It is said of the Japanese that they do not personify stones, animals, and flowers, but they would be a far less imaginative people than undoubtedly they are if they did not attribute malignant life to this wild place, with its bubbling water, and seething sulphur, and vapour coming up wherever one breaks the crust with foot or stick an inch away from the none too safe path. Whether these rude little lanterns were erected from the national passion for placing them where they may appropriately add to the picturesqueness of the scene; or whether they were to propitiate the wild demon of that valley of desolation and terror, or to act informally as proper lights to the many little shrines there; or whether, perhaps, they were set up by grateful travellers in thanks for a safe passage through that gorge to Hakone or Miyanoshita, and to light others who might follow them, I do not know. The same sort of little rough stone lanterns I have often seen placed in rugged mountain passes, and also in peasants’ gardens, and close to modest wayside shrines. They are never used where the surroundings are cultivated, or where any high degree of finish is to be found in the gardening.
Hanging lanterns are frequently seen in corners of verandas of private houses, and also in tea-houses. They are usually globular, square, or octagonal in shape, of hand-wrought bronze
