Yesterday was beautiful, and, dispensing for the first time with
Ito's attendance, I took a kuruma for the day, and had a very
pleasant excursion into a cul de sac in the mountains. The one
drawback was the infamous road, which compelled me either to walk
or be mercilessly jolted. The runner was a nice, kind, merry
creature, quite delighted, Ito said, to have a chance of carrying
so great a sight as a foreigner into a district in which no
foreigner has even been seen. In the absolute security of Japanese
travelling, which I have fully realised for a long time, I look
back upon my fears at Kasukabe with a feeling of self-contempt.

The scenery, which was extremely pretty, gained everything from
sunlight and colour--wonderful shades of cobalt and indigo, green
blues and blue greens, and flashes of white foam in unsuspected
rifts. It looked a simple, home-like region, a very pleasant land.

We passed through several villages of farmers who live in very
primitive habitations, built of mud, looking as if the mud had been
dabbed upon the framework with the hands. The walls sloped
slightly inwards, the thatch was rude, the eaves were deep and
covered all manner of lumber; there was a smoke-hole in a few, but
the majority smoked all over like brick-kilns; they had no windows,
and the walls and rafters were black and shiny. Fowls and horses
live on one side of the dark interior, and the people on the other.
The houses were alive with unclothed children, and as I repassed in
the evening unclothed men and women, nude to their waists, were
sitting outside their dwellings with the small fry, clothed only in
amulets, about them, several big yellow dogs forming part of each
family group, and the faces of dogs, children, and people were all
placidly contented! These farmers owned many good horses, and