lors, and, although they try their utmost to smooth
things over, they often have to run men in. It is entertaining to see a
great blundering sailor, just like a bull, plunging to right and left,
while the little policeman, always courteous and polite, constantly
gives way, stepping on one side until the time comes when the sailor,
puffed and worn out, gives a terrific lunge; the policeman gives him a
slight impetus, and the sailor sprawls in an ungainly attitude on the
ground. He is then led off triumphantly by a small piece of string
attached to his belt behind.

[Illustration: THE VENICE OF JAPAN]

It was not until I arrived in Osaka, the Venice of Japan, that I gave up
dreaming and seriously began to work. Here was scope indeed! Osaka is
the city of furnaces, factories, and commerce,--the centre of the modern
spirit of feverish activity in manufacturing and commercial enterprise.
Western ugliness has invaded certain quarters; yet the artistic feeling
predominates. The Ajikawa is still the Ajikawa of the olden time, and on
the eastern side of the city is the Kizugawa, into which--thanks to the
shallowness of the bar--no steamer ever intrudes, while the city itself
is intersected by a vast network of canals and waterways, all teeming
with junks and barges, and crossed by graceful wooden bridges which lend
themselves admirably to line. The Kizugawa fascinates the painter. Away
from the bustle of the factories and the shrieking of the whistles, the
great junks from northern Hakodate or the sunny Loochos lie sleepily
silent. They are the Leviathans of their kind. Intermingling with them
are innumerable barges and fishing-boats, stretching far up the river,
their masts and cordage seeming one vast spider's web. Not a single
vessel is painted--from the huge sea-going junk to the narrow-prowed
barge. Near the water-line the wood has taken a silvery tone; but above,
it looks in the sunlight like light gold. And the cargoes of rice in
straw bales, piled high over the bulwarks, are also golden. A
steam-launch has in tow half a dozen barges, which, with their unpainted
woodwork, rice bales, and straw-coloured connecting cable, appear
against the dark water as a knotted golden thread. In the endless
perspective of junks the golden tone predominates; but it is relieved by
the colouring of the buildings on the river banks. There is no monotony,
for no two houses are similar either in tint or in design; and there is
no stiffness of