Here I laid one hand on my heart, and bent my head a little, not exactly knowing what else to do; and I said, with what I hope was becoming modesty: "Oh! your Highness--is it Highness--Excellency, or High Cockolorum?" I whispered to the lady who stood next me. "Excellency," whispered she back again. "Oh, your High Excellency," says I; for, being by nature a conservative, I took what seemed best out of each. "You are too complimentary." With that I made him a curtsey that over-matched his bow, for there was more of it a good deal, on account of his smallness, and my height, in which we were both a little peculiar. The Embassador looked as if he hadn't time to answer; for he was busy bowing to the other ladies, and the rest of the Japanese all came up, and there was such a slow bending time among 'em that it was ten minutes before there was anything else done. Then we got a little mixed, and seemed to be ladies altogether, only those who were going in to dinner seemed to carry their own punch-bowls on their heads; as for dresses and so on, we were pretty much alike, and the master of the house in his black coat, and so forth, seemed the only man among us. By and by Mr. Iwakura came back to where I was standing, and the young man came with him to do up the talking. "I have never before seen a lady that wrote books," says he, in the sweetest manner; which the other repeated in English that wasn't half so musical. There was an inward struggle in my mind; the compliment was sweet, and I longed to keep it; but truth is truth. My foot is on the threshold; I have looked into the Temple of Fame, but am not yet what I hope to be; but the truth is, I haven't written any books, _as_ books, yet. It wounded me to say so, but truth is a jewel that I have resolved shall shine, like a railroad man's diamond, in my bosom, forever. "Your High Excellency," says I, with brave self-control, "my humble efforts have not yet been bound in covers, but they will soon increase to that extent. Have you no female authors in that Japanee country of yours?" When the young man expounded these questions to Mr. Iwakura, the eyes of his High Excellency began to sparkle from one sharp corner to the other, and he smiled blandly-- "Oh yes! we have ladies who write in Japan; but not lines of wisdom, like yourself; they write poems." "Love poems?" says I. "Mostly," says he; and his little eyes lighted up from corner to corner--"love poems, home poems, and such things as ladies understand by heart." "The Japanese language is so sweet," says I, "the ladies cannot be very strong-minded that write it." "Strong-minded--what is that?" says he. "Manly, strong; sometimes fierce," says I. "His Highness does not quite comprehend," says the young man. "Then I must illustrate," says I. "For instance, if an American woman were to dress as near like a man as--well, I beg pardon--as his High Excellency and his friends dress like women, we should call them high-minded."