The day before I left Tôkiyô, the rain fell in such torrents that I could not even send my servant into Yokohama with my baggage; the next day I dispensed with him, giving him a suitable compensation, and have not yet been suffered to miss him.

On a cool and brilliant afternoon, dashing through the blue water, amidst crowds of sampans, in the Juno's steam-launch, and afterwards on the broad white deck of the Shanghai mail steamer, Hiroshima Maru, with Fuji standing out in his magnificent loneliness against a golden sky–a violet dome crested with snow, I was a little in love with Yokohama–at a distance! That Hiroshima, a large American sidewheel, deck-over-deck, unrigged steamer, is a historic boat, for she was the Golden Age on the old Panama route, and, in the palmy days of California, used to carry 1000 passengers at a time to the golden land. One of her large cabins is still called the El Dorado, and the other L'Esperance, and the last being allotted to me, proved a good omen, for I never made a more charming voyage, Captain Furber's genial kindness, excellent accommodation, a refined cuisine, brilliant sunshine, grand coast views, and a waveless sea, all combining to make it pleasant. After such dingy, drowning weather, one appreciates the sunshine heartily.