high up the hill. If you chance to pass my house please come to see
me. The maple leaves are very beautiful and you can enjoy the sight of
many birds."

The early meetings of the expert farmers used to last not one day but
two, for the men delighted in narrating their experiences to one
another. Some of the audience used to weep as the older men told their
tales. The farmers would sit up late round a farmer or a professor who
was talking about some subject that interested them. The originator of
these gatherings, Mr. Yamasaki, told me that he was "more than once
moved to tears by the merits and pure hearts of the farmer speakers."

Of the regard and respect which the farmers had for this man I had
many indications. Like not a few agricultural authorities, he is a
samurai.[25] He is exceptionally tall for a Japanese, looks indeed
rather like a Highland gillie, and when one evening I prevailed on him
to put on armour, thrust two swords in his _obi_ and take a long bow
in his hand, he was an imposing figure. He carries the ideals of
_bushido_ into his rural work. He does not sleep more than five hours,
and he is up every morning at five.

But I am getting away from the meeting. There was a priest who spoke,
a man curiously like Tolstoy. (He had, no doubt, Ainu blood in him.)
He wore the stiff buttoned-up jacket of the primary school teacher and
spoke modestly. "Formerly the rice fields of my village suffered very
much from bad irrigation," he said, "but when that was put right the
soil became excellent. In the days when the soil was bad the people
were good and no man suspected another of stealing his seal.[26] But
when the soil became good the disposition of the people was influenced
in a bad way, and they brought their seals to the temple to be kept