once built temples and monuments, and lived and thrived, like those examples of mutability, Memphis, Pæstum, Cumæ, or Delhi, but not so in Japan. At first it seemed strange that a locality where half a million of people had made their homes within the period of a century should now present the aspect only of fertile fields of grain. But when it is remembered of what ephemeral material the natives build their dwellings, namely, of light, thin wood and paper, utter disappearance ceases to be a surprise. It is a curious fact that this people, contemporary with Greece and Rome at their zenith, who have only reared cities of wood and temples of lacquer, have outlived the classic nations whose half-ruined monuments are our choicest models. The Hellenic and Latin races have passed away, but Japan still remains without a dynastic change and with an inviolate country.
One of our excursions carried us to the Hakone Pass. Miyanoshita is a little hamlet, lost as it were among the hills, yet famous for its beautiful scenery and natural hot-baths, accessible only by a difficult mountain-pass which, having become belated, we ascended by torch-light. It proved to be quite a climb, especially under the adverse circumstances of a heavy rain, which impeded the narrow path with miniature torrents; but with the advent of a clear, bright morning which followed, we looked back upon the long, laborious, and even painful struggle up the steep and narrow defile, as a mere episode to heighten after enjoyment, and so it seems now in the memory. Happy the provision of nature which leads us to recall more vividly the sunshine than the shadows of our experience!
Miyanoshita is a very lovely spot, a picture of complete isolation and repose. Here a good hotel, almost American in its excellence and comfort, is to be found, replete with cleanliness, and surrounded by ornamental grounds after the Japanese style. There were rockeries, over which tumbled mountain rivulets; ponds with gigantic gold and silver fish, which seemed to be always hungry and inclined to breed a famine by eating any amount of bread; pretty miniature bridges spanned water-ways and formed foot-paths about the grounds. There were novel flowering plants, and some remarkable specimens of dwarf trees, over which the natives expend endless care and labor, together with examples of curious variegated leaves, one of which had zigzag golden stripes upon a dark green base. This hotel among the mountains was two stories high, an unusual thing for a Japanese house; but it had only rice-paper windows, and thin sliding panels in place of doors or partitions. If desired, a whole story could be thrown into one apartment, or subdivided at pleasure into cozy little sleeping-rooms. All material, all food, was brought hither up that pitiless path on the backs of mountaineers. People who do not feel able, or who are not inclined to go up the pass on foot, are carried up in kagos, as was the case with two of our little party. The kago is a sort of palanquin borne on the shoulders of four stout men, the path being impracticable even for mules; but were it less steep and wider, the Japanese have no mules.
When we came down that five-mile reach by daylight, we saw and realized all the beauties which had been hidden from us under the inky cloak of night during the toiling ascent. The scenery was lovely, sometimes grand, often fantastic; and for the first time we heard the clear ringing notes of the little Japanese nightingale. Watching the exquisitely feathered bamboos in green clusters, camellias on trees thirty feet high, the tall, slim, but graceful pines, the rocks fringed with lichens and mosses, mingled with the rarest of ferns, fresh and bright after the rain, kept the eye busy with delight. Now and then we gathered the delicate maiden-hair ferns for a backing, and made bouquets from the white, blue, and pink wild flowers that bloomed by the wayside. They were not fragrant, though among them were blue-eyed violets, but they were beautiful as they were frail. Deep gorges lined the way, here and there relieved by sunny slopes of soft, bright green; while the music of a tumbling cascade, hidden by the dense wood, occasionally fell upon the ear. The sweet morning air was both a physical and mental tonic. All was so enjoyable, so inspiring, that the ladies broke forth in carols like the very birds among the branches.
After reaching the foot of the mountain we found our jinrikisha men, each with his little chaise, ready to trot off for Yokohama, about thirty-five miles distant. Along the road, as we progressed, evidences met the eye of fine agricultural results; the fields and meadows were cultivated to the highest point, entirely by hand. No plows are used; every foot of the soil is spaded by men and women. We were told that it was rather late in the season for the cotton to remain unharvested, but the thrifty fields showed us an abundant crop of the yellow-white vegetable fleece, in little balls like Marshal Niel roses. The absence of domestic cattle was conspicuous. A few cows and sheep, browsing here and there, would have completed a delightful picture of rural life. Occasionally, when the men stopped at a wayside tea-house for a cup of their simple beverage, the only stimulant or refreshment they desired, we walked on in advance of them, observing the snowy head of Fujiyama, the pride of Japan, and which every native artist is sure to introduce into his pictures, no matter where located.
As we passed near a humble cottage, a youthful mother was observed at play with her little nude, brown baby. It lay upon its back on the green sward with wild flowers clutched in either tiny fist, itself only a blossom of humanity, crowing and laughing at its mother's pranks, as she kneeled over it. It was difficult to say which exhibited the more pleasure in the occupation. The Japanese become mothers frequently at fourteen, and here was one who was certainly no older, as brown and nearly as naked as her baby. We had surprised her at this maternal game, and she rose to her feet folding her hands before her, while looking half abashed at the passing strangers. It was a pretty tableau.
As we dashed over the smooth road at a lively pace the glowing sunset painted scarlet the white turbaned head of the distant mountain, while it bronzed and gilded the clouds in the west. Opal fires burned all over the sky, as the twilight threw its amber hues about us, and presently the men halted, each taking out a funny little painted paper lantern from under the seat, and lighted a candle inside of it, which they hung on the end of the shafts. We went on then along the narrow way in a procession of six jinrikishas, the men on the full jump; for the approaching lights of the city inspired them to extra exertion, and they shouted cries of encouragement and emulation to each other, and pressed forward with increased speed. Altogether it was a very characteristic scene, as we rolled into Yokohama at a mad gallop that night, returning from the Hakone Pass.
As a rule, one has little patience with the foreign jugglers who annoy and importune travelers to witness performances of snake-charming, sleight of hand, and deceptive tricks generally, to the sound of a fife and drum, but we witnessed one exhibition at Yokohama in the open air, which was remarkable, not for any mystery about it, but as showing to what degree of adroitness and skill the human hands may be trained by patient practice. The performer was a middle-aged man who had just closed a series of the stereotyped tricks before the British Consulate. It was a new exhibition to us, though one that is well known, and which we saw indifferently imitated afterwards in China. As has been said it was out-of-doors, but the air was perfectly still. The performer took a sheet of thin white paper, and tearing it so as to obtain two small square bits, each an inch and a half in size, he rapidly twisted them so as to rudely represent butterflies, and tossed them into the air. Instantly drawing a fan from his girdle and spreading it, he kept them suspended by its action in so remarkable a manner that it seemed as though they must possess individual vitality. They were not permitted to separate any great distance from each other, but the delicate force of the fan was so scientifically applied as to guide them sometimes from, and sometimes towards each other, now fluttering aloft as though pursuing some object, then turning together as in a loving embrace, and again separating, so that it was a marvel how the same hand could impart the dual motion. Presently they were made to light upon an object close at hand, the arm of one of the group of spectators, then dexterously to rise again. But, most difficult of all, they would rest for an instant on the tip of the fan itself, until promptly aided by the performer's breath, the bits of paper were again launched into the air to go on with their gyrations. The adroit performer never for one moment took his eyes off the artificial insects: it would have broken the charm at once. In using the fan, the juggler seemed scarcely to exert the muscles of the arm at all. The effort came from the wrist, as an adroit swordsman handles his weapon. Years of patient practice must have been required to enable that man to impart vitality to bits of paper in such an extraordinary manner.
Tokio, the political capital of Japan,
