IN MATSUÉ We had journeyed in trains and in steamers, in big boats and in little boats, in _kuruma_ and _sampan_, and had reached the Land of the Gods--and the inn at Matsué. Not the least of our difficulties had been to find that inn, for our landlord at Kyoto, on hearing we were bound for Matsué, had offered to make all arrangements for us through a “friend in the Prefecture.” And the arrangements had been made, but when we asked for explanations, the address of the friend or the name of our inn, he only smiled, a polite unexplanatory smile, spread out his hands with ceremony, and bowed. All was “_yoroshī_.” With this much information we had started, with this much and no more we had arrived. The baby steamer ran alongside the wharf at Matsué, her first-class passengers wriggled out of her cabin, her deck passengers crawled from under the awning; and we sat still, our luggage piled around us, wondering if, like the Peri at the Gates of Paradise, the Land of the Gods would admit us or not. Just then, when the pause had become really embarrassing, a white-uniformed policeman boarded the steamer; with much ceremony he announced--under the circumstances he could hardly have inquired--that we were the _Ijin San_ from Kyoto. We assented, and he promptly led us outside, where a tall, loose-jointed Japanese, with a Red Indian face hatcheted out of iron wood and wearing “foreign” clothes, stood waiting. The white-uniformed policeman politely performed the ceremony of introduction, and stood aside. This was the friend from the Prefecture; and once we had thoroughly and properly and ceremoniously replied to this fact, which took time, our friend from the Prefecture, who had the smile and the teeth, and the difficulty in concealing them, of the famous Mr. Carker (only he was amiable), introduced our landlord, a little, bright, black squirrel of a man grasping an immense umbrella. More ceremony of course, while the crowd gathered round and the policeman patrolled the group. We were personages. One gesture from the amiable Carker of Matsué Prefecture and five _kurumaya_ burst through the crowd, while twice as many assistants rushed off to bring out our luggage under the eagle eye of the policeman; and with his personal assurances as to our safety and comfort in Matsué, we and our luggage were packed into three _kuruma_, the amiable Carker and the black squirrel of a landlord climbed into two more, and the procession started. The policeman saluted; the crowd, at the most respectful distance, silently stared; Matsué received her visitors as the most distinguished of strangers.