TŌKYŌ, March, 1899.
DEAR FRIEND,--I really felt badly at not being able to see more of you
yesterday,--especially to see you off to Shimbashi: I could not even
slip down to the gate without putting on shoes that take a terrible time
to lace. On the other hand, you left in the house a sense of warmth and
force and sun,--that were like a tonic to me,--or like a South-wind from
the sea on a summer's day; and I felt in consequence better satisfied
with the world at large.
Do you recognize this pen: a U.S. pen, contributed to my pen-holder by
a U.S.N. officer whom I know a little, and like very much.
I hope by this time that the Gordian knot shows some inclination to
unravel; and that the worry is diminishing. I remember, with much quiet
laughter, your story of the bear. I think I have found nearly as good
a simile--in an Indian paper. The fat Baboo got into a post-carriage,
with many furious steeds, which the driver was accustomed to drive after
the manner of the driving of Jehu,--and the driver was given further to
meditation, during which he had no consciousness of the base facts of
earth. And the bottom of the carriage fell out; and the Baboo landed
feet first, and ran,--with the carriage round him,--and the horses were
rushing at a speed not to be calculated. For the Baboo, it was death or
run,--because the driver neither heard nor saw; and the exertions made
are said to have been stupendous. The Baboo got off with a large amount
of hospital, caused--or rather necessitated--by the unusual exercise....
Well, I hope I shall some day again see you. I feel, however, that
something has been gained: you have been up; and I can't find
fault--even should you never again visit Tomihisa-chō.
By the way, you are a bad, bad boy to have given a present to those
_kurumaya_. You spoil them. Talk again to me about ruining the morals of
your "boy"! Won't I be revenged! Affectionately,