[Illustration:  a family group]

Tuesday, February 6th.—­My cold being still bad, Mabelle by no means well yet, and Tom very busy, we at first thought of keeping quiet to-day.  But our time is so short, that we could not afford to waste it; so half our party started early for Kioto, it being arranged that Tom and Mabelle should follow us by an early train to-morrow.  It was a wet cheerless day, and the country did not look its best.  Still, the novelty of the scenes around could not fail to make them interesting.  The Japanese have an intense horror of rain, and it was ludicrous to see the peasants walking along with scarcely any clothes on except a pair of high clogs, a large hat, and a paper umbrella.  We crossed several large bridges, stopped at a great many stations, where heaps of native travellers got in and out, and finally reached Kioto at half-past two o’clock.  It was still raining, and all the jinrikisha men wore their large rain hats and rain cloaks, made either of reeds or of oiled paper.  Most of the jinrikishas, too, had oiled paper hoods and aprons.

The drive to our hotel, through long, narrow, crowded, picturesque streets, seemed long and wearisome.  It was still a holiday, and remains of the previous night’s illuminations were to be seen on all sides.  The large paper lanterns still remained fastened to the high poles, with an open umbrella at the top to afford protection from the rain.

Kioto is a thoroughly Japanese town.  I do not suppose it contains a single European resident; so that the manners and customs of the natives may be seen in perfection.  Its theatres and jugglers are famous throughout Japan.  In the suburb, where the two hotels are situated, stand numberless tea-houses and other places of entertainment.  Our hotel is situated half-way up the hill called Maruyama.

After about three-quarters of an hour’s ride in the jinrikiska, we were deposited at the bottom of a flight of steps, which appeared to lead to a temple, but by which we reached the hotel in about five minutes.  We were received by servants, who bowed to the ground, but who did not speak a word which we could understand.  The rooms looked clean and comfortable, and the dining-room boasted a table and six chairs, besides several screens and hibatchis.  The bedrooms, too, had beds, screens, and washstands; quite an unexpected luxury.  Still more so was a strip of glass about half-way up the screens, through which we could admire the fine prospect.  Anything in the shape of a transparent window is a complete novelty in a Japanese house, where, in winter, you feel as if you were imprisoned.  The view from the verandah of the hotel over the pretty fantastic garden, the temple grounds, the town of Kioto, and the mountains in the distance was an endless source of delight to me.