At Akayu, a town of hot sulphur springs, I hoped to sleep, but it
was one of the noisiest places I have seen. In the most crowded
part, where four streets meet, there are bathing sheds, which were
full of people of both sexes, splashing loudly, and the yadoya
close to it had about forty rooms, in nearly all of which several
rheumatic people were lying on the mats, samisens were twanging,
and kotos screeching, and the hubbub was so unbearable that I came
on here, ten miles farther, by a fine new road, up an uninteresting
strath of rice-fields and low hills, which opens out upon a small
plain surrounded by elevated gravelly hills, on the slope of one of
which Kaminoyama, a watering-place of over 3000 people, is
pleasantly situated. It is keeping festival; there are lanterns
and flags on every house, and crowds are thronging the temple
grounds, of which there are several on the hills above. It is a
clean, dry place, with beautiful yadoyas on the heights, and
pleasant houses with gardens, and plenty of walks over the hills.
The people say that it is one of the driest places in Japan. If it
were within reach of foreigners, they would find it a wholesome
health resort, with picturesque excursions in many directions.

This is one of the great routes of Japanese travel, and it is
interesting to see watering-places with their habits, amusements,
and civilisation quite complete, but borrowing nothing from Europe.
The hot springs here contain iron, and are strongly impregnated
with sulphuretted hydrogen. I tried the temperature of three, and
found them 100 degrees, 105 degrees, and 107 degrees. They are
supposed to be very valuable in rheumatism, and they attract
visitors from great distances. The police, who are my frequent
informants, tell me that there are nearly 600 people now staying