The outside board with the bill of fare was scraped out by this morning’s rain. It looked as miserable as an Italian vegetable wagon under the rain. My first work was to rewrite it. I saw a Jew at a neighbouring door striving with one about the value of pants. A shoemaker’s “pan, pan” hammered on my head from the opposite house. Mission Street is the street of horse-dung. When my job was over, an honourable Mr. Wagon Driver leaped in, bidding me serve some soup. I ran into the kitchen to fetch it. I spilled it on the table. “That’s all right, honey!” he said in patronising aloofness, and pierced my face with his gummy red eyes. O Kowaya! Shocking! I put one five-dollar piece of gold on Madge’s palm when I left her. Because her shoes were heelless. Pity the musume! 27th—I bought one book, being captivated by its title. Isn’t “When Knighthood was in Flower” beautifully chivalrous? I have remarked that every Imperial cruiser anchors at an isle close by Loo Choo, just on account of the enticement in the name “Come and See.” I found in my trunk an introduction to Miss Rose by my professor friend of Tokio ’versity. Miss Rose? My imagination started to move like a watch. I fancied she should be nineteen, since she was a Miss. No Rose girl can be homely. I went to see her. Alas! She was a lady like a beer-barrel. Her finger-nails were black. I left her like a miner stepping out of a gold mountain with empty hands. I wonder why the mayor didn’t object to letting an ugly woman be crowned with a pretty name. Fifty-years-old Miss Rose! Now I fear to read Mr. Major’s book. 28th—The following is my letter to Mr. Oscar: “OSCAR SAN! ELLIS SAN! “I never liked your profession, simply because it is too beautiful. “I don’t see why you cannot transfer to some other business. “I have been ever so much fascinated with odd sorts of manual work. If I were a gentleman, I would very likely pursue the calling of grave-digger or sea-diver. “Yesterday I passed by some labourers breaking massive stones. They lifted their hammers (O Oscar, look at their muscles!) and knocked them down to the sound of ‘Sara bagun!’ They jerked the ‘sara bagun,’ Oscar. Does it mean ‘ready?’ Mrs. Willis’ Century dictionary must be imperfect, since it does not contain such a word. Am I mis-spelling? “Suppose I marry one of those! “He will return home awfully tired. He will naturally doze after dinner. When his smoking pipe has slipped from his lips and burned my best tablecloth, isn’t it possible that I will be mad?... I startled him, pulling his hair ever so hard. Now you must think that he grew mad also. He seized my arm, and beat me. O Oscar, he beat me surely!... Then he will repent his conduct, and kneel by my side, begging my forgiveness. He will say, ‘My dear sweet wife—’ “Do you know how interesting it is to be beaten by a husband?