Buildings and furniture have also the strangest vagaries on these occasions. A solidly-built house close by us was literally in ruins, whereas ours sustained little or no injury. I remember finding a heavy clock on the ground, which had fallen off the mantelpiece, and was still ticking away merrily, while, in some cases, every possible ornament that could get smashed did so with a thoroughness that defied mending.
‘But,’ as the French say, ‘one must suffer to be beautiful,’ and had it not been for those terrible volcanic eruptions, and those awful earthquake convulsions, where would be that wonderful, that mystical ‘Fuji-yama’ the Sacred Mountain--those picturesque valleys and hills--those fantastically-shaped rocks and mountain ranges, which add such a charm and beauty to the islands of Japan?
Oh, what good times we had that summer in the little wooden house in the midst of the forest of fir-trees far away in the mountains of Japan!
What gallops over the hills in the early mornings, with the dew still on the grass and the larks singing overhead!
MYSTICAL ‘FUJI-YAMA.’
Sometimes Chang would escort us--though without permission, I grieve to say--on our riding expeditions. When we had gone two or three miles along the plain, after leaving strict injunctions that he was to be shut up until our return, a little speck would be seen in the distance, rapidly developing into a panting, disobedient, yellow dog. Even then, I fear, he did not get the punishment he deserved. Who could be severe for long, with the delicious mountain air fanning our cheeks, the blue sky above, and, on either side of the narrow path, a dazzling confusion of the most lovely wild-flowers--from the tall white and orange lilies, waving their stately heads in the summer breeze, down to the little Japanese mountain edelweiss, which seemed to flourish equally well under the hot Eastern sun as does its sister in the West amongst the Alpine snows?
But I really believe the chief reason of the wily one’s appearance was due to the thoughts of that delectable and oily sardine-box, of which he was so fond, and the tit-bits and scraps, which tasted so much better out in the open than at home.
Sometimes, too, after dinner, we would start off to pay an evening call on one of our friends staying in the village, each carrying a little paper lantern to light the way. Here and there, in the opening between the dark fir-trees, we could distinctly see the outline of ‘Asamayama,’ the great volcano, rising up like a black pyramid against the star-lit sky, a crimson cloud concealing the summit, and an occasional flame shooting up, as if to remind one of the fires down below. The path through the forest was so narrow we were obliged to go in single file, our ‘four-runner,’ as we called Chang, trotting along in front to guide us.