distinguishes "Japan, an Interpretation." His
courage was the more extraordinary as, filled with the idea that he was
at last going to America, he had gone into every detail of meeting his
friend. "I would go straight to your Palace of Fairy before going
elsewhere," he writes to Mrs. Wetmore, "only to see you again--even for
a moment--and to hear you speak in some one of the myriad voices would
be such a memory for me, and you would let me 'walk about gently
touching things.'..." Then in another letter comes a sigh of regret,
and as it were farewell. "But your gifts, O Faery Queen have faded away,
even as in the Song ... and I am also fading away."

After the failure of his projected visit to America, a suggestion was
made by the University of London that he should give a series of
lectures there. But here was the "Ah-ness" of things. Had Hearn's health
permitted he would probably have been in England in 1905, where he would
have been received with honour. The Japanese had fought Russia and
beaten her. People became wildly enthusiastic about Japan: the libraries
were besieged with inquiries for Hearn's books,--just at the eleventh
hour, when he had become a name, he died!

All his life his dream had been to be independent, to be able to travel.
Referring to a gentleman who was in Japan, he once said, "I envy him his
independence. Think of being able to live where one pleases, nobody's
servant,--able to choose one's own studies and friends and books."

The offer of an easy post was made to Hearn about this time as professor
of English in the Waseda University founded by Count Okuma. He closed
with it at once, thus putting an end to all negotiations with the
University of London.

His youngest child, Setsu-ko, was born this year, and all idea of
leaving Japan was henceforth abandoned.

In his last letter to Mrs. Wetmore, dated September, 1904--the month in
which he died--he touches on the dedication he had made to her in his
book, "A Japanese Miscellany." To the last the same sympathy and
understanding reigned between them. Patiently she exhorted, comforted.
Her wise counsel and advice soothed his torn nerves and aching heart to
the end. So this affection, untouched by the moth and rust of worldly
intercourse, went down with him "into the dust of death."

Slowly but surely the years with their chequered story were drawing to
an end. The sum of endeavour was complete, the secrets Death had in its
keeping were there f