I make no comment; you can imagine the half-sick, utterly disgusted man who glared at that audience over his desk that night....  And yet it was a good audience, thoroughly refined and appreciative, and very glad to see me.  I was very anxious about this lecture, for it was a venture of my own, and I had been told that Atchison was a rough place—­energetic but coarse.  I think I wrote you from St. Louis that I had found there were only three actual engagements in Kansas, and that my list which gave Kansas City twice was a mistake.  So I decided to take Atchison.  I made a hundred dollars by the lecture, and it is yours, for yourself, Nan, to buy “Minxes” with, if you want, for it is over and above the amount Eliza and I footed up on my lecture list.  I shall send it to you as soon as the bulk of the pressing claims are settled.

Everything thus far has gone well; besides my lecture of to-night I have one more to close Kansas, and then I go on to St. Joseph.  I’ve been greatly touched with the very honest and sincere liking which these Western people seem to have for me.  They seem to have read everything I have written—­and appear to appreciate the best.  Think of a rough fellow in a bearskin coat and blue shirt repeating to me Concepcion de Arguello!  Their strange good taste and refinement under that rough exterior—­even their tact—­are wonderful to me.  They are “Kentucks” and “Dick Bullens” with twice the refinement and tenderness of their California brethren....

I’ve seen but one [woman] that interested me—­an old negro wench.  She was talking and laughing outside my door the other evening, but her laugh was so sweet and unctuous and musical—­so full of breadth and goodness that I went outside and talked to her while she was scrubbing the stones.  She laughed as a canary bird sings—­because she couldn’t help it.  It did me a world of good, for it was before the lecture, at twilight, when I am very blue and low-toned.  She had been a slave.

I expected to have heard from you here.  I’ve nothing from you or Eliza since last Friday, when I got yours of the 12th.  I shall direct this to Eliza’s care, as I do not even know where you are.

    Your affectionate
    FRANK.

LAFCADIO HEARN TO BASIL HALL CHAMBERLAIN

    [KUMAMOTO, JAPAN]
    January 17, 1893.

    DEAR CHAMBERLAIN,—­

I’m writing just because I feel lonesome; isn’t that selfish?  However, if I can amuse you at all, you will forgive me.  You have been away a whole year,—­so perhaps you would like to hear some impressions of mine during that time.  Here goes.