a cold bath, and water and tray had been brought into my room before I
had gone to bed, but to my horror, when I got up, ready to plunge in and
sponge myself to my heart's content, I found nothing but a huge block of
solid ice, into which the water had thought proper to metamorphose
itself. Bells there were none in the house, so recourse had to be made to
the national Japanese custom of clapping one's hands in order to summon
up the servants.

"Hé," answered the slanting-eyed maid from down below, as she trotted up
the steps. Good sharp girl that she was, however, she quickly mastered
the situation, and hurried down to fetch fresh supplies of unfrozen
liquid from the well; although hardly had she left the room the second
time before a thick layer of ice again formed on the surface of the
bucketful which she had brought. It was bathing under difficulties, I can
tell you; but though I do not much mind missing my dinner, I can on no
account bring myself to deprivation of my cold bath in the morning. It is
to this habit that I attribute my freedom from contagious diseases in all
countries and climates; to it I owe, in fact, my life, and I have no
doubt to it, some day, I shall also owe my death.

The evil of cold was, however, nothing as compared with the quality and
variety of the food. For the best part of the week, during which I stayed
at the Dai butzu, I only had an occasional glance at a slice of
nondescript meat, served one day as "rosbif," and the next day as "mutin
shops," but unfortunately so leathery that no Sheffield blade could
possibly divide it, and no human tooth nor jaw, however powerful, could
masticate it.

As luck would have it, I was asked out to dinner once or twice by an
American gentleman--a merchant resident at Chemulpo--and so made up for