Our tiny habitation, which consisted of two compartments and a small veranda only, was scrupulously clean, and we could have eaten off the floor, as well as sit on it, without the least misgiving. Every morning we interviewed the landlord on the subject of our day's menu, as, after the first evening, we decided that a strictly Japanese diet would not be conducive to either strength or comfort. There was not much variety in the food which we managed to obtain, but it was both healthy and harmless, consisting chiefly of fried fish, omelettes, and wild strawberries. Myajima is a sacred island, and no means of conveyance are allowed to profane its shores. The temple is built out into the sea, a unique specimen of its kind, and a great, dark torü rises from the water some yards in front; all along the main coast, and built at irregular intervals, are the sacred stone lanterns, five hundred in number. For three days we spent our time in wandering about the island, swimming, lounging on our tiny veranda, and darning, European stockings being scarcely equal to Japanese "tabi" in the matter of endurance. The third evening being beautifully fine and calm, we arranged--by paying a very modest sum--to have all the five hundred lanterns lit up for our benefit, and rowed out in a sampan to see the effect from the water. Nature seemed to be at her devotions, and such a wonderful hush spread over all around that the scene was impressive as well as beautiful. On the fourth day it began to rain. A Japanese inn does not exactly lend itself to either comfort or amusement in wet weather, our stock of literature was limited, and by midday we were at our wits' end. And still it rained. Finally, in desperation, we invested in brilliantly-coloured oil-paper Japanese umbrellas, and wandered about holding these huge structures over our heads, so that only our feet--mounted on high, wet-weather "geta"--were visible. Still it rained, and rained unceasingly. On the evening of the fifth day--the deluge showing no signs of abatement--we packed up our baggage and sorrowfully departed, taking our seats in the evening express for Kobe, after a damp passage across to the mainland in a sampan. The train was crowded with Japanese, and as each person was accompanied by at least four mysterious and peculiar-shaped bundles there was not much room to spare, and before long I had a pile of "luggage" two yards high in front of me. When some of the little ladies in the carriage with us grew tired of sitting up in European fashion they slipped off their sandals and climbed right on to the seat, where they sat comfortably on their heels and were happy at last.