was a little, narrow, flat steel dagger about eight inches long, sheathed in the scabbard of a sword.  The dagger was used for “fastening an enemy’s head on.”  After the owner of the sword had beheaded his foe, he drew the smaller weapon, and, thrusting one end into the headless trunk and the other end into the base of the head, politely united head and body once more, thus making it possible “to show due respect and sympathy towards the dead.”  Finally, I had the privilege of handling a wonderful suit of armour which was fitted slowly together for me out of many pieces.  Although it had been made several centuries ago, this rich suit of lacquered leather had been a Japanese general’s wear on the field of battle within living memory.

One of the landowners I met was a poet who had been successful in the Imperial poem competition which is held every New Year.  A subject is set by His Majesty and the thousands of pieces sent in are submitted to a committee.  The dozen best productions are read before the sovereign himself, and this is the honour sought by the competitors.  The subject for competition in the year in which the landowner had been successful was, “The cryptomeria in a temple court.”  His poem was as follows: 

        In transplanting
        The young cryptomeria trees
        Within the sacred fence
        There is a symbol
        Of the beginning of the reign.

The New Year poems come from every class of the community and there is seldom a year in which landowners or farmers are not among the fortunate twelve.

As we rode along a companion spoke of the force of public opinion in keeping things straight in the countryside, also of the far-reaching control exercised by fathers and elder brothers.  But the good behaviour of some people was due, he said, to a dread of being ridiculed in the newspapers, which allow themselves extraordinary freedom in dealing with reputations.

I met a man who had had a monument erected to him.  He was a member of a little company which received me in a farmer’s house.  He was formerly the richest man in the village, that is to say, he owned 20 cho and was worth about 100,000 yen.  Moved by the poverty of his neighbours, he devoted his substance to improving their condition.  Now many of them are well off, the village has been “praised and rewarded” by the prefecture for its “good farming and good morals,” and the philanthropist is worth only 50,000 yen.  Impressed by his unselfishness, the village has raised a great slab of stone in his honour.

I made enquiries continually about the influence exerted by priests.  I was told of many “careless” priests, but also of others who delivered sermons of a practical sort.  A few of the younger priests were described as “philosophical” and some preached “the kingdom of God is within you.”  Many people laid stress on the necessity for a better education of the priesthood and for combating superstition among the peasantry, though the schools had already had a powerful influence in shaking the faith of thousands of the common people in charms and suchlike.  Many folk put up charms because it was the custom or to please their old parents or because it could do no harm.