A JAPANESE SUNSET, Osaka.
The earth was sparkling with frost on the morning wa jumped astride our mactjines and ran from Hiroshima. A thin low-lying, milky haze sprend over the land; but the hills rose clear in the sunshine and looked like islands floating in the sky. The people we passed were picturesque in their winter clothing. Groups of villagers, men with faring red blankets about their shoulders, and women with heads swathed in soft blue wraps, made splashes of colour among the dark pines, and the ru-set leaves ut the oryptometia. In the groves and dells were the silent gardens of the dead, simpl but impressive, with moss-grown tombstones under the trees, and the merry birds twittering in the branches above.
Where the roads branched were hoary, old, stone lanterns, solid and curious, with paper windows to guard the flame from the evening breeze. All along were monuments to sue dead worthy, or commemorative of battle. They were not severe, polished plinths as we have at home, but crooked, irregular pieces of rock, with golden inscriptions cut upon the face. The beauty lay in their unaifectedness.
Up many a hillside was a trailing path leading to a temple, generally a Shinto temple, but sometimes a Buddhist. An old priest with bent heal and furrowed brow would now and then shuffle along the little moss-carpeted avenues, But the noisy world never penetrated.
The Japan-se are not a religious people. Their tute of life is: Follow your own impulses and obey the Mikado's decrees." They don't need creeds and codes of morality. These are only required by
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.