Ever faithfully yours,
L. Hearn.
TO MRS. WETMORE
Tōkyō, September, 1904.
Dear Mrs. Wetmore,—To see your handwriting again upon the familiar blue envelope was a great pleasure; and what the envelope contained, in the same precious text, was equally delightful ... excepting some little words of praise which I do not deserve, and which you ought not to have penned. At least they might have been altered so as to better suggest your real meaning—for you must be aware that as to what is usually termed “life” I have less than no knowledge, and have always been, and will always remain, a dolt and a blunderer of the most amazing kind....
I left the dedication of the “Miscellany” untouched,—because the book is not a bad book in its way, and perhaps you will later on find no reason to be sorry for your good opinions of the writer. I presume that you are far too clever to believe more than truth,—and I stand tolerably well in the opinion of a few estimable people, in spite of adverse tongues and pens.
That little story of which you tell me the outline was admirable as an idea. I wish that you had sent me a copy of it. But you never sent me any of your writings, after I departed from New York—except that admirable volume of memories and portraits. Of course, that paper about the morals of the insect-world was intended chiefly (so far as there was any intention whatever) to suggest to some pious people that the philosophy of Evolution does not teach that the future must belong to the strong and selfish “blond beast,” as Nietzsche calls him—quite the contrary. Renan hinted the same fact long ago; but he did not, perhaps, know how English biologists had considered the ethical suggestion of insect-sociology.
In spite of all mishaps, I did tolerably well last year—chiefly through economy;—made money instead of losing any. I have a professorship in Count Okuma’s university (small fees but ample leisure); and I was able to take my boys to live with the fishermen for a month—on fish, rice, and sea-water (with sake, of course, for their sire). I have got strong again; and can use the right arm as well as ever for swimming....
The “rejected addresses” will shortly appear in book-form. The book is not what it ought to be—everything was against me—but it ought to suggest something to somebody. I don’t like the work of writing a serious treatise on sociology. It requires training beyond my range; and I imagine that the real sociologist, on reading me, must smile—
“as a Master smiles at one