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not that he indulges more in shameful acts and thoughts, but the least of sins which would escape other eyes are manifest in his sight: hence the first duty of the Samurai, who prides himself upon being the archetype of the race, was to be master of himself. One of the greatest warriors of the eleventh century left a verse behind him, which, roughly translated, runs:

Self-mastery, the maintenance of equanimity of temper under conditions the most trying, in war or peace, of composure and presence of mind in sudden dangers, of fortitude in times of calamities and reverses, was exercised as one of the primary virtues of a man of action; it was even drilled into youths by genuine Spartan methods.

Paradoxical as it may seem at first appearance, this strong fortification of self against external causes of surprise was but one side of self-subjection. One of the terms of highest praise was ‘a man without a me.’ The complete effacement of self meant identification with a personality of some higher cause. The very duties that man performs are, according to our idea, not to buy salvation for himself; he has no prospect of a ‘reward in heaven’ offered him, if he does this or does not do that. The voice of Conscience, ‘Thou good and faithful servant,’ is the only and utmost reward. Impersonality, which Percival Lowell never tires of repeating is a characteristic of the soul of the Far East, may be partly explained by this precept of knighthood. From what I have said it may be seen that shame did not always imply degradation or humiliation in the sight of our fellow-creature. Our expression, Kokoroin-hajirn or Ten-in-hajirn—to be ashamed before one’s own mind or before heaven—has, perhaps, a better equivalent in German than in English in the words sich schämen. A teaching like this was absolutely necessary as well as salutary in a small feudal community where public opinion—which may be the notions of a handful of loquacious people—wielded a stronger influence than in the modern age, and where, therefore, other people’s fancies could more easily work detriment to independence of thought, and where, also, constant demands on self-abnegation could weaken trust in one’s own conviction. ‘As long as my mind’s mirror is unclouded by all your foul breathings upon its face, all is well,’ says a Samurai; or, as a poet has put it: ‘Leaving to each beholder to think whatever thoughts her presence may inspire, the autumn moon shines clear and serene on the crest of yon mount.’ It is true that to a Samurai, who should not be a recluse, it was not