As the train stops at the terminus of Shimbashi, I can scarcely realize that I have reached the capital of beautiful Japan. The huge station is one of the most commonplace erections I have ever come across in my long journeys. Platforms, booking offices, waiting rooms, are perfect copies of all that the Western mind has produced to be useful, but from an artistic point of view featureless and colourless. And even the crowd, which bustles along and overflows the whole place, is as drab as it could be in any commercial centre on our side of the globe. Even those who still cling to the national _kimono_, instead of keeping to the old bright colours, have it made of dark cloth or modern cotton material. As I step out into the street my disappointment is even greater. I see a few buildings constructed of wood, without any ornamentation, the unpainted timber grey and weather-beaten. I must say the day is very much against the creation of a favourable impression. It is a cold January morning, gloomy and dark, sleet falling from leaden clouds, and the streets are thickly covered with black mud. I can almost imagine myself in the suburbs of Pittsburg, for there is a great deal of smoke, the only apparent difference being that steel is replaced mostly by timber. As my jinrickshaw rolls along through the maze of wide streets and narrow lanes, I do not feel elated. My extraordinary vehicle, which is drawn by two men harnessed tandem fashion and pushed by another, has, however, an Eastern flavour, though the 'rickshaw was actually invented by an Anglo-Saxon genius.