The climate of Japan is very different from that which some authors had led me to expect. The winter, in particular, was not nearly so rigorous as I had anticipated. Snow fell occasionally, and lay for several days, in Tokio, and occasionally cold winds blew. But the cold was relieved by so much bright sunshine that its chilling effects were the exception rather than the rule. It is true that the winter of 1878–79 in Japan was said to be as exceptionally mild as that in England was severe, and due allowance must be made, of course, for this fact; but those who have resided for several years in the country give a good account of its winters. Professor W. Anderson, ... of Tokio, for example, in a scientific paper, states that from November to March inclusive the weather is exceptionally fine; “the days are mostly warm and sunny, the sky clear and cloudless, and the air is dry and bracing.” He adds, however, that there are sudden and great variations of temperature, which appear to occasion as much catarrh, bronchitis, pleurisy, pneumonia, and sub-acute rheumatism affections as in our own country. But these diseases are not caused by climate only, the construction of the houses and the dress of the people having very much to do with them, and in Japan both houses and dresses are such, in my opinion, as to tend greatly to multiply such complaints. In the months of April and May the weather is very changeable, “but it will compare very favourably,” says the same authority, “with the corresponding period in England.” From the middle of June to the middle of September there are heavy falls of rain, and these, combined with a high temperature, saturate the atmosphere with moisture, and produce great lassitude and debility. People have to keep indoors as much as possible during the heat of the day. About the middle of September the weather begins to improve, and October, although occasionally subject to heavy rains, is usually a healthy and pleasant month.
Japan: Its History, Traditions, and Religions (1880)
The hottest season is from the middle of July to the middle or end of September. For several weeks before and after this period rain is plentiful, sometimes falling in torrents for five or six days in succession. At such times the climate cannot be called healthy: outside, perpendicular lines of rain steadily pouring down; inside, a musty smell,—books, boots, clothes, etc., covered with green mould,—everything more or less damp,—oneself lying down or walking about in a bath of perspiration, and feeling enervated or worse. In the warm months, the vapours carried by the south-west monsoons coming into contact with colder masses of air, become condensed into clouds or mist, and the atmosphere, although probably not dense, is yet often hazy. In the cooler months, on the other hand, the northerly winds, coming over the mountain ranges of the interior, are dry and transparent. These remarks, however, apply to the east rather than to the west coast. Spring and autumn are delightful seasons, more especially the latter, when days of almost unbroken sunshine and invigorating air may continue for weeks and even months. During the last three months of my residence in Tôkiyô, from the middle of October to the middle of January, there were only five days on which rain fell. Day after day overarched the landscape with an Italian sky, into which rose, sixty miles off, the matchless cone of Fuji-san, sparkling in a mantle of virgin snow. Even the nights were so clear that, when the moon was at its full, the sacred mountain was visible by its light.
The Land of the Morning (1882)
Typhoon of September [1871].—This was a wild storm, and lasted nearly all day. The bay was a grand sight; the waves dashed over the breakwater as though they would like to sweep us all away. Rain and wind, with the sound of the angry waves and the noise of the falling tiles and timbers of the yet-unfinished house, made that Sabbath-day one of terror. Some Japanese were killed not far from us by a falling house.
But the storm ceased suddenly, and there was a “great calm.” The bay was as quiet as if nothing had ever occurred to disturb it. The sunset was magnificent. Bands of crimson and gold stretched across the western horizon, and eastern sea and sky were brightened by a golden light slightly tinged with pink. Directly overhead, in an ocean of deep blue, floated clouds of a rich salmon-color. It is not often that we have a sunset scene like this.
The Sunrise Kingdom (1879)
Our first winter in Tokio is quickly passing away, and yet we have never been without flowers, and the trees have been always green. Only once or twice has snow fallen, and then to melt away almost as soon as it touched the ground. The days are almost always bright, the sky of a deep soft blue, and the waters of the bay sparkle in the sunshine. Sometimes, however, the wind blows a perfect gale, the bay is rough and dark, the windows rattle, and the cold penetrates with chilling effect. The women in the streets have their heads wrapped up in their dzukins, or hoods, leaving only their eyes exposed, and hurry along to reach some place of shelter.
The Sunrise Kingdom (1879)
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