Letters and Journals, with the Narrative of His Escape

" How happy I was then to be received by so many greetings I cannot express. At home I found my aged parents impatiently waiting for me. My wife had prepared a regular Japanese supper, and we sat on our heels in the Japanese fashion. It was a happy day with us indeed. When I attempted to translate your kind letters to my wife and parents I was obliged to pause many times before I could read your most tender and motherly words. My profound affection for you is not to be diminished by these thousands of miles which I have traversed. All my past with you is a real and substantial present, so sweet to look back and reflect upon. I believe I am not dreaming, but thinking upon a reality — love begotten by love. My heart does not permit me to write upon this subject. It begins to throb and beat fast as soon as I attempt to do so. Many, many thanks for all you have done for me."

" Some one told me of this while I was at Osaka. I said it must be a mistake. I could not believe in such a report. When I came to the seashore, where my wife was staying, I found there an official letter from the college. Then I began to understand it was a true fact. I was quite hesitating whether I could accept it or not. What shall I do with it? I felt I was utterly unworthy of it, and wrote to several friends asking their opinion. I was then thinking to decline it, but they advised me to accept it by all means. So I have decided to do so with a most grateful heart. I cannot discover any tact, power, or ability in me to come through the path of these last twenty years. When I think of it I am utterly overwhelmed, and at the same time I am encouraged to stand and face the world."

" July 30, 1887. Mr. Hardy's letter informing me of the action of the Prudential Committee was re-ceived here with a grateful heart. Alas! the intoxication of this joy was soon dampened by the telegram telling me of his serious illness. I had some fear of it since receiving your last favor. How greatly I am troubled I can scarcely state here. I wish we could have some sort of medium to convey our messages every hour. Oh, how anxiously I feel about him. He has sown with us, and I earnestly wish he could reap much more fruit here in Japan with us before he departs in peace. Besides, I do own a real affection for him, and think I love both of you more than my own parents. I am begotten of you by your love. Pure love kindles love of the same kind. Noble affection binds us much firmer than some natural ties. Here I am, far away from you. I wish I could appear before him even in his dream."

" August 24th. I am all confused when I attempt to write to you. I have many things to say to you concerning Mr. Hardy's departure for another world. But when I attempt to write, alas! I find everything chaotic. I sit by my table, I hold my pen, — but I can do nothing further. Of course I know that our Heavenly Father wished him to come to the blissfid heaven. I know most too well we must submit all our affairs to his hand. I know also Mr. Hardy may be far better off than in this troublesome world. But I miss him very much. I feel quite lonely. I feel my real father is gone; yea, he has been to me more than my father. I believe that he knew me more than all my Japanese friends here. I have lost the friend of Japan. My heart is darkened like the total eclipse so recently happened here. Cheerfulness and brightness are suddenly disappeared. Alas! the total darkness. The air is chilled, the temperature is fallen. This solar eclipse lasted only for a while, but my heart's eclipse may continue so long as I live. I cannot finish even these few lines. I am too sensitive just yet. Besides this sensitive feeling I have another, my sympathy with you. You must miss him beyond a measure. His cheerful voice cannot be heard any more. My heart aches in your behalf. However, I rejoice with you that when he departed from you he must have commanded you to trust, and rely upon another arm, ever strong and everlasting. I will try and write you much oftener than before, but at present I find it a hard work to write to you."

" September 4th. It is quite rainy this afternoon.

I am undisturbed by any visitor; my thought turns to Boston. My reflection about you and Mr. Hardy is taking hold of my heart very strongly. This is the fifth Sabbath since he left us, but with him it must be the continual Sabbath. We who are left behind weep and mourn, but he rejoices. All the mysteries here may be no longer any mysteries to him. How grand that must be! While I am sadly missing him, and at the same time cheered up by the idea of his most holy, happy, and blessed state, I have a mixture of contrary feelings. We all feel we have lost the father of the Japan mission. Some sent me telegrams to console my sorrow, others wrote me letters to express" their own. Now we have got to go on without his advice and support. At this critical hour I simply cry out, ' God help us.' I would like to write you some tilings I have observed in this island. At present I have no courage to do so. I have received your letter telling me of his most loving memorial to me. Now I must say what a touching thing it is that he should remember me so far away as he did. I shall never, never forget it. Through God's help I will try to follow his example, and to hand over to my fellow-creatures as he has handed over to me. Doubtless your letter was written with many tears. So it is with mine. My heart is still burning like a volcano with all sorts of plans for our work. But my wife is my constant guard to check me and take away my control. She works like a policeman to remove my pens and papers, and requests visitors to cease their conversation. I told her that I cannot hide myself anywhere in Japan now, and I am thankful for it."

" March 5, 1888. Our Christian work is gaining much ground here. At the last communion we re-ceived over forty new members into our chapel church, and we may receive about thirty more at the next communion. There is no least sign of excitement. It may be called a steady spiritual growth. Our weekly prayer-meetings fill the chapel. It is a grand sight to see five hundred young people gathered there. A week ago I mariied a warm friend of ours, the head of the Yokohama bank. He gave us, last summer, one thousand yen for our preparatory school, and last week four hundred yen for the completion of a dormitory which is to bear his name. His young wife was formerly a pupil in our Kyoto Home, and is the eldest daughter of a wealthy merchant. The wedding took place in the largest hotel in the city, and was a grand ceremony. The wedding procession was very gay. The bride was accompanied by our governor's wife and six maidens, and the bridegroom by the ex-lieutenant-governor of Shiga, an adjoining province. Many people of rank were present, and the solemn ceremony of a Christian marriage made a deep impression."

" Allow me to send you my compliments for this glorious day of your nation. I came here on the 11th. My wife is with me. She is a sort of policeman over me, watching me lest I overdo. Though I am slightly gaining, I believe I shall never get well again. My doctor says my heart is enlarged and will never re-sume its original size, and that at any time my bodily life may soon cease. Of course I bore it rather bravely, but to my wife it seemed almost unbearable. She was warned to keep it a secret from me. But, a poor creature! she could not keep her secret. I tried to comfort her and told her all my future expectation. However, I found it a hard work to quiet down my own sensitive feelings. Since then she stays with me and does not give me a chance to write much. Just now I sent her off for a few minutes in order to write this letter. Though I am absolutely prepared to re-sign my future into the tender hand of the Heavenly Father, yet when I think of you, all my past affairs, your motherly and unceasing love, comes at once to my precious memory, and I weep like a babe. I dislike to pass off suddenly without a good-by to my dear friends. Therefore, though it may be useless to inform you of such a matter beforehand, I should be sorry to leave this world without sending you my last farewell, with my unspeakable thanks for all you have clone for me. I owe you all, and have nothing to pay back but my thanks and daily prayers for you. If I fail to send you my last farewell by reason of passing off suddenly, as my doctor described to me, please regard this as my last word to you. I wish I could write as I feel, but I cannot express myself at all. I trust you can guess at it. What I cannot say I hope I shall say in another world. With regard to my tender feeling to my dear wife and aged mother you may sympathize with me. You know also how much I am interested in our Kyoto schools and the gospel work throughout this island empire. I am willing to leave all these interests behind. I am thankful for what has been done for my beloved country. What now shall I hope or expect to receive? As you know, I have a desperate will and plan to make our Kyoto school a Christian university. For this cause I came to Tokyo. For this cause I became ill and fainted away. For this cause I am still staying here. However, I am very careful. I fear I cannot write you much hereafter. If I pass off I hope you will not feel too sorry. I fear this may not be a very complimentary letter to receive on your fourth of July. But so long as I am prepared to resign myself to His hand I like to tell my sympathizing mother and ask for her prayers for my soul. My wife has returned and warns me to stop. What I write here is not revealed to her. Please keep this secret from other people. I am still hopeful to live, but am prepared to go also."

Ikao, Joshu, August 13, 1888. My friends have held a special council to see what they can do for my poor health. They consulted with Dr. Baelz of the T5kyo University, who urged me to come to this bathing place. Their plan is to keep me away from Kyoto lest I should be worried about our school. I am enjoying the quietness of this place. It is cool and pleasant, and nearly 3,000 feet above the sea, the road ascending gradually from Mayebashi, a railway terminus, where we have a church of two hundred members. I am surprised to find how fast a mountain town like this is Americanized. We can get good milk, meat, and tolerably good bread. I have hired a small cottage, although there many hotels well filled in the bathing season. This little district is honeycombed by the gospel, and is one of the strong proofs of my humble theory, — educate the natives, and they will take care of themselves and start self-sustaining churches. I wish I could visit these churches. Alas! it may be His will to keep me ill and teach me His way. I am trying to rest; I walk little, eat slowly, talk little, read and write sparingly. I have read Victor Hugo's " Les Miserables " and "Ninety-three," and the Life of Dr. Franklin. His precepts are good, but his example might mislead many. I suppose you are now at Mt. Desert. If I might sit down on your piazza I would talk with you and listen to you, hear gentle sounds of the surf and see the Ianthe in the bay. Alas! with this pleasure, something would be missing. A year ago I re-ceived Mr. Sears' telegram about Mr. Hardy's death.

What I felt then I feel now keenly and will feel it forever. I have pressed for you a petal of a sweetsmelling wild lily, a token of my profound respect.

" Our trustees recently held a meeting in Kyoto to talk over financial matters. The Buddhist priests are making an utmost effort to check our growth, and are bringing all sorts of bad names against me. They think I am the leader of the Christian movement. Through God's hand I am still protected; my life is in his hand and I am not nervous at all. This sum came in just a right time to relieve me from an intense anxiety. When I left Boston in 1874 I bought a single mattress, supposing that I might be obliged to live a single life and even be killed for His name's sake. You may laugh at me for my thought when I bought that mattress with such a martyr-like spirit. During this pioneer period the Lord has blessed this poor fellow beyond my comprehension. You know how ill and weak I am, unable to engage in any vigorous work. Even in this weakness He still uses me. This is a perfect wonder to me. I write this private matter to you and request you to rejoice with me."

" Your favor written at West Gouldsborough was at hand yesterday. A precious memory is connected with the house where you wrote it, and whence you doubtless looked down from time to time on the calm expanse of that picturesque bay, spotted here and there by white sails. The memory of it is as fresh to me as if I saw it yesterday. It is so sad, and yet so sacred.

" It is quite warm to-day and the doors of my study are wide open. As the weather is calm I could not help being calm also. Here I am reflecting upon the past, the past connected with you. My thought is flying far off to a distant land, a celestial spot on earth. It is almost immaterial to me whether it be on the earth or in heaven. Where my thought goes there is something sweet and sacred.

" Since I had my serious heart attack I cannot engage in any vigorous work. But my thought is busily engaged with the idea of our future university and of building up Japan. The Christian work is somewhat neutralized now on account of the union question.

There is also great political excitement. The people are earnestly discussing the revision of the treaties, and political parties are using this question to gain ascendancy. The excitement will be greater next year when we come to elect representatives to the National Assembly. It will be a great epoch in our political history. The world is moving in Japan, so we are bound to push forward our educational work, and to get hold of the conscience of the people. Alas! why can we not make an utmost effort to take up Japan and humbly offer it to Christ?

" Some scholars in Tokyo are endeavoring to check the progressive party and the Christian work. I suppose they will be a power for a while. They are positive, but narrow and exclusive. The movement is a semi-political one. The petty politicians wish the support of the Buddhist priests. The latter hope to maintain their position through the help of these narrow-minded and short-sighted politicians. Let us wait and see how long they will survive against the light of the world. At such a time we ought to make a union effort to keep our front strong. But the union attempted is the centralization of the power of our local churches. Our simple-minded people rather favor this union because it looks broad and is pre-sented in a tangible form. The union I would favor is rather spiritual. I am a lover of democracy. It is not an easy task to occupy the position where I am. When anything happens I am apt to receive the hardest blow. But I don't mind it at all. I have chosen a policy in which church autonomy is recognized and every member can have his voice in the management and government. If the terms of the union are based on this condition I have no least ob- jection to it; but I confess I am careful not to rush forward without any conditions. I beg your pardon for speaking of such unpleasant affairs. But have no least fear. We must go through some fire in this world, but time will heal all petty feelings and misunderstandings. Alas! I must go back to West Gouldsborough to calm down my feelings. Laying aside such thoughts for awhile to engage in meditation on the past seems to me a very part of heaven. What will be my thought when I step forward to the future immaterial heaven! Though I am often disgusted with this world's affairs, I am bound to live through and push through all I can for Christ."