When the repast was concluded some Japanese amateur-artists from Yedo, who had come down from the city in the suite of the commissioners, made crayon sketches of many of the officers, and seemed to labor under the impression, that the only thing necessary to make a good American portrait was to draw a large nose, and sketch the balance of the features around it. Their essays at representing flowers—the Japonica for instance, were much better. While on shore, I took the opportunity of making a closer inspection of the Japanese troops, who were standing in line in a neighboring field. They did not present as good an appearance as when drawn up at Gorihama, the year before. They did not seem as athletic as the Tartar troops I saw at the fort back of Canton, or at Shanghae; and it appears to me, that even if they were armed with the percussion-musket, or the modern Minie rifle, instead of the antiquated matchlock, old Dutch muskets, &c., as they are, still their unsoldierly costume, would prevent, that freedom and quickness of movement, and celerity in the use of offensive weapons, that now-a-days constitute effective troops. In my limited reconnoissance, I took occasion to pull some of the family Camellia Japonicas, that were growing wild. One of the two-sworded gentry seeing me standing near the beach, with a bunch in my hand, desired to know the name of the flower in “American.” Upon being told he repeated the word until he got our pronunciation quite accurately, and then wrote it down in a small soft-paper book with a camel’s hair pencil, they always going provided with these, together with a small bronze ink-holder, and a handle to contain the pencil, at a short distance not unlike a small pipe, with the bowl downward. I retorted his question and requested the name of the flower in “Nip-pon,” as they called their country. He said, “T’su-bi-ki.” The “illustrious stranger”—wearied me more than himself with the number of his queries. I had to catalogue nearly every article in my wardrobe in English for him, which he invariably noted down. Upon showing him my watch, he pronounced the word “chronometer” quite plainly; and on espying when the case was opened, my name engraved on the back, he wanted to know what it was. Touching myself I pronounced my name, which he wrote down, but hardly succeeded in repeating. They can not say “l,” but call it “r.” The word “glove,” which they call “grove,” is too much for them.