About the boys? Yes, Ōtani writes to me, and Azukizawa,—and I got a charming letter from Tanabe, late of the 5th Class.
I was surprised to hear of the decision of the Council. But I cannot help thinking this is much better than that the boys should be taught by a missionary; 99 out of 100 will not teach conscientiously and painstakingly. And a clever Japanese teacher can do so much. I have now no one to prepare some of my classes for the English lesson; and I know what it means. The main use of a foreign teacher is to teach accent and conversational habits. But I suspect that within another generation few foreign teachers will be employed for English—except in higher schools and for special purposes. There will be thousands of Japanese teachers, speaking English perfectly well. I hope you will be the new Director. Please kindly remember me to Mr. Sato, Mr. Katayama, Mr. Nakamura (I wish I could hear him laugh now), and all friends.
P. S. Setsu insists that I shall tell you that the kurumaya of this town are oni, and that one must be careful in hiring them;—so that if you should come down here when the weather is better, you must be as careful as in Tōkyō,—where they are also oni. Also that rent is high: my house is eleven yen. But with any Izumo cook, living is just as cheap as in Matsue; and there is much good bread and meat and sake and food of all kinds.
I am sorry about that Tamatsukuri affair; for I wrote, as you will see, words of extreme praise,— never suspecting such possibilities. Why, the first duty of gentlemen is to face death like soldiers,—not like sailors on a sinking ship, who stave in the casks—sometimes. However, don’t such things make you wish for the chance to do the same duty better? They do me. That is one good effect of a human weakness: it makes others wish to be strong and to do strong things.
TO MASANOBU ŌTANI
Kumamoto, November, 1891.
My dear Ōtani,—I have just received your most kind letter, for which my sincerest thanks. But I don’t want to correct it, and send it back to you: I would rather keep it always, as a pleasant remembrance.
It has been very cold in Kumamoto—a sharp frost came last night, with an icy wind. Everybody says such cold is extraordinary here; but I am not quite sure if this is really true, because they have told me everywhere I have been during the last twenty years: “Really we never saw such weather before.”
Kumamoto is not nearly so pretty a city as Matsue, although it is as neat as Tenjin-machi. There are some very beautiful houses and hotels, but the common houses are not so fine as those of Matsue. Most of the old Shizoku houses were burned during the Satsuma war, so that there are no streets like Kita-bori-machi, and it is very hard to find a nice house. I have been fortunate enough to find one nearly as nice as the one I had in Matsue, but the garden is not nearly so pretty; and the rent is eleven dollars—nearly three times more than what I paid in Matsue. There is, of course, no lake here, and no beautiful scenery like that of Shinji-ko; but on clear days we can see the smoke rising from the great volcano of Aso-san.
As for the Dai Go Kōtō-Chūgakkō, the magnificence of it greatly surprised me. The buildings are enormous,—of brick for the most part; and they reminded me at first sight of the Imperial University of Tōkyō. Most of the students live in the school. There is a handsome military uniform; but all the boys do not wear it,—some wear Japanese clothes, and the rules about dress (except during drilling-time, etc.) are not very strict. There is no bell. The classes are called and dismissed by the sound of a bugle. There are ten minutes between class-hours for rest; but the buildings are so long, that it takes ten minutes to walk through them to the teacher’s room, which is in a separate building. Two of the teachers speak French, and six or seven English: there are 28 teachers. The students are very nice,—and we became good friends at once. There are three classes, corresponding with the three higher classes of the Jinjō Chūgakkō,—and two higher classes. I do not now teach on Saturdays. There are no stoves—only hibachi. The library is small, and the English books are not good; but this year they are going to get better books, and to enlarge the library. There is a building in which jū-jutsu is taught by Mr. Kano; and separate buildings for sleeping, eating, and bathing. The bath-room is a surprise. Thirty or forty students can bathe at the same time; and four hundred can eat at once in the great dining-hall. There is a separate building also for the teaching of chemistry, natural history, etc.; and there is a small museum.