this--"_to_ the era of Meiji" (A.D. 1868-1894+) which I have essayed.
Hence I am perfectly willing to accept, in advance, the verdict of smart
inventors who are all ready to patent a brand-new religion for Japan,
that my presentation is "antiquated."

The subject has always been fascinating, despite its inherent
difficulties and the author's personal limitations. When in 1807, the
polite lads from Satsuma and Ki[=o]to came to New Brunswick, N.J., they
found at least one eager questioner, a sophomore, who, while valuing
books, enjoyed at first hand contemporaneous human testimony.

When in 1869, to Rutgers College, came an application through Rev. Dr.
Guido F. Verbeck, of T[=o]ki[=o], from Fukui for a young man to organize
schools upon the American principle in the province of Echizen
(ultra-Buddhistic, yet already so liberally leavened by the ethical
teachings of Yokoi Héishiro), the Faculty made choice of the author.
Accepting the honor and privilege of being one of the "beginners of a
better time," I caught sight of peerless Fuji and set foot on Japanese
soil December 29, 1870. Amid a cannonade of new sensations and fresh
surprises, my first walk was taken in company with the American
missionary (once a marine in Perry's squadron, who later invented the
jin-riki-sha), to see a hill-temple and to study the wayside shrines
around Yokohama. Seven weeks' stay in the city of Yedo--then rising out
of the débris of feudalism to become the Imperial capital, T[=o]ki[=o],
enabled me to see some things now so utterly vanished, that by some
persons their previous existence is questioned. One of the most
interesting characters I met personally was Fukuzawa, the reformer, and
now "the intellectual father of half of the young men of ... Japan." On
the day of the battle of Uyéno, July 11, 1868, this far-seeing patriot
and inquiring spirit deliberately decided to keep out of the strife, and