Myōkō-zan. This mountain, on which snowy patches still defied the August sun, is only one hundred feet lower than Asama-yama, if the alleged height, 8180 feet, may be considered accurate. On the north-eastern slope of this easily-climbed volcano lies the hamlet of Akakura, from which rich plains stretch smoothly to the sea. On clear days the island of Sado is dimly visible. Hither come the farmers and traders of the western villages and towns, bringing sometimes their own provisions and demanding only sleeping accommodation. The chief hotel, one-sixth of the size of Kindayu's, possessed a bath of its own, in which a dozen persons could bathe, but in all the others the guests paid a small fee to use the public baths, which dignified the single street with all the glory of carven cornice and stained glass. No other Europeans invaded this unfashionable spa, whose boiling springs, pellucid and blue, are credited by the peasantry with marvellous curative virtue. Foreign food is not to be procured, but we supplemented the rice and millet with tinned meat and stewed fruit. Thus fortified, we found no great difficulty in renouncing the more highly civilised distractions of Ikao.
Geisha, dramatic reciters, jugglers, and itinerant musicians never reach such solitary heights. But, happily for us, the Bon-Odori, those antique dances, which should have been danced on All Souls' Day by the modernised Ikao folk, began in this neighbourhood two nights after our arrival. The landlord requested a contribution of forty sen (about fourpence), which we readily doubled, for the benefit of the performers. Then ensued a long wait, for, if Japanese city-people are dilatory, no adjective exists which could do justice to the country-people's contempt for celerity. Always
