deadly weapon will indeed have deserved well of his country; but it
will be a difficult task to undertake, and a dangerous one. I would
not give much for that man's life. The hand of every swashbuckler in
the empire would be against him. One day as we were talking over this
and other kindred subjects, a friend of mine, a man of advanced and
liberal views, wrote down his opinion, _more Japonico_, in a verse of
poetry which ran as follows:--"I would that all the swords and dirks
in the country might be collected in one place and molten down, and
that, from the metal so produced, one huge sword might be forged,
which, being the only blade left, should be the girded sword of Great
Japan."

The following history is in more senses than one a "Tale of a Sword."

About two hundred and fifty years ago Ikéda Kunaishôyu was Lord of the
Province of Inaba. Among his retainers were two gentlemen, named
Watanabé Yukiyé and Kawai Matazayémon, who were bound together by
strong ties of friendship, and were in the habit of frequently
visiting at one another's houses. One day Yukiyé was sitting
conversing with Matazayémon in the house of the latter, when, on a
sudden, a sword that was lying in the raised part of the room caught
his eye. As he saw it, he started and said--

"Pray tell me, how came you by that sword?"

"Well, as you know, when my Lord Ikéda followed my Lord Tokugawa
Iyéyasu to fight at Nagakudé, my father went in his train; and it was
at the battle of Nagakudé that he picked up this sword."

"My father went too, and was killed in the fight, and this sword,