The Newtown Bee

Japan.
KIO-TO, Mar. 30th, 1878.
Editor of the Bee.
Dear Sir—I left San Francisco for Yokohama at noon Feb. 7th, on the steamer "City of Tokio." The Tokio is a vessel of about 5,000 tons, and is one of the finest of the Pacific mail line. The morning had been unusually pleasant, but in less than an hour after passing the Golden Gate we encountered a rough sea, and as the ship was light of freight, she pitched and rolled badly. On the third day out most of the passengers were better. The remainder of the voyage was for the most part uninteresting, although an occasional stormy day relieved the general monotony. One unfortunate man, who remained below most of the time, came on deck just before reaching Yokohama, and said that he had two objects in life—one was to set foot on shore again, and the other was to find the fellow who wrote "Life on the Ocean Wave," and thrash him. I believe similar sentiments had been expressed by sea-sick travelers before.
Among the astronomical features of the voyage were a total eclipse of the moon Feb. 16th, the omitting to count or the skipping of twenty-four hours at longitude 180, and the fact that by circling four hundred miles to the north of the latitude of San Francisco and Yokohama, the distance sailed was two hundred miles less than it would have been had we pursued a directly west course from one city to the other.
Excepting a few albatross and flying fish, nothing was visible from the steamer but the heavens and a dreary waste of water, until we sighted the Japanese coast. At noon March 2nd the first officer announced that we were one hundred and thirty-four miles from Yokohama, and would see the light house at Cape King about ten o'clock that night. This was welcome news. For more than twenty-two days we had seen neither land nor sail, and how he could tell our exact location is best known to those who understand the mysteries of navigation. At ten we saw the lighthouse, and anchored for the night. Early next morning our eyes were gladdened with a view of the evergreen hills of Japan. To the west, fifty miles distant, was Mount Fujiyama, rising fourteen thousand feet above the level of the sea, and bathing its snow-crowned summit in the first rays of the sun. To the south could be seen the volcano of Oshima, with a dense cloud of smoke spreading from its top. In the bay were thousands of fishing boats with white sails, besides a large number of war ships and merchant vessels. Nine men-of-war were lying within the harbor, gaily decorated with bunting in honor of the Russian holiday. Before we had anchored a large number of Japanese came alongside in sampans (small boats) to convey passengers and baggage to the shore. Some were dressed in black tights, and looked like theatre devils. Others had on an abundance of coats, gowns, shirts and pants, while some wore a plentiful lack of those garments. A few European residents of Yokohama came on board, when "What news from Turkey?" and "Has the silver bill passed?" were among the many inquiries of passengers eager for news. An hour later and we had reached terra firma, passed the terrors of the custom house, and were whirling away in jinrikishas to the hotels.
In another letter I may send something relative to the characteristics of this strange country and its people.
Yours truly,
A. WARNER.