Odaté, July 29

I have been suffering so much from my spine, that I have been unable to travel more than seven or eight miles daily for several days, and even that with great difficulty. I try my own saddle, then a pack-saddle, then walk through the mud; but I only get on because getting on is a necessity, and as soon as I reach the night's halting-place, I am obliged to lie down at once. Only strong people should travel in Northern Japan. The inevitable fatigue is much increased by the state of the weather, and doubtless my impressions of the country are affected by it also, as a hamlet in a quagmire in a grey mist or a soaking rain, is a far less delectable object than the same hamlet under bright sunshine. There has not been such a season for thirty years. The rains have been tremendous. I have lived in soaked clothes, in spite of my rain-cloak, and have slept on a soaked stretcher in spite of all waterproof wrappings for several days, and still the weather shows no signs of improvement, and the rivers are so high on the northern road, that I am storm bound as well as pain bound here. Ito shows his sympathy for me by intense surliness, though he did say very sensibly, “I'm very sorry for you, but it's no use saying so over and over again; as I can do nothing for you, you'd better send for the blind man!”