Isn’t it almost wicked of me to have fought for a foreign salary under such circumstances?—especially while students come to tell me: “My father and mother have educated me thus far by selling all their property,—piece by piece,—even mother’s dresses and our lacquer-ware had to be sold. And now we have nothing, and my education is unfinished—and unless it is finished I cannot even hope for a position. Teacher, I shall work six years to pay the money back, if you will help me.” Poor fellows!—their whole expense is only about $120 (Japanese) a year. But if I did not take the salary, another foreigner would ask even more; and I am working for a Japanese community of my own. Buying books is rather extravagant, but my literary work pays for that.

Well, here’s love to you. (If the book-business does not bother you too much, please tell the book-dealer to mail everything,—not to send by express.)

Ever faithfully,

Lafcadio Hearn.

(Y. Koizumi.)

TO ELLWOOD HENDRICK
October, 1896.

Dear Hendrick,—I have two unanswered letters from you—delayed in reaching me because of my change of residence. One is only a glorious shout of joy and sympathy;—the other describes charmingly the incidents and sensations of your Nova Scotia days. It struck me while reading it that the great pleasure each of you had was in watching the display of the powers and the graces of the other, in the new field,—and from thinking about that I began to think of my own experiences. I believe that my happiest glows of sympathetic admiration have been felt under somewhat like circumstances. If one’s friend is a fine keen man, and one is proud of him, what greater enjoyment than to see him face the unfamiliar and watch him dealing with it en maître,—turning it this way and that with symmetrical ease,—and winning all he wants with a smile or a bright jest? The pleasure of watching a play is nothing to it. And again, what novel (it is always new, you know)—what novel delight that of seeing a soldier, a man of business, or even a “man of God,” turning into a boy under the mere joyous bath of air and sun and summer air out of town! It gives one a larger sense of humanity, and a sort of awe at the omnipotent magic of Nature.

Well, I have a house,—a large, but, I regret to say, not beautiful house in Tōkyō. There is no garden,—no surprises,—no delicacies,—no chromatic contrasts: a large bald utilitarian house, belonging to a man who owns eight hundred Japanese houses, and looks after them all at seventy-eight years of age. He was a sake-brewer: he is now good to the poor,—buries free of charge the head of any family unable to pay the expenses of a Buddhist funeral. He looked at my boy and played with him and said: “You are too pretty,—you ought to have been a girl. When you get a little older you will be studying things you ought not to study,—pulling girls about, and doing mischief.” (Because he used to be an old rascal himself.) But he set me thinking. I don’t think K. will be very handsome; but if he feels like his father about pretty girls,—what shall I do with him? Marry him at 17 or 19? Or send him to grim and ferocious Puritans that he may be taught the Way of the Lord? I am now beginning to think that really much of ecclesiastical education (bad and cruel as I used to imagine it) is founded upon the best experience of man under civilization; and I understand lots of things which I used to think superstitious bosh, and now think solid wisdom. Don’t have children (Punch’s advice is the same, you know) unless you want to discover new Americas....

In haste to give a lecture on ballad literature(!).