I was in a reverie when the priest ended his talk. To my embarrassment he begged me to come with him within the altar rail and speak to the people. I had been quickened to such a degree by the experience of the previous night and by this service at dawn that I stood up at once. But there seemed to be not one word at my call, and my knees knocked because of cold and shyness. I grasped the chilly brass altar rail, and, as I met the gaze of friendly, sun-tanned, care-rutted alien faces, which yet had the look of "kent folk," I marvellously found sentence following sentence. What I said matters nothing. What I felt was the unity of all religion, my veneration for this rare priest, a sense of kinship with these worshippers of another race and faith, and a realisation of the elemental things which lie at the basis of international understanding. Several old men and women came up to me and bowed and made little speeches of kindness and cordiality. Six was striking on a clock in the priest's house as the doors of the temple were slid open, the great cryptomeria[12] which guard the village fane stood forth augustly in the morning light, and the congregation went out to its labour. As I knelt at breakfast and ate my rice and pickles and drank my _miso_ soup,[13] the priest, after the manner of a Japanese with an honoured guest, did not take food but waited upon me. He asked if the English clergy wore a costume which marked them off from the people. He liked the way of some of our preachers who wore ordinary clothes and eschewed the title of "reverend." He was also taken by the idea of the Quaker meeting at which there is silence until someone feels he has a message to utter. As to the future of Buddhism, he deeply regretted to say that many priests were a generation behind the age. If the priests were "more democratic, better educated and more truly religious," then they might be able to keep hold of young men. He knew of one priest in Tokyo who had a dormitory for university students. The priest presented his wife, a kindly woman full of character. "This is my wife," he said; "please teach her." I spoke of a kind of kindergarten which I had learnt had been conducted at the temple for five years. "We merely play with the children," she said. "I had the plan of it from the kindergarten of a missionary," her husband added. The priest and his wife were kneeling side by side in the still temple-room looking out on their restful garden. Behind them was a screen the inscription on which might be translated, "We are to be thankful for our environment; we are to become content quite naturally by the gracious influence of the universe and by the strength of our own will."