Dragons and Cherry Blossoms

								

with my childish fancies.
And so, when I found myself sailing into the Port of Yokohama one
bright April morning, the ideal Japan of years gone by was what was
uppermost in my mind. At first I thought there must be some mistake,
for there was nothing to be seen in this harbour to correspond with
the strange delights of my dreams. Not a single one-storied, thatched
house, such as used to grace the pages of my geography, was visible
on the shore. Everything, as far as I could see, was the same as the
entrance to an European seaport. The long array of wharves might
perhaps be missing, but there was many a ship built on western lines,
and occasionally a small steam-tug went puffing by, the whistle blowing
as naturally as in any western harbour. And, even as I looked beyond
all this, towards the shore, there was no visible sign that I had
reached Japan. “Those people who make pictures of Japanese life do not
tell the truth,” I thought to myself, completely bewildered. When I
landed, I found large brick houses of a most occidental kind, and shops
fitted out in the regular English style. Not only were the outward
evidences of life most un-Japanese, but few of the people passing up
and down the street had the almond eyes, the short, wiry hair, or the
olive complexion that I had quitted America to see; and young nurse
girls wheeled about little carriages containing the same kind of babies
that I had left three thousand miles away. Children in little trim
English clothes, with their little English bare legs, were walking
about and occasionally disappearing behind English hedges into houses
of a distinctly Queen Anne type.
While I was surveying all this with a startled air, I was delighted and
relieved by the sight of several small Orientals who ran quickly up to
the wharf, dragging behind them peculiar two-wheeled conveyances. Yes,
after all, here was some indication of the thing for which I had been
looking; these were men of Japan, it was true, but hardly the Japanese
of whom I had dreamed. They seemed rather out of place in this
European city, and did not assume an aggressive air at all, as they
politely offered to carry us to the hotel in their strange vehicles.
The explanation of this state of affairs is, however, very
satisfactory. When you reach Yokohama, you land at what is called
the Settlement, which is the portion of the city set aside by the
Government for the foreign residents. Japan itself is situated back
of this, and there, if you jump again into your jinrikisha and take
another ride, you will find that it is Japan indeed.
There is one great hotel at Yokohama,--a genuine European importation,
with large parlours, reading and sitting rooms, electric lights and
bells. Your jinrikisha man immediately takes it for granted that you
wish to stop at the Grand Hotel, and without waiting for instructions,
hurries you off to Ni-jiu-ban, as it is called in the vernacular. You