Dairen, which the Japanese have made of the Russian Dalny in the leased portion of the Liaotung Peninsula that fell to them as the spoils of war, has all the un-Chinese characteristics of such cities, to enumerate which would merely be to describe in detail any one of a hundred great ports and railway termini in Europe or, with certain modifications, North America. May not therefore the broad macadamed streets, the big brick and stone buildings, the great breakwaters, the mammoth cranes on the docks, and all the rest of the signs of what we call progress, so admirable but so unpicturesque, be taken for granted? We liked Port Arthur, which the Japanese have redubbed Ryojun, better. There life was more leisurely; old buildings constructed by the Russians, streets that broke out every little while into grass- and even weed-grown open spaces, the spaciousness of a place which never grew to be the large busy city its founders planned, gave it something of the atmosphere of an old town of England, or of our South, somewhat off the track of present-day hasty and bustling activity. Ryojun is the seat of government of the Japanese leased territory, while Dairen is merely its metropolis. The old Port Arthur and the new are separated by a rivulet emptying into the splendid landlocked port, and by some hills, of which there are more than the eye can count rolling and piling away across all the landscape of the region. These are by far the most conspicuous features of Port Arthur and vicinity, for there is scarcely a knoll among them that does not bear on its summit a monument. Whether it is merely an unconscious manifestation of their military spirit, strong and continual as far back as history can trace them, or a deliberate parading of their victory over a branch of the white man’s world, the Japanese have marked every spot where a handful of their countrymen fell and have preserved the ruins of every fort out of which the Russian defenders were bombarded, so that the hilly landscape of all the region is littered with mementos to the god of war. Nor is his day over in Port Arthur, for a garrison commander sits ever on the alert against kodaking tourists who would profane his stone-built playthings overlooking the bay. Both at Port Arthur and at Dairen there are beaches that might become the international resorts the Japanese are striving to make them, could their sponsors ever learn that the rest of the world is not so enamoured of the dwarfish Nipponese form in the nude as they seem themselves to be.