The memorial ceremony was attended by Captain Tochinai and Lieutenant Tanaka, from the Japanese Embassy in London, and by Commander Makihara and Lieutenant Inegawa, of the Japanese navy.

It was only an English boy that died, but his Japanese friends on the other side of the world remembered him and showed their remembrance and love in the best way they could.

On the 24th of October, 1909, a commercial delegation of business men from Osaka, headed by Baron Shibusawa, visited the last resting-place of Commodore Perry, at Newport, Rhode Island, and laid on his grave a wreath of laurel and roses, tied with the colors of Japan.

On the 28th of January. 1910, Baron Kikuchi, former Minister of Education in Japan, made a special trip to New Brunswick, New Jersey, in order to lay a wreath of flowers on the grave of Dr. David Murray, of Rutgers College, who helped the Japanese to modernize their public schools nearly forty years ago.

In a recent letter to the Rev. Henry Loomis, of Tokyo, a Japanese, after expressing Japan's friendship for the United States, said in quaint English, "We are the people who long remember the good received, and soon forget the evil incurred, if any."

But it is not only their friends whom they remember. They pay tributes of respect also to the gallant enemies whom they have learned to esteem. On the 5th of May, last year, Captain Vladimir Semenof, of the Imperial Russian navy, died in St. Petersburg and was buried in the Alexander Nevski monastery.

He fought the Japanese in the great battle of the Japan Sea, when he was one of the officers of the flagship Kniaz Suvorof. He was an enemy, but he was a gallant and honorable man, and Lieutenant Tanaka, of the Imperial Japanese navy, attended his funeral and laid a wreath of white roses on his grave.

On the 27th of September, 1909, the Japanese in Nagasaki honored their dead enemies by holding a solemn religious service in front of a monument erected there to the memory of two hundred and fifty Russian sailors who, at the battle of the Japan Sea, refused to surrender and went down with their ship.

In the very first week of the Russo-Japanese War the Russian cruiser Variag was attacked and sunk by the Japanese squadron of Admiral Uriu, in the Korean harbor of Chemulpo. The Japanese raised her, re

paired her, and put her again in commission. On the 1st of December, 1908, she happened to visit Chemulpo under the Japanese flag, and at the very place where she had gone to the bottom under the fire of the Japanese her new officers and men held a Shinto religious service in honor of the Russian sailors who perished when she sank. Captain (now Admiral) Takarabe, who conducted the service, said:

"The brave men who died on this ship in the fight with his Majesty's squadron did for their sovereign just what we tried to do for ours. Enemies of our country though they were, we felt in our hearts sincere admiration for their noble devotion. Happening,

by the strange irony of fate, to be visiting the scene of their heroic sacrifice on board the same vessel on which they fought, how can we help being deeply touched by sympathy and respect for their departed souls?"

But the Japanese are capable of feeling sympathy not only for their enemy's soldiers and sailors, but for their enemy's spies. On the 28th of September, 1904, they captured at Yentai, in Manchuria, a Russian spy named Vassili Liubof. The spy was tried by court martial, found guilty, and shot. After the execution the officers of the Japanese army sent to the officers of the Russian army, under a flag of truce, the following letter:

Vassili Liubof, thirty-three years old, a private in the Cheliabinski regiment, disguised as a Chinese farmer, was captured by our army on September 28. He confessed to the fact that he had volunteered his services and had been sent within our picket line to ascertain the movements and disposition of our army. After trial by court martial, he was sentenced to death, and on the 30th he was executed. In communicating this incident to your army, we cannot but express the wish that your army may possess many soldiers as worthy and honorable as was this Liubof. Prior to the execution, when asked if he wanted to say anything, he replied that he had nothing to say, as he was dying for the Czar, his country, and his religion. He was then told that his parents and his wife would be informed of his unflinching loyalty to his country and of his heroic death, and was asked if he had any. thing more to communicate to them. He replied in the negative, and added that he was not able sufficiently to express his gratitude to us. Asking our permission, he crossed himself, knelt down, and prayed in silence. Our sympathy for this ideal soldier, in whom were embodied such loyal and grand thoughts, was inexpressible.

Such is the spirit of the Japanese samurai. Is it the spirit of all nations in the Occident?

On the 2d of October, 1780, we hanged, at Tappan on the Hudson, a British spy

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by the name of Major John André. He was a gallant and accomplished officer, a poet, and a musician and George Washington, who approved the death sentence, admitted that the prisoner was more unfortunate than criminal." He died on the scaffold, bravely and calmly. Did the officers of the Revolutionary army, in the hot blood and aroused passion of the struggle, send a letter to the officers of the British army, congratulating them upon having in their ranks so ideal a soldier, and expressing the hope that they had many more? If so, history has failed to record the fact. We did not even give André a soldier's death, but hanged him on a scaffold, like a common murderer. I am glad to be able to say, however, for the honor of our country, that after we had won our independence, after the bitter feeling excited by the struggle had subsided, we did erect a monument to André on the spot where he was captured.

One more illustration of Japanese magnanimity, and I shall have done.

When General Stoessel surrendered Port Arthur, he asked General Nogi if he would not have the remains of the Russian dead collected from the bare, shell-plowed Manchurian hills and have them decently and respectfully buried. General Nogi replied that he would-and he did. But the generous spirit of the Japanese was not satisfied with this. At a cost of forty thousand yen, they erected a stone monument over the bodies of the Russian soldiers, and in April, 1907, it was unveiled. Most of the Japanese division commanders who had taken part in the siege were present, and General Nogi himself wished to conduct a Shinto religious service in honor of the spirits of his dead enemies. He had lost both of his sons in the war-one at Nanshan, and the other at the storming of Two Hundred and Three Meter Hill— and yet this bereaved and sorrowful father wished to honor in this way the memory of the men who had made him childless in his old age. His offer to conduct personally a Shinto service, however, was disapproved by the Russian priests who were present, on the ground that anything of the kind would be heathenish. The monument was unveiled, therefore, with the ceremonies of the RussoGreek Church only. It bore two inscriptions, both composed by the Japanese. On one side, in Russian, were the words: "Sacred to the memory of fourteen thousand six hundred and thirty-one Russian officers and sol

diers who fell, fighting bravely and loyally for their country, in the battles around Port Arthur." On the other side, in Japanese, was a single line: "Death levels all distinctions between enemies and friends."

I think there is nothing finer than this in all the history of war.

It has been said again and again, by a multitude of writers and speakers, that the moral code and spiritual ideals of the Japanese differ so widely from those of Americans that sympathetic relations between the two peoples are practically impossible, and ought not to exist, even if they were possible. United States Senator George C. Perkins, in an address first delivered, if I remember rightly, before the National Geographic Society of Washington, and afterward published in the "Independent," compared the moral standards and spiritual ideals of the Japanese and the Americans as follows:

"It is a question of the Orient and the Occident; of races so different in mental characteristics, so separated by thousands of years of development upon lines which seem nowhere to touch, so divergent in morals, ethics, and the ingrained habits of scores of centuries, that there is no attraction between them because they cannot understand each other. Each stands isolated and alone as regards the other. There are no points of contact, none of sympathy. Their ideals clash; their motives have entirely different bases; their aims have nothing in common ; they are aliens to each other."

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I have quoted a part of this address of Senator Perkins because the opinions that he expresses are those of a score, at least, of other writers and speakers who offer to instruct the American people with regard to the character of the Japanese. How much truth is there in these statements-if any?

In 1591-three centuries and a half ago— there lived in Japan a man named Seigwa Fujiwara. He was an eminent scholar and teacher. He founded an influential school of philosophy, and he lectured for years in Kioto on the moral code of the Japanese. One of his disciples, a merchant named Teijun Yoshida, became engaged in trade in the foreign province of Annam—now a part of Cochin China--and while he was there Seigwa wrote to him as follows:

The object of trade is to enable each of the two parties concerned to obtain a share of the profits. No one must aim at benefiting "Independent," February 12, 1907.

himself alone. Profit that is shared with another may seem small, but, because so shared, it becomes great. And vice versa; gains that are exclusively appropriated may seem big, but they are actually small. What is profitable and what is just are in close relation with each other. Beware of bringing our national customs into contempt. If in foreign countries you come across highly virtuous and benevolent men, honor them as your own father or your own teacher. Observe the laws and customs of the country in which you live. Remember that the human race all belong to one family. Remember that virtue is everywhere the same. Though foreigners have different customs from ours and speak different languages, the reason with which Heaven has endowed human beings is theirs as well as ours. Remember how many are the resemblances and how few the differences between us and them.

Such was the moral code of the Japanese, or of their best teachers, and such was their view of foreigners, about the time when Sir Walter Raleigh was establishing colonies in Virginia, and long before the Pilgrim Fathers landed on Plymouth Rock. Which is the more enlightened and civilized view of foreigners, that of the Japanese Seigwa, who lived and wrote in the sixteenth century, or that of the American Senator Perkins, who lives and writes in the twentieth? Which is the better statement of the moral principles of trade that of the sixteenth-century teacher in Japan, or that of certain twentiethcentury captains of industry in the United States ?

E

VERY rule has its exception. The exception to the rule that "one half of the world never knows what the other half is doing" is found in the case of the keeper of a newspaper "morgue." He is an exception, because he knows all things about all men. He is as omniscient as Jupiter. He is as far-seeing as jealous Juno. He is a composite of the all-seeing eye. the camera, the phonograph, and the dictagraph. Nothing escapes him. He has a memory like sticky fly-paper. Nothing that comes to his knowledge ever gets away from him. He is the earthly counterpart of the recording angel. His record. like the physician's, often begins with the birth and ends with the death of a person. It is as complete as life itself. And its import is as weighty as the record of St. Peter's, for the newspaper morgue is as inexorable as the book of judgment.

The term "morgue" is newspaper slang for the biographical department. The morgue is that part of a newspaper which collects, classifies, and records facts about persons and things. It is a combined social register and rogues' gallery. It is a who's who and why, with especial emphasis on the why. It is an encyclopædia of biographical information. It is a compendium of human facts. It is a ready reference work of personal items. It is the means by which the news

paper, in times of leisure, prepares for times of haste.

Specifically, the morgue is a collection of clippings. These come from newspapers, periodicals, pamphlets, books. "Press bulletins" are to be found in the morgue. News "stories" that have been written but never published are there. Even letters, telegrams, and other communications-some of them of the most confidential nature-find their way into the morgue. All the promising news items printed by all the newspapers and all the periodicals, with some items that no one ever dared to print, ar here filed away against the day when their subjects shall marry, be divorced, get arrested, or die—or in any other way come into public notice.

These various items are all safely stowed in strong linen envelopes and stored away in drawers; though in some morgues the clippings are securely pasted in books, which are kept exactly as any other library is kept. All these clippings are carefully assorted and classified and indexed and cross-indexed, so that in a moment's time the morgue-keeper can lay his finger on any one of the millions of clippings. I say millions advisedly. mean millions literally. At the least, one hundred thousand clippings are filed away every year in the morgue of a great newspaper. There may be many more. As years

pass. these clippings become of incalculable value. Once lost, they can never be replaced. So every precaution is taken to safeguard them. Envelopes or books of clippings taken from the morgue are charged up to the reporters or others who take them, just as volumes in a public library are charged to the borrowers. In some newspaper offices the morgue man and his assistants-who sometimes number a dozen or more-work inside of steel cages, like bank clerks; while the clippings themselves are kept in unburnable steel receptacles. Easily the most valuable thing about a newspaper office is its morgue; and when fire occurs, the first cry that goes up is, Save the morgue!"

At first blush it would seem that nothing could be easier than to cut clippings for a morgue. The truth is just the opposite. Good morgue men are like poets-born, not made. A morgue has a physical limitation. It must be kept as small as possible. Hence there must be nothing unnecessary in it. On the other hand, it must lack no needful item. The morgue man, therefore, must have the keenest kind of a news sense. He must be able to judge at a glance the potential news value of every item printed. For instance, he must know whether or not the fact that John Jones was robbed, that Sam Smith addressed the Shakespeare Club, or that Robert Robinson bought a certain painting will have any news value in future. And the accuracy with which he judges may not be apparent until twenty years later, when Jones has become Governor, and Smith the greatest embezzler of his day, and Robinson the owner of the greatest private art collection in existence, and the newspaper wants every item it can rake up about them. Being mortal, the morgue man is not infallible. So it happens that in every morgue there is many an envelope with but one clipping in it, and perhaps a tiny one at that, that the morgue man clipped in some Micawber-like moment with the expectation that eventually something would turn up" about the subject of the clipping. Just why some of the things in a morgue should be there it is a little difficult, say, after twenty years, to tell; but you may be sure that the morgue man had a very good reason to put into the morgue anything that is there.

Perhaps you wonder what is in a morgue. It would be hard to tell. It would be even harder to tell what isn't. Anything that has ever been printed, written, or spoken is likely

to be there-and perhaps some things that have only been thought. The morgue man is such a knowing individual that you never can tell. Picking twelve items at random from a big morgue, I find them to be as follows:

Cable rate cut in half.

Fogarty, life-saving cop, gets gold medal. Gladstone's grandson and heir attains his majority.

Fifteen million dollars tax on wealth left by Harriman.

Lorimer in his own defense.

Goslin's secretary sues W. R. Garrison.
Her "man-God" self-slain.
Maybe Raisuli's dead.

Post-Office Inspector Reddy resigns.
Philadelphia's new District Attorney.
Asks court's aid in famine of turtles.
Hospital must bar alcohol.

Filed away in other envelopes are the sordid stories of Ruth Wheeler's death and the murder of Cæsar Young. Here is preserved the history of the $25,000 taxicab robbery, of the Virginia massacre by the Allen gang, of the assassination of President McKinley. The life story of Jimmy Hope, the bank burglar, is here in full. Here, too, is the story of "Little Joe" Atkinson, New York's last hangman, with his gruesome fondness for the rope with which he sent so many people into eternity-the counterpart of the awful hangman in "Barnaby Rudge." Here also are tales of Chinatown's tong wars and the story of New York's gangs and their feuds. And as an offset to all these drab chronicles the morgue tells the splendid story of the brave deeds done when the steamship Republic was sunk. Here is the tale of the Larchmont disaster and the story of those brave fishermen who faced almost certain death to save the survivors. Here is the thrilling story of the Windsor Hotel fire and of Chief "Jack" Howe's magnificent heroism. Here is the tremendous tale of the California earthquake and the brave days that followed. Here is the record of Policeman Coyne, who on a frigid winter's night jumped into the East River, sought out an unseen drowning man, and brought him to shore. Here without end are tales of murder, fire, dishonesty, love, chivalry, devotion, heroism, war-in short, of almost everything that ever happened.

To qualify for a place in the morgue one need be neither a hero nor a villain, though both are here. For the morgue is as democratic as the grave. It is the one place outside of the United States Constitution where

all men are equal. Nevertheless, the morgue is not entirely free from class distinctions. The subjects therein are divided into several classes. To begin with, there are the people who don't know they are there. They constitute a vast majority. There are those who know they are there and wish they weren't. There are those who know they are there and are glad of it. And there are those who paid to get there.

This last statement does not mean that one can buy a place in the morgue as one can buy space in the advertising columns. Far from it. Directly, one can buy one's way neither into the morgue nor out of it, any more than one can bribe old St. Peter to falsify his records. Nevertheless, some people get into the morgue by paying. But they do not pay the newspaper. A while back I spoke of "press bulletins." The hope of notoriety springs eternal in the human breast. Some enterprising persons have turned that hope into cash by "writing up" individuals who are willing to exchange real money for the possibility of being among those mentioned" in the news columns. These little

sketches, known as press bulletins," "biobulletins," etc., are sent by the promoters to the newspapers. Upon request the promoters will also send half-tone cuts of the persons written up. As these sketches cost nothing and are accurate, the morgue man welcomes them.

In itself this scheme of thus writing up a person is innocent enough. It is simply a scheme to play upon vanity. Yet it may

become the means of blackmail, as a certain morgue man discovered. He received one day a very flattering write-up of a prominent lawyer whom he knew well. This exhibition of what looked like vanity in a hardheaded attorney surprised him. When, later in the day, a news story came over the wires involving that lawyer's name with a woman's, he thought he saw a light. That night he met his lawyer friend at a college dinner. What did that sketch cost you?" he asked, point blank.

Five hundred dollars," said the lawyer. - Tell me this," said the morgue man. Just what did the writer of that sketch say to you? Did he intimate that he could keep your name out of print as well as get it in ?"

Yes; he said he had confidential relations with the newspapers," replied the lawyer. And he thought I might like to make use of those relations at this time."

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Well," said the morgue man, “you've been stung. If there is any man in existence who could have that story about you killed, I could. And I could no more sup、 press the story than I can fly."

The next day, accompanied by a Govern ment attorney, the two men visited the writer of the sketch. He refunded $450, the remaining $50 being allowed by the lawyer as a fair remuneration for the actual service rendered. And that service proved to be the worst kind of a boomerang. It gave to the newspapers just the biographical facts they wanted, and it increased rather than decreased publicity about the poor lawyer.

Those who would like to get their names out of the morgue are, of course, usually persons who have done something either criminal or disgraceful. Particularly would certain individuals of the criminal class like to

get out of the morgue. The rogues' gallery and the Bertillon system are not more hateful to them. For no police record in existence begins to compare in completeness with the information contained in some morgues about certain wrong-doers. Some of these persons would gladly pay thousands of dollars to get their names out of the morgue; but be it said to the honor of newspaper men that such a thing as a morgue-keeper's selling out to a rogue is unknown in the annals of journalism.

To classify the various items in a morgue is, as a rule, easy enough. Particularly is that the case with the records of individuals; for all that is ever printed about the average morgue subject will slip easily into one small envelope. But here, as elsewhere, there are exceptions to the rule. So much is printed about such men as J. P. Morgan, Andrew Carnegie, and John D. Rockefeller that the morgue-keeper is put to it to know how to arrange the clippings, for the first essential of a morgue is that every clipping shall be instantly available. In the hour of stress the hurried reporter has no time to hunt through scores of clippings. He must be able instantly to lay his finger on the clipping he wants. So the morgue man divides the clippings about prominent men along different lines. Mr. Roosevelt is at once the joy and despair of the morgue man. The things that have been printed about him in the last twenty-five years and they are all in the morgue—would make a library in themselves. There are simply pecks of Roosevelt items. As one morgue man put it, "We had to choose