HIROSHIMA, February, 1904.


Dear old Mate:

I am breathless! For three weeks I have had a chase up hill and down
dale, to the top of pine clad mountains, into the misty shadows of the
deep valleys, up and down the silvery river, to and fro on the frosty
road. For why! All because I had lost my "poise," that treasured
possession which you said I was to hang on to as I do to my front
teeth and my hair. So when I found it was gone, I started in full
pursuit. Never a sight of its coat tails did I catch until Sunday,
when I gave up the race and sat me down to fight out the old fight of
rebellion, and kicking against the pricks.

It was a perfect day, the plum trees were white with blossom, the
spice bushes heavy with fragrance, the river dancing for joy, and the
whole earth springing into new, tender life. A saucy little bird sat
on an old stone lantern, and sang straight at me. He told me I was a
whiney young person, that it was lots more fun to catch worms and fly
around in the sunshine than it was to sit in the house and mope. He
actually laughed at me, and I seized my hat and lit out after him, and
when I came home I found I had caught my "poise."

To-day in class I asked my girls what "happiness" meant. One new girl
looked up timidly and said, "Sensei, I sink him just mean _you_."
I felt like a hypocrite, but it pleased me to know that on the outside
at least I kept shiny.