the East," which Papellier declared to be an entirely distorted
account of the facts as they really occurred. It is the old story of
imaginative genius and ordinary commonplace folk. In discussing the
question, Hearn insisted that every artist should carry out the theory
of selection. A photograph would give the unessential and the essential;
an artist picks out important aspects; the portrait-painter's work,
though manifestly less exact, is incomparably finer because of its
spirituality; though less technically correct, it has acquired the
imaginative sentiment of the mind of the artist. When depicting the
Japanese he felt justified in emphasising certain excellent qualities,
putting these forward and ignoring the rest; choosing the grander
qualities, as portrait-painters do, and passing over the petty
frailties, the mean characteristics that might impress the casual
observer. Nothing is more lovely, for instance, than a Japanese village
amongst the hills, when seen just after sunrise--through the mists of a
spring or autumn morning. But for the matter-of-fact observer, the
enchantment passes with the vapours: in the raw clear light he can find
no palace of amethyst, no sails of gold, but only flimsy sheds of wood
and thatch and the unpainted queerness of wooden junks.

He attained to a certainty and precision of form in these "Kokoro"
essays that places them above any previous work. Now we can see the
benefit of his concentration of mind, of his earnestness of purpose and
monastic withdrawal from things of the world; no outside influences
disturbed his communing with himself, and it is this communing that
imparts a vague and visionary atmosphere, a ghostly thrill to every page
of the volume.

Yet here was he, in the forty-fifth year of his age, a master amongst
masters, arguing with solemn earnestness upon the use or mis-use of the
word "shall" and "will," begging Professor Hall Chamberlain for
information and guidance.

"You will scarcely be able to believe me, I imagine, but I must confess
that your letter on 'shall' and 'will' is a sort of revelation in one
sense--it convinces me that some people, and I suppose all people of
fine English culture, really feel a sharp distinction of meaning in the
sight and sound of the words 'will' and 'shall.' I confess also that I
never have felt such a distinction, and cannot feel it now. I have been
guided chiefly by euphony, and the sensation of 'will' as softer and
gentler