Board Schools; of admission to training ships, reformatories and homes and teaching establishments of all kinds under public control, to all public schools, to the local examinations of the universities, and to the preliminary examinations for the professions. The French Government has just ordered that all persons wishing to enter as medical students in Paris must first be re-vaccinated. This precaution might, with the greatest advantage to the public as well as to individuals, be extended to all professions where a regular apprenticeship is required. It would be well also if it were adopted by railway companies, ship-builders, gas and water companies, owners of factories and warehouses, and all large employers of labour, and by authorities of schools. In fact, a system of rewards for re-vaccination might be established, and it is conceivable that in this way public opinion might be educated to such a degree that it would come to be deemed as disgraceful to be unre-vaccinated as it is now thought to be unwashed.

If the State concerns itself with vaccination at all, it is incumbent on it to exercise strict vigilance over its performance. At present, it must be admitted, it is too often imperfectly performed. I am inclined to think that it would be better to entrust the duty altogether to public vaccinators, who should seek out the persons to be vaccinated at their own homes, and whose work should be under Government inspection. I think also it is the clear duty of the State to make itself responsible for the supply as well as for the use of pure lymph. That there is room for reform in the way vaccination is now carried out, at least in England, is clearly shown by the evidence before the Commissioners; and the Report will have done something to compensate for its evil effects in other ways if it leads to a more efficient and a more careful performance of the operation.

Isolation, which is the substitute proposed for vaccination by the dissentients, is most useful as an ally, but it could not stand alone as a means of protection, for the simple reason that when any strain on the machinery came it would inevitably break down, as it did at Leicester in 1893. Compulsory isolation' on any large scale would be far more resisted than vaccination, and if enforced, would be sure to lead sooner or later to the revolt of the rate-payer. In fact, the 'conscience' of recalcitrant parents would be at least as much outraged by isolation as by vaccination, and its enforcement would only lead to the development of a new kind of martyr.'

To sum up I would retain the element of compulsion in full force as far as primary vaccination is concerned, but I would make 'martyrdom' less cheap. Instead of repeated penalties, I would impose one fine sufficiently substantial to act as a deterrent. In case of persistent disobedience I would go the length of temporary disfranchisement, a penalty which is not too great for an act of bad citizenship.

Re-vaccination should, as already said, be promoted by a system of rewards.

After all, the question of vaccination is one that chiefly concerns the people itself. The medical profession, if it looked at the matter from a purely selfish point of view, would certainly take no trouble to promote a practice which is directly injurious to its material interests. Doctors know how to protect themselves and those dear to them, and if only men and women were in question, they might be content to let them enjoy the freedom which, as Dr. Gregory wrote many years ago, every Englishman values so greatly, of doing what is foolish and wrong, and going to the devil his own way.'

But the young, young children, O my brothers!

6

For the sake of these helpless ones I would earnestly plead that there should be no relaxation of the existing law.

MALCOLM MORRIS.

A SHINTO FUNERAL

AMONG the advisers who in this generation have surrounded the throne of Japan there have been none more valued by both Emperor and people, none who, by wise counsels and devoted loyalty, have contributed more to raise the ancient empire to the position which it occupies to-day, than Prince Taruhito Arisugawa, whose death caused universal mourning throughout the land.

A man of high principle, and steadfast, upright, honest character, he joined to the ardent patriotism which is a Japanese characteristic a warm personal affection for the Emperor; and by his caution and wisdom he was a constant influence for good in all state affairs. A prince of the blood, but by birth no nearer than a fourth cousin of the Emperor, the Japanese custom of adoption gave him the position of uncle to the latter, and he was, whether by birth or by reason of this adoption is uncertain, heir presumptive to the throne next in succession to the crown prince.

When, at the beginning of the war with China, Hiroshima was fixed on as the headquarters of the army, he accompanied the Emperor thither, and, as chief of the general staff, was ever in his place at the counsels of war, and working indefatigably for the success of the plans which his wisdom did so much to formulate.

If we reckon, as we surely must do, among the brave men who have given their lives for their country those whom disease has stricken down while they were leading armies to victory, Prince Arisugawa's name must be included in the number. The staff at Hiroshima, following in that the example set them by the Emperor, have kept constantly before their minds the hardships and privations endured by the troops, and have regulated their own lives by a standard which they have striven to approximate to that which is possible for their soldiers.

Prince Arisugawa was sixty-one; not an old man, but still past the age when such exertions and privations can be undergone with impunity, and there appears to be no doubt that when, in December, he was attacked by typhoid fever, the strain to which his constitution

had been subjected during the preceding months had so far undermined it as to make recovery impossible. He was at once moved from Hiroshima to his summer palace at Maiko, near Kobi, and there he was tenderly nursed by his wife and by his daughter-in-law, the wife of his adopted son (and younger brother) Prince Takihito Arisugawa, until the end came.

Prince Takihito, who is hardly more than half the age of the late prince, young enough to be in reality his son, holds the rank of commander in the navy, and was at his post on board the Matsushima Kan, Admiral Ito's flagship, off Port Arthur. Though he had been ordered home by the Emperor, he arrived too late. The body had been embalmed in order that he might look once more on his father's face, the funeral ceremonies delayed that he might conduct them, and so he, with the princesses and their suite, brought their dead home to his palace in Tokyo.

The long, smooth, easy journey by the well-worked railway forces our thoughts back by contrast, though it is but a short way back as to time, and suggests to us what, thirty or forty years ago, would have been the magnificent progress of this dead prince, borne to his burial up the Hokaido.

The special train was timed to reach Tokyo at one o'clock in the morning, so as to avoid any publicity; and not till the next day, when the body lay in the Arisugawa palace, was the official announcement of the death made. The coffin was placed in an inner chamber, and there came the grand master of ceremonies, bearing gifts for the dead, and a last message from the Emperor. This is a touching and very ancient custom. The body of the dead prince lay robed in the old traditional court dress of richest white, with his mourning family round him. First the gifts, rolls of red and white silk, were presented; then, standing in front of the coffin, the messenger read, or rather intoned, the last greetings of his master:

We wish to express to you, Taruhito, our sense of our many and great obligations to you for your many and great services to us and to our country during your whole life. At the time of the great restoration you took an active part, and by your wise counsel, assisted us greatly. During the present war you have again done us great and good service by your assistance in our deliberations. You have been a pillar of support to us. To our infinite sorrow you have not lived to see the end of the war. Unfortunately it has pleased God to remove you from us, from your country and from your family.

MUTSUHITO.

The scene was profoundly touching and impressive, never to be forgotten by those who witnessed it. The prince was of the Shinto religion, the recognised state religion of Japan, one characteristic of which is a dignified simplicity of form, colour, and ceremonial. There

was no public lying in state. The Emperor's gifts were placed in the coffin of pure white wood, which was then closed, and watched day and night by all the members of the family and by Shinto priests, who, twice a day, said 'masses' for the repose of the soul of the dead prince. While this solemn watch was being kept in the inner chamber, crowds came to express their condolences to the living and their respect for the dead, inscribing their names in a volume laid out in the 'genka' or entrance hall. The whole city was in mourning. In the streets, lately so gay with decorations for the new year, no flag or lantern was to be seen. All music was strictly forbidden. The accustomed tinkle of the koto behind the paper slides of the houses was not heard; nor the notes of the piano from the schools and homes where young girls labour with patient diligence to add the graces and accomplishments of the West to those which are their birthright; nor the twang of the samisen, played at the street corners by old women with an air faux of poverty about them, which is more potent than their strains to charm a sen or two from passersby. All were silent, and, as is so often the case, their absence seemed more noticeable than their presence had ever been.

The funeral was a national one, twenty thousand dollars having been voted by the diet for the purpose. The ceremonial to be observed was arranged by a special commission appointed by the Emperor. The imperial burying-ground is more than four miles distant from the Arisugawa palace, and early in the morning the entire route was packed on either side with crowds so quiet and orderly that the gendarmes and police who were there to keep the road did not seem to find any exercise of control necessary.

Tora no mon and Sakurada mitsuke are two of the many gates guarding bridges over the moats, which are the great distinctive feature of Tokyo. In the wide, open space between these two gates the crowd was perhaps greatest, for here the procession may be Isaid to have been formed. The palace stood at a little distance only, halfway up a steep hill, at the foot of which is the open space just mentioned. Many carriages and jinrickshas waited below, and, with more than one regiment of soldiers, filled the centre of the space. Crowded round these, save where the road was kept free for the passing of the procession, were those who had come to see the great man borne to his burial.

It was an ideal winter morning, the clear frosty air and the sunshine combining to make all bright things brighter and to light up even the most sombre. Men, tall on their high wooden geta, held up their children on their shoulders. Girls with brilliant holiday sashes, and with elaborate kanzashi in their hair, where whole scenes of naval and military glory are condensed on the top of a hairpin, flitted about hand in hand, too shy to push, looking in vain for a