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artistic, especially my two Kioto men. When we go shopping they put on good clothes, and ride in jinrikisha, and look wise and handsome enough. The Curio dealers are fearful liars and swindlers, as a class, but my gang generally equals the worst. Its great fun and I really am having a good time, and am securing a few mementoes worthy, a more intelligent, appreciative owner. Yesterday I saw the first foreigner I have met since leaving Kioto two weeks ago - an American missionary astride a modern bicycle!! He was long, and lean and sad and very hungry looking. And the hundreds of Buddha images along the road changed not their unruffled calm, their artless meditation. The summer wind still caressed the Shinto Torii with accustomed softness and sunlight touched temple and shrine with old time sweetness and tenderness. It was not an ash strewn road. "The Gods of the Fathers of this Island" seemed still [[strikethrough]] alive [[/strikethrough]] to live!!! I am not sure of spiritual sympathy for that poor, possibly, heroic missionary - but I was irresistibly touched by his forlorn looks and seemingly hopeless mission. And still not so very many centuries ago Buddha was unknown in Japan. Strange that the country who then sent missionaries should now be so humiliated by [[scan incomplete]]
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