They wear out so fast that a
bunch has to be kept hanging to the saddle for use on the way, and in every
village a fresh stock has to be secured, at the cost of a penny per set of
four.
The foreign visitor who travels through country places in Japan has to
submit to being stared at, but nothing more. The people are so interested
in a person who looks so different from themselves that they are never
tired of watching him and his ways. But otherwise their unfailing
politeness remains. They do not crowd upon him, or, if they should come a
little too near, they are soon warned off. An English artist, Mr. Alfred
Parsons, was once sketching in Japan, and the crowd, anxious to see his
work, came a little too near his elbow. He says: "The keeper of a little
tea-shop hard by, where I took my lunch, noticed that I was worried by the
people standing so close to me, and when I arrived next morning I found
that he had put up a fence round the place where I worked. It was only a
few slender bamboo sticks, with a thin string twisted from one to another,
but not a soul attempted to come inside it. They are such an obedient and
docile race that a little string stretched across a road is quite enough to
close the thoroughfare."
A familiar figure along the Japanese highways and byways is that of the
pilgrim going to see some famous shrine, or, most often of all, marching
towards Fujisan, the sacred mountain. The Fuji pilgrim may be known by his
garb. He is dressed in white, with white kimono, white socks and gaiters,
and straw sandals.
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