If I were in your place, perhaps I should try to prevent the separation.

I should let the wife have her own gentle way. I should try to make her comfortable, and not ask her to help me or my parents in any way,--but only to bear my children and to love me, and to make home happy. But _unless_ she has a good heart, I should be wrong.

There is no question, I think, about the good heart. Your wife has that, surely. It seems to me only a case of misunderstanding. Remember, dear friend, that you are a very strong man, and that you can afford to be very considerate to a weak woman, after the torture of childbirth and the loss of the love--the child-love--for which Nature has been changing the whole body. Remember also, that even your parents--not knowing the strain of this new education on the physical system of the girl--might judge her a little severely. Certainly she must love you, and wish that she could be to you all you wish.

Forgive this long letter. What I want to say is this: If it be not too late, let us try whether a reconciliation is not possible. If you can make allowances, and change conditions a little, all would be well, perhaps. If _not_,--if you want a stronger woman for a wife,--perhaps it is better to separate. But it would be a great pity to separate simply because of a misunderstanding. So let us try to make things as they were before.

Affectionately your friend, Y. KOIZUMI.

TO MITCh.e.l.l McDONALD

TOKYO, January, 1899.

DEAR McDONALD,--I got home safe and early,--thanks to your carriage! But I feel a little uneasy about you; and when you get perfectly right again in that strong back of yours, I want to hear from you--_not_ before.

Don't imagine that I must have an answer to every scrawl. I don't know what to say to you and the doctor,--except that you are both spoiling me. Tokyo seems unusually tristful this rainy evening; and I feel that it is because you and the doctor are both far away,--and that the world is not really anything like what you make it appear to be.

I came up with three Americans, all of whom talked about Manila, Aguinaldo, "the people at home," Boston, the Pennsylvania Central, Baldwin's locomotives, the Pacific Coast,--and the commanders of the various iron-clads at Manila. It did me good to hear them. They c.o.c.ked up their heels on the seats, home-fashion; and I felt sort of pulled towards them,--but we didn't get acquainted. They knew everything about everything in the whole world; and it did one good to hear them. Wish we had a few men of that sort in the university.

It will feel lonesome in j.a.pan after you go back: I think I should like to be one of those small eaglets that you used to supply with fish on the voyage,--and have a hen wander occasionally within reach of my rope.

Only a line before going to sleep. A stupid note--just to show that I am thinking of you. My wife is delighted with the photo, and says it is the best of all by far--in which I agree with her.

Love to you, and _do_ take every care of your dear self.

LAFCADIO.

TO MITCh.e.l.l McDONALD

TOKYO, January, 1899.

DEAR McDONALD,--I suppose you have heard of a famous old drama which has for its t.i.tle, "The Woman Killed with Kindness." Presently, if you do not take care, you will be furnishing the material for a much more modern tragedy, to be called, "The Small Man Killed with Kindness." Here I have been waiting three days to write you,--and have not been able to write, because of the extravagant and very naughty things which you have done. That whiskey! Those cigars! That wonderful beefsteak! Those imperial and sinfully splendid dinners! Those wonderful chats until ghost-time, and beyond it! And all these things--however pleasing in themselves--made like a happy dream by mult.i.tudes of little acts and words and thoughts (all observed and treasured up) that created about me an atmosphere not belonging at all to this world of Iron Facts and Granite Necessities. "Come soon again"--indeed! Catch me down there again this winter! Steep a man's soul in azure and gold like that again, and you will utterly spoil him for those cold grey atmospheres under which alone good work can be done. It is all tropical down there at No. 20 Bund; and I must try to forget the tropics in order to finish No. 8. The last time I had such an evening was in 1889,--in a flat of Fifth Avenue, New York, where a certain divine person and I sat by a fire of drift-wood, and talked and dreamed about things. There was this difference, however, that I never could remember what pa.s.sed as we chatted before that extraordinary fire (which burned blue and red and green--because of sea-ghosts in it). _That_ was largely witchcraft, but at No. 20 Bund, without witchcraft, there is more power than that. And if I am afraid of it, it is not because I do not like it even more than the magic of Fifth Avenue, but because--No. 8 must be done quickly!

You must really promise to be less good to me if you want to see me again before the Twentieth Century. I wish I knew how to scold you properly;--but for the moment I shall drop the subject in utter despair!

I hope what you say about my being still a boy may have a grain of truth in it,--so that I can get mature enough to make you a little bit proud of encouraging me in this out-of-the-way corner of the world. But do _you_ please take good care of that health of yours, if you want to see results: I am just a trifle uneasy about you, and you strong men have to be more careful than midges and gnats like myself. Please think twice over these little remarks.

I have no news at all for you;--there is no mail, of course, and nothing interesting in this muddy place. I can only "report progress." I have a very curious collection of j.a.panese songs and ballads, with refrains, unlike any ever published in English; and I expect to make a remarkable paper out of them.

By the way, I must tell you that such enquiries as I tried to make for you on the subject of waterfalls only confirm what I told you. The mere idea of such a thing is horribly shocking to the _true_ j.a.panese nature: it offends both their national and their religious sense. The j.a.panese love of natural beauty is not artificial, as it is to a large degree with us, but a part of the race-soul; and tens of thousands of people travel every year hundreds of miles merely to enjoy the sight and sound of a little waterfall, and to please their imagination with the old legends and poems concerning it. (The j.a.panese heart never could understand American willingness to use Niagara for hydraulic or electric machinery--never! And I must confess that I sympathize altogether with them.) But that is not all: the idea of a _foreigner_ using a waterfall for such a purpose would seem to millions of very good, lovable people like a national outrage. The bare suggestion would excite _horror_. Of course there are men like ---- who have suppressed in themselves all these feelings,--but they represent an almost imperceptible minority.

They regard the ruin of Fairy-land as certain;--but the ma.s.s are still happy in their dreams of the old beauty and the old G.o.ds.

LAFCADIO.

TO MITCh.e.l.l McDONALD

TOKYO, January, 1899.

DEAR McDONALD,--Our scare is pretty nearly over;--the fever was broken to-day, and we had a consultation of doctors. It seems to have been pneumonia of the nasty, sudden kind. The little fellow never lost his senses; but for part of yesterday he lost all power to speak. I think he will get strong from now. The other boy got laid up about the same time, but much less severely. The night they caught cold, the thermometer went down to 26, and the change was too much for them. By constant care for a few days, I think we shall have them all right again: then I shall hope, either to coax you up here, or go down to see you--if only to shake hands. So far I am lucky; for I have been working like a Turk, and keeping well. Work is an excellent thing to keep a fellow from worrying, and my "self-confidence" is growing in the proper cautious way again.

What a funny, funny episode is that story of Lieutenant Hobson, shipped to Manila to keep him from being kissed to death by pretty girls! Wonder if he would not prefer to face the Santiago forts again? The incident is quite peculiarly American, and pretty in its way: it ought to make heroes multiply. There is something to be a hero for,--to have one's pick of the finest girls in the country. Still I have been thinking that most of us would feel shy about marrying the woman who would stand up and ask for a kiss in a theatre. It is the same sort of enthusiasm that makes women tear out their earrings, and throw them on the stage when a Liszt or a Gottschalk is improvising. I see no reason why heroism should arouse less enthusiasm and affection than musical skill; but don't you think that in either case we should prefer the silent admiration of the giver that doesn't lose her head, but remains strongly self-controlled--"all in an _iron glow_," as Ruskin calls it? When the brave lieutenant wants a wife, I fancy he will be looking for that kind of woman, rather than the other.

There is no news for me by mail,--but we shall have another mail next week, I suppose. The university course runs smoothly: this is my third year; and my subject happens to be the 19th century, in which I feel more at home than in the other branches of the subject. Fancy! I am lecturing now on Swinburne's poetry. They would not allow me to do this in a Western university perhaps--yet Swinburne, as to form, is the greatest 19th century poet of England. But he has offended the conventions; and they try to d--n him with silence. I believe you can trust me to do him justice here, when I get the chance.

Affectionately, LAFCADIO.

TO MITCh.e.l.l McDONALD.

TOKYO, January, 1899.

DEAR McDONALD,--Everything is bright and sunny with us again: we have to keep the boys in a warm room, and nurse them carefully, but they are safe now. I shall never forget your kindest sympathy, and the doctor's generous message. Am I bad for not writing sooner? To tell the truth I was a little tired out myself, and got a touch of cold; but I'm solid and shipshape again, and full of hope to see you. I shall have no more duties until Tuesday morning (31st); so, if you will persist in risking a bad lunch and an uncomfortable room, and the trouble of travelling to Tokyo, I shall be waiting for you. I think you ought to come up _once_ more, anyhow. I want you to see yourself _vis-a-vis_ with Elizabeth. I want to chat about things. (No mail yet at this writing.) If you cannot conveniently come this week, come just when you please any _afternoon_ between Fridays (inclusive) and Mondays.

Odin said, in the Havamal,--"_I counsel thee, if thou hast a trusty friend, go and see him often; because a road which is seldom trod gets choked with brambles and high gra.s.s._"

This is a case of "don't-do-as-I-do,--but-do-as-I-tell-you"--isn't it?

Besides, I am not worth a d--n as a friend, anyhow. I quote these most ancient verses only because you expressed an interest in them during our last delightful chat;--but whether you come or no, brambles will _never_ grow upon the pathway.

LAFCADIO.

TO MITCh.e.l.l McDONALD

TOKYO, February, 1899.

DEAR McDONALD,--I have just got your dear letter: don't think me neglectful for not writing to you sooner;--this is the heavy part of the term; and the weather has been trying me.

Well, I am glad to hear that you have read a book called "Exotics and Retrospectives." I have not seen it. Where did it come from? How did you get it? When was it sent? Did the doctor get his copy? (Don't answer these questions by letter in a hurry: I am not asking very seriously,--as I suppose I shall get my copies by the _Doric_.)

I have been doing nothing to speak of lately: too tired after a day's work,--and the literary jobs on hand are mechanical mostly,--uninteresting,--mere ruts of duty. I hate everything mechanical; but romances do not turn up every day.

Thanks for your interest in my lecture-work; but you would be wrong in thinking the lectures worth printing. They are only dictated lectures--dictated out of my head, not from notes even: so the form of them cannot be good. Were I to rewrite each of them ten or fifteen times, I might print them. But that would not be worth while. I am not a scholar, nor a competent critic of the best; there are scores of men able to do the same thing incomparably better. The lectures are good for the Tokyo University, however,--because they have been adapted, by long experience, to the j.a.panese student's way of thinking and feeling, and are put in the simplest possible language. But when a professor in j.a.pan prints his lectures, the authorities think they have got all that he knows in hand, and are likely to look about for a new man. It is bad policy to print anything of the kind here, and elsewhere the result would be insignificant. I had better reserve my force for work that other people _cannot_ do better,--or at least won't do.

Affectionately, LAFCADIO.

TO MITCh.e.l.l McDONALD

February, 1899.

DEAR McDONALD,--You should never take the pains to answer the details of my letters: it is very sweet of you to do it,--but it means the trouble of writing, as it were, with a sense of affectionate obligation, and it also means the trouble of re-reading, line by line, letters which are not worth reading more than once--if even once. Please forget my letters always, and write whatever you like, and don't think that I expect you to take me very seriously. Why, I cannot even take myself always very seriously!--By the way, that was a very pretty simile of yours about the nebula condensing into a sun. But the nucleus, to tell the truth, has not yet begun to integrate: there is a hardening here and there upon the outermost edges only,--which is possibly contrary to the law that makes great suns.

It is pleasant to know that the sickness was not very severe. Still, I am inclined to suspect that you underrate it. Naval men always call a typhoon "a gale," or "a smart breeze"--don't they?

I did receive a book and various letters, and I have had by this mail four requests for autographs--two from England. The book I would send you if it were worth it, but it is a very stupid attempt at an anti-Christian-Spiritist-Theosophico-Buddhist novel, written anonymously. I don't like this kind of thing, unless it be extremely well done, and does not meddle with "astral bodies," "luminiferous ether," and "sendings." There has been so much disgusting nonsense written about Buddhism by Theosophists and Spiritists that ridicule is unjustly sprinkled upon the efforts of impartial men to explain the real beauties and truths of Eastern religion.