two yards from the fence, something like an animal's cage. He could distinguish something moving about in the gloom, and, as he continued gazing, he made out the figures of two men. Two pale faces appeared at the bar and smiled at him with

teeth gleaming. He was horror-stricken. Only slowly did he recognise the faces. But they were unmistakable. There was scarcely room for the two in the cage, and they were crouched face to face. The Doctor felt as though a darkness had come over him. out thinking, he called out in English:

With

"By God, what are you doing there?" Of course, they did not understand, but their faces gleamed with joy as they they were noticed noticed by the officer. One of them-he of the scabies-struck his hand to his neck at right angles, to signify what their fate was to be. At the same time he laughed defiantly. His dauntless attitude, which seemed even more stoic than that of Cato, the Roman patriot, made a deep impression on Watson. He felt a quiver run through his hands, which were gripping the fence. He began to think what he could do to save their lives.

Then the young prisoner who had smiled so dauntlessly, made a sign that he wished to write. Watson searched his pockets and found a pencil, but no paper. However, a Japanese boy brought a thin piece of wood from somewhere. Watson could not hand it to the prisoner, as the distance was too great. But, as he was looking for a way out of the difficulty, the old man in charge of the came to his assistance.

cage

on

The prisoner, after looking curiously at the foreign pencil, pencil. began to write with a flowing hand. After a quarter of an hour the board was brought back to Watson by the same old man. Every inch of space it was filled. After nodding a farewell, Watson hurried back to the ship, appealing to Heaven to have mercy on them. He sought out the Chinese interpreter, La Shin, a Cantonese, who gave a translation of the writing on the board. It stated:

"If a hero fails to achieve his ambition, all his deeds are regarded as the deeds of a robber or political miscreant. Such has been our destiny. We are shut up in a gloomy prison, and the people come around to mock us in our captivity. Even the aged folk of the village smile at us with the smile of contempt. Torture! Loneliness! Scorn! Despair! That is our whole life now.

"Freedom to wander all over our country, this little island of the Far East, could not satisfy our longing for the great freedom. We had planned to travel around the wide

world. But now where is that long-cherished hope? Ah, it is cruel that this plan for which we had worked so long has SO suddenly come to nought. And here we are imprisoned in a narrow cage, with no freedom to eat, no freedom to rest, no freedom even to sleep. Escape is impossible. What Ishall we do then? Weep? That would be too silly. Laugh? No, any rake can laugh. What then? Silence? Yes, silence be ours, now and evermore."

Commodore Perry and all the other officers who had been present at the conference heard the interpreter's translation and were deeply moved. "He's a brave man and a philosopher," the Commodore said, as if to himself, with a sigh.

Then came a burst of sobbing. All looked round in surprise. It was Davis. The Commodore came up and patted him on the shoulder:

"Yes, Davis, you were right after all.... Go ashore now, quick. See what you can do to save these men-whatever you think best-I'll back it."

Davis was much gratified and went off in high spirits.

Not so the Doctor. His agony of mind increased. He could not rest. Had he done right or not in speaking as he had done-as a doctor? He thought to ease his mental torture by studying the information about scabies in his books. He plodded from his cabin to the ship's library-a sad man.

[So ends the Japanese novelist's story. Every Japanese knows that the two in the cage were saved on that occasion from the executioner's sword, though Yoshida afterwards paid with his life for baving his own ideas of patriotism. Neither of the two ever saw America or any other foreign land.]*

*The story of Torajiro Yoshida, a popular hero of Japan, is known to many from the essay of Robert Louis Stevenson. Here his unsuccessful attempt to get passage to America with Commodore Perry's fleet, in violation of the laws of his country, is the basis of a sketchy tale by a well-known Japanese novelist.

protested against the application of the appellation of "docoits" to the Burmans who were resisting the British and the excesses that had been committed by the invaders. Sir Donald would not enter into details but maintained the time would come when Lord Dufferin's policy would be justified in history. He went on to say that he had met a wellknown Calcutta journalist and had no difficulty in convincing him of the soundness of the . policy pursued in Upper Burma. He was clearly referring to Sambhu Chandra Mukerji of the Reis and Rayyat. Sambhu Chandra had been invited to meet Sir D. M. and Lord Dufferin. From that time he attacked the Congress and defended Lord Dufferin's policy in Burma. He became a perso Lal friend of Lord Dufferin, who subsequently wrote some letters to Mr. Mukherji.

LADIES AND LANGUAGES

Wallace

A few months after my arrival at Karachi I brought over my wife and first child from Calcutta, Hiranand followed my example and his wife gave birth to a daughter some time later. A third young lady also came for a short time to stay with her husband

come

in the house. These young ladies had no common language for carrying on a conversation. My wife spoke a few words of Hindustani but Hiranand's wife did not understand a single word of that language. Hiranand took upon himself to teach his wife a little Bengali and my wife a little Sindhi, but his class of two pupils did not make much progress and he gave it up after a month or two. As, however, my wife had constantly to in contact with Sindhi ladies and visited Hydrabad more than once she learned to speak Sindhi quite fluently in a few months. Sindhi and Cutchhi are almost identical languages and both are very difficult because although the words are mostly of Sanscrit origin the construction of sentences follows the Persian method and adjectives and verbs have masculine or feminine genders in accordance with the subject. I understand Sindhi perfectly but never learned to speak it well because I met only men who spoke either English or the broken Hindustani used throughout the Bombay Presidency. Ladies then observed strict purdah and I had no occasion to speak to them.

METEORIC SHOWERS

In 1885 and the following year in the month of September we witnessed at Karachi

Meteors or

an extraordinary phenomenon. shooting stars are seen about this time of the year or in the summer. But I do not remember having ever seen anything like what we noticed for two successive years at Karachi. About 9 o'clock in the evening I saw meteors flashing through the sky in quick succession. I called out Hiranand and we sat up nearly the whole night watching the meteoric shower. The whole sky seemed to be alive with rushing meteors leaving behind them a trail of light. As the night advanced the shower increased in intensity and reached its height about midnight. There was not a minute's cessation and the sky appeared to be full of living, luminous serpents darting swiftly across the heavens. There was no moon and the dark background of the sky with the glimmering stars intensified the effect. It was an impressive and awe-inspiring sight and I could appreciate the accounts I had read of savage tribes falling down in terror on their faces and shrieking aloud when they witnessed a meteoric shower. Gradually the Gradually the meteoric shower diminished and finally ceased at about 3 o'clock in the morning. I wrote about the phenomenon in my paper and some people, including some Europeans discussed the subject with me. Next year about the same time the phenomenon was repeated but the shower was not so thick as in 1885. B. M. MALABARI

Behramji Merwaniji Malabari was editor of the Bombay Indian Spectator a weekly journal, and also the Voice of India a monthly periodical founded by Dadabhai Naoroji. The Voice of India was a small publication containing extracts from the chief Indian papers on different questions with a page of introduction. The Indian Spectator was a cautious and carefully edited paper. The paragraphs which were attractive were well-written and were often humorous. These were mostly written by Malabari himself. There were one or two leading articles which were usually written by others. The Indian Spectator was what may be called an 'acceptable' paper. In a lecture delivered in Bombay by Sir William Lee-Warner, Secretary to the Government of Bombay, he held up the Indian Spectator as a model critic. As Sir William Lee-Warner was a typical bureaucrat of the spreadeagle order his appreciation was significant. Latterly, Malabari used to used to write in the first person

name of

singular, following the example of Mr. W. T. Stead in the Pall Mall Gazette and the Review of Reviews. He appeared in the role of a social reformer in 1885. He wrote two notes on Infant Marriage and Enforced Widowhood and circulated them for opinion, and the opinions he received whether in personal letters or in newspapers were published, sometimes with running comments in the Indian Spectator. In orthodox Hindu quarters Malabari's social reform campaign was strongly resented on the ground that he was an outsider and had no concern with Hindu society. Malabari felt himself illused and wrote several times that he was "only a Parsi." Humanity, however, is higher than communalism and a Parsi, or a Mahomedan or a Christian would be perfectly justified in raising his voice against an evil Hindu custom just as a Hindu is entitled to protest against a Parsi, Mahomedan of Christian social evil in the humanity. Whether he can obtain a hearing or not is another question. But there is a great deal of difference in the experiences of a social reformer from inside and another from outside. Malabari was severely criticised by some Hindu newspapers, but hard words break no bones and Malabari had no bitter experiences like those of Pandit Iswara Chandra Vidyasagar or Kursondas Mulji. There was no tangible outcome of Malabari's agitation. It had no relevant bearing on the Age of Consent Act. The most stalwart supporter of that measure in Bombay was K. T. Telang, who in a series of admirable articles in the Indu Prakash, then edited by N. G. Chandavarkar, supported the Bill and traversed the arguments of Sir Romesh Chunder Mitter, who had opposed it in the Imperial Legislative Council. I corresponded with Malabari before we met and I stayed with him twice for a few hours in Bombay when he was living in Hornby Road. At one time Malabari had an idea of starting a daily paper. He wrote to me asking for a rough estimate and suggesting that I that I should take up the editorship of the proposed paper. Some correspondence passed between us but nothing came out of it. I met Malabari again in Lahore and Calcutta and I had a letter from him a few days before his sudden death at Simla. Malabari told me himself that the Indian Spectator never paid its way and there was a small loss every month, but he had other sources of income and left a considerable fortune amounting to

Pherozeshah Merwanji Mehta was a striking and imposing personality in the public life of India and on the Congress platform. In Bombay he was considered the first citizen and no other person filled the presidential chair of the Bombay Corporation with such ability and distinction. He was an M. A., of the Bombay University and a barrister with an extensive practice in Bombay. In the Bombay Legislative Council and later on in the Imperial Legislative Council he was an outstanding figure. He was & Rupert of debate and his brilliance in repartee and his flashing rapier play in argument have rarely been rivalled. In conversation he had a frank and hearty manner and he had very high qualities of leadership. When he was elected the word then officially used was "recommended"—as a member of the Imperial Legislative Council he disconcerted the official members by his outspokenness and crushing rejoinders. The non-official Indian Members of Council at that time were always in a hopeless minority and they never could carry anything against the solid phalanx of the official majority, which faced them like a stone wall. Referring to this unfair poise in the Council Pherozeshah Mehta, addressing the official members, declared on one occassion, "we may have the balance of reason on our side but you have always the preponderating weight of votes." On another occasion he spoke with such fearless independence that Sir James Westland, then land, then Finance Minister, complained that the tone adapted by Pherozesha Mehta had never before been heard in the Council Hall. Commenting on this incident I wrote in the Tribune of Lahore, which I was then editing, that Sir James Westland was right because the voice of Pherozeshah Mehta was the voice of the people and had never been heard in the Council Chamber so long as the Indiau members had owed their place in Council to nomination, that is, official favour.