hundred and fifty were not enough, another little island, fan-shaped,
was built up out of the sea a few yards from the shore of Nagasaki.
There the Dutchmen live; a bridge connects their island with the
mainland, but a high gate and a guard of soldiers prevent all
unseasonable rambles. In another part of the town there is a factory
allowed to the Chinese. Other strangers entering this port are treated
courteously, are supplied gratuitously with such necessaries as they
want, but are on no account allowed to see the town, still less to
penetrate into the country, and are required to be gone about their
business as soon as possible. Strangers attempting entry at any other
port belonging to Japan, are without ceremony fired upon as enemies. The
admitted Dutch traders are rigorously searched; every thing betraying
Christianity is locked up; money and arms are removed, and hostages are
taken. Every man undergoes personal scrutiny. The Dutch are allowed no
money. The Japanese authorities manage all sales for them; pay the
minutest items of expenditure, and charge it on the profits of their
trade, which are then placed on the return vessel, not in money, but in
goods. The Japanese deal justly, even generously, in their way; but it
is their way to allow the foreigners no money power. They restrict their
exports almost wholly to camphor and copper, and allow no native
workmanship to go abroad. Yet among themselves, as between one island
and another, commerce is encouraged to the utmost. The Japanese
territories range in the temperate zone through a good many degrees, and
include all shades of climate between that of Liverpool and that of
Constantinople. Between island and island, therefore, busy interchange
takes place by means of junks, like these which now surround us in the
Nagasaki harbor. You can observe how weak they look about the sterns,
with rudders insecure. The law compels them to be so; for that is an
acute device by which they are prevented from travelling too far; they
dare not trust themselves too boldly to the mercy of the sea, and as it
is, many wrecked men accuse the prudence of their lawgivers. But life is
cheap; the population of Japan is probably near thirty million,--and who
should care for a few dozen mariners?

If you please, we will now walk up into Nagasaki, with our phantom
cloaks about us. Being in a region visited by earthquakes, of course we
find the houses of one story lightly built; they are built