pany and of the Antung Pottery Company, as well as those of the Silk and Woolen Goods Company, stand. A large section of the town is yet to be built, but the grounds are laid out in streets and plots for industrial plants. It has scarcely three-thousand people in it now, but it is richer in prospects than any other section of Antung.

The story of Manchuria is the story of these three sections of the City of Antung: of the Old Town of the Chinese, of the New Town in which the more aggressive of the natives join with the Japanese for building up something of which the ancient place had scarcely dreamed before, and then of the activities of the South Manchuria Railway-of its far-sighted enterprises, its scientific exploitation of the resources of Manchuria in its titanic rôle as the foster mother of agricultural and industrial Manchuria. At Mukden, at Dairen, at Harbin, you can see the same thing presented on a greater scale. At Harbin we have the Russian element playing one of the leading parts in addition to the Chinese and the Japanese. That of course makes the drama more complicated, but the story is the same.

Perhaps the chief commodity in which Antung deals is the same old soya bean which has made Manchuria famous in the markets of the world. Antung does not handle anything like the quantity of that commodity that the port of Dairen does: she cannot compete even with Yingkou in this respect. But the hinterland of Antung sends into the city about 5,000,000 bushels of it a year. In 1908 a joint corporation of the Chinese and Japanese interests was organized to engage in the yufang business, as the Chinese call the extraction of oil from the soya beans. It was called the Jih-hsing Yufang and was capitalized at 5,000,000 yen. That was the pioneer in the field. Now there are fifteen yufangs, all in the Old Town and managed and worked by Chinese. They

are manufacturing close to twenty-million pounds of bean oil a year and a half-million pieces of bean cake. The oil goes to the United States through Shanghai, Kobe, and Yokohama, while Japan takes about 90 per cent. of the bean cake as fertilizer for her rice-fields.

The future of agricultural Manchuria is largely wrapped up in the development of soya beans. Her trade future hangs on them. And the yufang activities in Antung mirror admirably the whole of Manchuria.

The article which is only second to the bean in importance in the industrial life of Antung is tussah. Tussah is the silk made from cocoons of wild silkworms which feed on oak leaves. The familiar Shantung pongee is made from it. This wild silk is a peculiar and important product of Manchuria.

Antung's supply of tussah cocoons comes from Huaijen and other northern districts and from the Tsaohoku district to the southwest. In days past the city used to export the cocoons in large quantities to Chefu and other Shantung cities, but the Shantung people have come to Antung and established filatures there. So the city is consuming now more than 80 per cent. of the cocoons it handles. There are thirty-six of these filatures, some of them very small in scope, and all of them are in the Old Town and are worked by Chinese. The annual output is valued at more than 4,000,000 yen.

Lumber is another trade item of which this section of Manchuria is highly and rightly proud. There are twenty-six lumber mills in the city of Antung now, and they saw more than 25 per cent. of the Yalu logs into boards.

Not alone do the commodities Antung handles make the city so admirable an epitome of the whole of Manchuria, but also the peculiar character of the personnel and the nature and organization of the large corporations engaged in the industrial and financial activities

of the city. Almost all the really important corporations dealing largely in Manchurian commodities are joint enterprises of Chinese and Japanese. This does not accord with the clever, persistent, and wide-sewn stories of anti-Japanese propaganda in the United States, nor should it. But facts are facts and should have their chance at publicity once in a while, even in the original home of many-colored propaganda. The writer had lived so long in the United States and had been fed with this highly spiced stuff from the anti-Japanese propagandists there so persistently that he was astounded at the sight that confronted him at Antung.

If Manchuria means anything at all it means 365,000 square miles of display advertisement of Japanese and Chinese co-operation. And Antung is a handy edition of that big display. That is the reason why I have tarried so long in this modest border city on the Yalu.

The Seoul-Mukden Through Express pulls slowly out of the station and makes a sharp turn northward, almost at a right angle: it skirts the northwestern edge of the New Town, goes through the old Chinese town, and glides past the Shahochen station.

We are now in the sacred land. In May, 1904, the men of Kuroki's Army were all over this ground, and there are very few spots they did not mark with blood. Ten years before that, in the Chinese war, the Japanese army under Oyama fought over this same spot. Reverence for the old, for the things of the past, the glorification of History with a capital H, is the one dominant trait of all oriental races. My countrymen used to share this trait with their neighbor peoples-they used to.

Therefore, what I witnessed in the Pullman sleeper of the Through Express cut short my breath and made my eyes round. Did my fellow travelers rinse their mouths in crystal mountain waters and intone under their

bowed heads their praise of heroic guardian ghosts? Did my countrymen break into transports of exultation memorializing the victories that crowned the towering heights of Phenix Peak? I watched carefully, but I could not see the remotest sign of anything like a halleluiah. Instead, these fellow travelers of mine, these men of Nippon, talked of the weather-of the same conversation-making weather that any of the business people of New York fall back on when they make their appearances at their offices every morning. One merchant breathed not less than 5,000 words on the how and why of the year's bad business conditions in Japan, and he did not let up a minute all the time we were passing through the hallowed ground.

All this Antung-Mukden Line over which we were making our way into the heart of Manchuria was once a light military railway. It was built by engineers' corps of Kuroki's army as it fought its way on to Mukden over the Changpai range in the summer of 1904. After the war the line was turned over to the South Manchuria Railway with the command that it must be rebuilt from end to end so that it would make part of a great international highway joining Tokyo with Peking and, in connection with the Trans-Siberian, with the capitals of Europe. It was a herculean task. As it stood, it was a temporary line of two feet six inches gauge 188 miles long, stretching from Antung on the Manchurian bank of the River Yalu to the ancient capital city of the Manchus. The work commenced in August of 1909 and was completed in October of 1911. Really it was one of the great engineering feats in the Far East. No less than twenty-four tunnels were driven through various branches of the Changpai mountain range. The longest one was through Fuchinling and measured 4,884 feet. In all 205 bridges were built to carry the line over the streams and canyons. The longest one is an iron bridge,