ance with England, though perhaps in more or less modified form. She has already entered into an entente cordiale with Russia. By renewing the alliance with England, she will become a party to a triangular combination and thus secure herself against the not improbable revenge of Germany. England, too, will be anxious to participate in such a combination, for she knows that she will have to bear the brunt of Germany's bitterest enmity for many years after the war. If, on the other hand, Russia is dissatisfied with the outcome of the peace parley, and shows herself inclined to be reconciled with Germany, Japan will of necessity hesitate to continue the alliance with England on the same basis as hitherto; for it is a foregone conclusion that Japan will avoid, if she can possibly do so, another disastrous war with Russia, knowing that her resources are too limited to cope with Russia's tremendous potential power. Japan's present relationship with Russia is one of entente cordiale, and not one of alliance; for the recently concluded convention provides no mutual obligations of the high contracting parties to extend armed assistance to each other. On the contrary, the Anglo-Japanese alliance, in its present form, obliges either high contracting party to render armed assistance to the other in case either is involved in war, defending its territorial or special interests mentioned in the treaty. Should Russia and England cease to be friends as the result of the peace conference and eventually become involved in war, into which Germany might easily be drawn as Russia's ally, England, on the strength of the present alliance, would oblige Japan to open hostilities against Russia and Germany. The instinct of self-preservation must impel Japan to avoid such a disastrous course. Street views with some little uneasiness the growing friendship between Tokio and Petrograd. It is rumored that soon after the fall of Tsingtau Marquis Yamagata, dean of the elder statesmen of Japan, expressed himself in favor of entering into an alliance with Russia. His idea in urging such an alliance was, of course, to prepare against Germany's possible revenge. He entertained no thought of superseding the Anglo-Japanese alliance by an alliance with Russia. In official circles, however, it was feared that Great Britain would by no means be pleased if Japan were to take steps towards the conclusion of an alliance with Russia. This was undoubtedly the circumstance which caused much delay in the consummation of the new convention with Russia, which was to have been signed almost a year before. Count (now Marquis) Okuma, in a statement for the press, made it plain that the delay was due to the negotiation which had to be conducted with the British government. There is no room to doubt that Japan has been fastidiously considerate of the susceptibilities of the British government so much so, indeed, that a Tokio newspaper sarcastically inquires if Japan's foreign department is in Downing Street. Yet the alliance terminates in 1921. Will it be renewed, or will the two powers have come to the parting of the ways? The key is in Russia's hands. It does not take a prophet to foresee that Russia's attitude and disposition will be the determining factor in the realignment of the powers in the Far East. Much has of late been said of Japanese discontent with the alliance with England. But the public has forgotten that before Japan began to complain of England's 'selfishness' many British newspapers and publicists had long been assailing Japan. As early as 1908 It is not unthinkable that Downing such men as Lord Stanhope and F. B. Vrooman, and many others, openly attacked Japanese ambitions, and urged the readjustment of England's FarEastern policy. The same sentiment has been voiced in not a few English newspapers. At that time Japanese publicists and press made no reply to such expressions of unfriendliness. Japan's whole attention was turned to the recuperation of her energy and to the readjustment of her position in Manchuria. As she gradually recovered from the shock of the Russian war, however, she began to cast about and found that England's attitude towards her had been far from cordial. But it was not until after the fall of Tsingtau that a few Japanese newspapers and publicists openly attacked the British policy in the Far East. The reader will recall that when Japan decided to enter into the war England dispatched a cruiser and a contingent of troops to participate in the siege of Tsingtau, the German stronghold in Kiau-chow. Officially Japan extended to them a cordial hand of welcome, but at heart she felt that England was intruding in a field where her assistance was not needed. The Japanese felt that their western ally must either be distrustful of them or entertain motives other than those of expediting the reduction of Tsingtau. No public comment was made to that effect, but the feeling was in the air. Upon the fall of Tsingtau one or two newspapers in Tokio came out with the assertion that England, on the strength of the part she had played in the capture of Tsingtau, coveted the northern half of the Tientsin-Pukow line controlled by Germany. It was also rumored that she was averse to the extension of Japanese influence in Shantung, formerly Germany's sphere of influence. How true these statements were only those within the inner official circles at London and Tokio can tell. The fact remains that they did no small injury to the cordial relations between the two nations. In the celebrated Japanese demands presented to China in January, 1915, Japan expressed the 'wish' that China would grant her the privilege of constructing a railway connecting Wuchang with the Kiukiang-Nanchang line, in which considerable Japanese capital had been invested, as well as the railways between Nanchang and Hangchau and between Nanchang and Chaochow, provided that Great Britain would not object to the concession. These cities are in the Yangtse Valley, which England has long since staked out as her own sphere of influence. Whether England checkmated Japan's scheme to secure the above-named rail-. way concessions is not known, but the significant fact was that the British press severely criticized that particular phase of the Japanese demands. At any rate, Japan failed to get the concessions. Most Britishers in China are antiJapanese. They believe that the Japanese are their inevitable rivals in the Far East, and cannot understand why their government should tie its hands by an alliance with Japan and render itself unable to check Japanese ambitions. They can see only the two billion dollars they have invested in China, and they resent the gradual incursions of Japanese trade into the field long monopolized by them. They often fail to see the situation in the broader light of international relations. What would have become of British prestige in the Orient had England, lending ear to the ill-considered counsels of her citizens in China, bade good-bye to Japan in 1911? But this dog-in-the-manger attitude is not restricted to the Britishers. The Japanese entertain the same sentiment with regard to certain parts of China, notably Manchuria, where their in vestments amount to two hundred and fifty million dollars. The blame is on both sides. The idea of the exclusive 'sphere of influence' is pernicious and must be modified, if not abandoned. To one looking at the situation from a detached point of view, it seems incomprehensible that England cannot be more generous toward Japanese enterprise in the Yangtse Valley. The 'valley' has an area of 362,000 square miles; certainly England cannot monopolize such a vast territory in addition to Tibet, 533,000 square miles in area. One fails to understand why she should be reluctant to see Japan build there a few hundred miles of railway which would, after all, benefit her as much as Japan. In the Japanese sphere in South Manchuria, measuring 90,000 square miles, we know of no instance wherein British enterprise has been hindered by the Japanese. When in 1913 the British government, on behalf of the AngloChinese Corporation, sounded the Japanese government as to whether objection would be made to the corporation's project to lay a railway between Kingchao and Chaoyang in Manchuria, Japan cheerfully indorsed the plan. As for trade competition, no one should complain of his defeat so long as his successful rival observes the rules of sportsmanship. Despite all the unkind things that have been said about the Japanese, one must concede that their commercial success in China has been due largely to their perseverance, industry, agility, and frugality. You cannot succeed in business in the Orient by spending four hours a day in a luxurious office, devoting the rest of the time to golfing and dinners and social gatherings, while your Asiatic rivals work fifteen hours or more every day and are satisfied with offices or shops which offer no personal comfort. And this is merely one of the many factors that enter into the reckoning. The growing friendship between the natives of India and the Japanese has furnished another cause for suspicion, not to say irritation, on the part of England. It is nothing new that even bonafide Japanese travelers and merchants in India are subjected to espionage by British officials. Not only have the Englishmen in India been suspicious of those Japanese likely to come in contact with the radical elements of the Hindu population, but they have also shown a propensity to exclude Japanese commercial enterprise from the country. On the other hand, the Japanese see no reason why they should act as England's watchdog for India. Suppose India rose in rebellion while England's hands were full in Europe: would Japan be required to quell the insurrection by virtue of the alliance treaty? The provision of the existing treaty is not clear as to Japan's duty in such a case. Japan would undoubtedly prefer British rule in India to that of Germany or Russia, if the country had to be dominated by some European power; but the point is that she would be reluctant to take part in crushing the just aspiration of the Hindus for independence and freedom. After all has been said and done, we might still have safely predicted the renewal of the alliance five years hence, had it not been for the difficulty of forecasting the post-bellum attitude of Russia. Once again we say, the key is in Russia's hands. A HUNT FOR HOATZINS BY WILLIAM BEEBE I LINES of gray, plunging tropic rain slanted across the whole world. Outward-curving waves of red mud lost themselves in the steady downpour beyond the guards on the motor-car of the Inspector of Police. It is surprising to think how many times and in what a multitude of places I have been indebted to inspectors of police. In New York the average visitor would never think of meeting that official except under extraordinary and perhaps compromising circumstances; but in tropical British possessions the head of the police combines with his requisite large quantity of gold lace and tact a delightful way of placing visitors, and especially those of serious scientific intent, under considerable obligation. So my present Inspector of Police, at an official banquet the preceding evening, had insisted that I travel along the seafront of Guiana - betwixt muddy salt water and cane-fields in his car. But an inspector of police is not necessarily a weather prophet, and now the closedrawn curtains forbade any view, so it was decided that I tranship to the single daily train. Three times I had to pass the ticketcollector at the station to see after my luggage, and three times a large cloverleaf was punched out of my exceedingly small bit of pasteboard. A can of formaline still eluded me, but I looked dubiously at my limp trey of clubs. Like a soggy gingersnap, it drooped with its own weight, and the chances seemed about even whether another trip past the hopelessly conscientious coolie gateman would find me with a totally dismembered ticket or an asymmetrical four of clubs of lace-like consistency. I forebore, and walking to the end of the platform, looked out at a long line of feathery cocoanut-palms, pasteled by the intervening rain. They were silhouetted in a station aperture of corrugated iron, of all building materials the most hideous; but the aperture was of that most graceful of all shapes, a Moorish arch. Neither my color nor my caste, in this ultra-democratic country, forced me to travel first-class, but that necessary, unwritten distinction, felt so keenly wherever there is a mingling of race, compelled me to step into a deserted car upholstered in soiled dusty blue. I regretted that I must 'save my face,' as a Chinaman would say, and not sit on the greasy bare boards of the secondclass coach, where fascinating coolie persons sat, squatting on the seats with their heads mixed up with their knees. Desire, prompted by interest and curiosity, drew me to them, and frequently I got up and walked past, listening to the subdued clink of silver bracelets and anklets, and sniffing the wisps of ghee and curry and hemp which drifted out. Nose-rings flashed, and in the dim station light I caught faint gleams of pastel scarves sea-green and rose. I longed for Kim's disguise, but I knew that before many stations were passed the concentration of mingled odors would have driven me back to my soli tude. Perhaps the chief joy of it all lay in the vignettes of memory which it aroused: that unbelievable hot midnight at Agra; the glimpse of sheer Paradise in a sunrise on the slopes of Kinchinjunga; the odors of a caravan headed for the Khyber Pass. - no, When I returned to my coach I found I was to have company. A stout exceedingly fat bespectacled gentleman, with pigment of ebony, and arrayed in full evening dress and high hat, was guarding a small dilapidated suitcase, and glaring at him across the aisle was a man of chocolate hue, with the straight black hair of the East Indian and the high cheek-bones and slanting eyes of the Mongolian. His dress was a black suit of heavy Scotch plaid, waistcoat and all, with diamonds and loud tie, and a monocle which he did not attempt to use. Far off in the distant corner lounged a bronzed planter in comfortable muddy clothes. But we three upheld the prestige of the west end of the carriage. Soon, impelled by the great heat, I removed my coat and was looked at askance; but I was the only comfortable one of the three. With the planter I should have liked to converse, but with those who sat near I held no communication. I could think of them only as insincere imitators of customs wholly unadapted to their present lives and country. I could have respected them so much more if they had clad themselves in cool white duck. I hold that a man is not worth knowing who will endure excessive tropical heat, perspiring at every pore, because his pride demands a waistcoat and coat of thickest woolen material, which would have been comfortable in a blizzard. So I went out again to look at the coolies with their honest garb of draped linen, and they seemed more sincere and worthy of acquaintance. We started at last, and only a few miles of glistening track had passed beneath us when, finally, proof of the complete schism between police and weather bureaus became evident: the fresh trade-wind dispersed the rain! The clouds remained, however - low, swirling masses of ashy-blue, billowing out like smoke from a bursting shell, or fraying in pale gray tatters, tangling the fronds of lofty palms. For the rest of the day the light came from the horizona thrillingly weird, indirect illumination, which lent vividness and intensity to every view. The world was scoured clean, the air cleansed of every particle of dust, while the clouds lent a cool freshness wholly untropical, and hour after hour the splendid savannah lands of the coast of Guiana slipped past, as we rumbled swiftly southward along the entire shore-front. At first we passed close to the sea, and this was the most exciting part of the trip. In places the dikes had given way and the turbulent muddy waters had swept inland over rice and canefields, submerging in one implacable tide the labor of years. A new dike, of mud and timbers and sweet-smelling hurdles of black sage, had been erected at the roadside, and past this went all traffic. Now and then an automobile had to slow up until a great wave broke, and then dash at full speed across the danger-spot. In spite of the swiftness, the wind-flung spray of the next wave would drench the occupants. The lowering sea-water glistened among the sickly plants, and strange fish troubled the salty pools as they sought uneasily for an outlet to the ocean. A flock of skimmers looked wholly out of place driving past a clump of bamboos. Then the roadbed shifted inland, and lines of patient, humped zebus trailed slowly from their sheds-sheds of larger size and better built than the huts of their owners. These open-work homes were so picturesque and unobtrusive; |