In the evening, with some friends whom I had met on a previous visit, I journeyed to the “club,” where the conversation was all baseball; after the fine points of the game had been discussed, it was unanimously decided that, it being too late to perform a diagnosis, an autopsy should be held, somebody even suggested an inquest; however, let it suffice, that the obsequies terminated ceremoniously, with the pathetic recital of “Casey at the bat” by W. P. Bradley, an American. In the British army during its hard-fighting days, when the loss of so many soldiers had a depressing effect on those who attended their departed heroes to the grave, it was deemed expedient to have the band play inspiring airs, immediately following the last notes of “taps,” which invariably had a cheering effect on the soldiers; this was accompanied by a social gathering at the “canteen,” where deep draughts, in communion and good fellowship, were quaffed from the “flowing bowl.” The sad loss the “Kobe Country Club” had suffered on the “diamond” this day had enjoined the members to seek recourse to the above custom, and verily I disclose unto those in attendance that night in Japan, if, with the awakening of the dawn, your feverish brows throbbed for cracked ice as mine did, my sympathy for you is unbounded. During the celebration this night at the club, each guest performed some little sketch of his own; an officer of the British battleship _Endymion_, being pressed “real hard” for a song, was finally prevailed upon for a selection. Taking a position at the piano, he skilfully ran over the keys, then, turning, addressed the club as follows: “Gentlemen, am noute at ’ome in the voucal loine, but, if you must ’ave a song, a’l endeavor to sing a selection sent to me by an aeold friend in the United States, entitled, ‘I’d leave my ’appy ’ome for you, double o, double o.’” We Americans who had heard the song in the “States” knew the title to be, “I’d leave my happy home for you, oo, oo.” Turning to the piano, our friend commenced: “I’d leave my ’appy ’ome for you, double o, double o; For you’re the sweetest girl I ever knew, double o, double o,” et cetera. Well, the chuckling expressions of mirth that this ridiculous song brought forth created a laughable scene. Once begun, the fellow was unwilling to stop; he evidently had hysteria, and thought the laughing applause, for he pounded away on the keys, and rang in double o, whether it fitted or not, until, finally, a brother officer went to him and whispered something in his ear, whereupon he ceased, and joined in the laugh with all the attributes of a good sport.