Twice commenced, it is time this rambling document should finish. But I forgot to tell you C. D. Warner is here—stops at No. 13 Rampart. He called once at my rooms, seated himself among the papers, dust, bad pictures, and general desolation; and went away, leaving his card upon the valise (long-extemporized into a desk). I did not see him! He never called again.
TO GEORGE M. GOULD
New Orleans, April, 1887.
Dear Sir,—However pleasant may have been the impulse prompting your generous letter, I doubt whether you could fully comprehend the value of it to myself,—the value of literary encouragement from an evidently strong source. There is nothing an author or an artist needs so much,—nothing that is more difficult to obtain.
After all, the reward for him who strives to express beauty or truth, for its own sake, is just such a letter as yours; for his aim is only to reach and touch that kindred something in another which the Christian calls Soul,—the Pantheist, God,—the philosopher, the Unknowable.
Your wish as to the application to modern themes of the same literary methods is about to be accomplished. I do not know how the work will be received by the public, nor can I tell just when it will appear; but I think soon, and in Harper’s Magazine (entre nous!). If it appears subsequently (or immediately) in more enduring form, I shall show my gratefulness by sending you a copy
Believe me, very sincerely,
Lafcadio Hearn.