Irimichi, Nikkô, June 23.

My peacefully monotonous life here is nearly at an end. The people are so quiet and kindly, though, almost too still, and I have learned to know something of the externals of village life, and have become quite fond of the place. But the climate is a disappointment. When it does not rain the air is like a vapour bath, and when it rains, which it generally does, it pours in even torrents. The temperature is from 72° to 86°, and in the steaminess needles rust, books and boots become covered with mildew, and the roads and walls grow greener every day with the Protococcus viridis. The air is very relaxing, and does not dispose one for long walks, though I have made a point of seeing everything, usually accompanied by Kanaya and Ito. After the temples, the waterfalls, and the grand views of the horseshoe range of snowy mountains which surrounds Nikkô, with its five principal peaks of Nantai, Akanagi, Niôho, and the great and little Manago, and after surveying from a hill, called Tozama, the plain I crossed from Yedo, stretching away beyond the billowy undulations of the foothills, as far as the Tsukuba peaks, the village life around has been my chief, or rather I should say my first, interest.

The village of Irimichi, which epitomises for me at present the village life of Japan, consists of about three hundred houses built along three roads, across which steps in fours and threes are placed at intervals.