e sung to the same tunes as in
America, the words being translated into Japanese. Everybody seems to
enjoy the singing, and they listen intently to the sermon.

After the sermon, several prominent members of the congregation stand up
and address their countrymen and women in convincing words and gestures.
Mr. Carey tells me that any ordinary Jap seems capable of delivering a
fluent, off-hand exposition of his views in public without special effort
or embarrassment. Altogether the Japanese Christian congregation,
gathered here in ita own church, sitting on the floor, singing,
sermonizing, and looking happy, is a novel and interesting sight to see.
One can imagine missionary life among the genial Japs as being very
pleasant.

Saturday and Sunday pass pleasantly away, and, with happy memories of the
little missionary colony, I wheel away from Oko-yama on Monday morning,
passing through a country of rich rice-fields and numerous villages for
some miles. The scene then changes into a beautiful country of small
lakes and pine-covered hills, reminding me very much of portions of the
Berkshire Hills, Mass. The weather is cool and clear, and the road
splendid, although in places somewhat hilly.

Fifty-three miles are duly scored when, at three o'clock in the
afternoon, I arrive at the city of Himeji. The yadoya here is a superior
sort of a place, and Himeji numbers among its productions European pan
(bread), steak, and bottled beer. The Japs are themselves rapidly coming
to an appreciation of this latter article, and even to manufacture it, a
big brewery being already established somewhere near Tokio. A couple of
young dandies of "New Japan" drop in during the evening, send out for
bottles of beer, and seem to take particular delight in showing off their
appreciation of the newly introduced beverage before their countrymen of
the "ancient regime."

Beyond Himeji one leaves behind the mountains, emerging upon a broad,
level, rice-producing plain, which extends eastward to Kobe and the
sea-shore. The fine level road traversing the plain passes through
numerous towns and villages, and for the latter half of the distance
skirts the shore. Old dismantled stone forts, tea-houses, eating-stalls,
fishermen's huts, house-boats, and swarms of jinrikishas and pedestrians
make their sea-shore road lively and interesting. The single artery
through which the life of all the southern tributary country ebbs and
flows to trade at the busiest