KAZUO AND IWAO, MR. HEARN’S OLDER CHILDREN
I heard that in the Stanford University in California, there are somewhat romantic conditions,—“no ceremonies,” no humbug,—estimates only of “efficiency.” Long ago I wrote the letter of application, and—like many a letter to you—posted the same in the ravening stove. “Too idyllic,”—I thought to myself,—“in the present state of evolution, no human institution could be suffered to realize the ideals of that university!” If I were wrong or right—I should like to know.
But sufficient for this writing is the perfect selfishness thereof. My dear fairy god-sister, please do not take any painful trouble for me, but—if you can hit something with your moonshiny wand, during the next year or so, I shall be so glad! Even though I be not glad, I shall always be grateful for the last kind letter.
My best wishes to you in everything that you can imagine, you will be always sure of. “If wishes”—but, after all, there is some human sweetness in these conventional phrases. They help one to utter a mood, or a sense of gratefulness for pleasure given.
Lafcadio Hearn.
