What a selfish letter I am writing! You are making me talk too much about my own affairs, and you would really spoil me, if you could. Talking to me of fame and hundreds of thousands of dollars! Of course I should like to have hundreds of thousands, and to hold them at your disposal; but I should also like to live in the realization of the life of the Arabian Nights. About the truth of life seems to be this: You can get what you wish for only when you have stopped wishing for it, and do not care about keeping it.
I see your name in the papers often now, and in connections that fill me with gladness. You are a power again in the land--wish you could be here for longer than you are going to stay. But, after all, that would not be best for you--would it?
DEAR McDONALD,--_After all_, instinct isn't a bad thing. Your just-received excellent advice is precisely what my "blind instinct"--as scientific men call it--told me. No: I shall do nothing without consulting you.
Well, I imagine that not _next_ Friday, but the Friday after will be most convenient to you. I'll try the later date, therefore. (Friday need not be a Black Friday in Japan--I used to hate to do anything on that day--landed in Japan on Good Friday (!) but now I belong to the Oriental gods.)
Wonder if you know that the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ has sent a poet here to write up Japan--M. André Bellesort. He is a man of big literary calibre, and has a rare wife--who speaks Persian. About as charming a Frenchwoman as one could wish to know. She speaks English, Italian, and Spanish besides. Trying to get them interested in Amenomori. They are at the Hotel Metropole,--perhaps on account of the Legation.
Faithfully and affectionately yours, LAFCADIO HEARN.
DEAR McDONALD,--I _ought_ to have answered you about the subject of investment the other day; but I thought it would be better to wait. However, now I think (I have just received your telegram, and I confess it made me uncomfortable) that I had better write my feelings frankly. I suppose that, being naturally born to bad luck, I shall lose my small savings in the ordinary course of the world's events; but I would prefer this prospect to the worry of mind that I should have about any investment. In fact, rather than stand that worry again (I have had it once) I should prefer to lose everything now. The mere idea of business is a horror, a nightmare, a torture unspeakable. The moment I think about business I wish that I had never been born. I can assure you truthfully that I would rather burn a five hundred dollar bill than invest it,--because, having burned it, I could forget all about it, and trust myself to the mercy of the gods. Even if I had Jay Gould behind me, to pull me up every time I fell, I should not have anything to do with business. Even to have to write you this letter makes me wish that all the business in the world could be instantly destroyed. I am afraid to explain more. I think I won't go to Yokohama on Friday next--but later,--well, what's the use of writing more--you will understand how I feel. Ever most faithfully,