THE VOICE FROM WITHIN
heard their ancestors beating their shields with their swords, as they sang the war-song of Otomo, the terrible joy of dying by the Mikado’s side. They wept when they thought of the shadow that had come over the throne. They made pilgrimages to the imperial mausoleums, which had long been left to decay, and washed their moss-covered steps with tears. Who were the Tokugawas who dared to stand between them and their legitimate sovereign? Oh, to die—to die for the Mikado!
The historic spirit now stood sword in hand, and the sword was one of no mean steel. The samurai, like his weapon, was cold, but never forgot the fire in which he was forged. His impetuosity was always tempered by his code of honor. In the feudal days Zen had taught him self-restraint and
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