gulf of blue above seems a shoreless sea, whose
foam is stars, a myriad million lights are throbbing and
flickering and palpitating, a vast stillness filled with
perfume prevails over the land,--made only more impressive by
the voices of the night-birds and crickets; and all the busy
voices of business are dead. The boats are laid up, cotton
presses closed, and the city is half empty. So that the time
is really inspiring. But I must wait to record the
inspiration in some more energetic climate."

It is by Hearn's letters to Mr. Watkin that we are able to follow his
more intimate feelings and mode of life at this period of his career. He
was at first extravagantly enthusiastic about the quaint beauty and
novelty of his surroundings, the luxuriant vegetation, the warmth of the
climate, the charm of the Creole population of the older portion of the
city. The wealth of a world, unworked gold in the ore, he declared, was
to be found in this half-ruined Southern Paradise; in spite of her
pitiful decay, it still was an enchanting city. This rose-coloured view
of New Orleans was soon dissipated by pressing financial anxiety.

He had been visiting his uncle, he wrote, and was on the verge of
beggary. It was possible, however, to live on fish and vegetables for
twenty cents a day. Not long after, we find him begging his old Dad to
sell all his books, "except the French ones," and send him the proceeds,
as he was in a state of desperation with no friend to help him. The need
of money, indeed, so cramped and hindered his movements that he was
unable any longer to get material for the "copy" of his newspaper
correspondence.

Want of money seems also to have necessitated frequent change of
residence. His first card is written from 228 Baronne Street, care of
Mrs. Bustellos. In the left-hand corner is the drawing of a raven
sitting disconsolate beside a door. Shortly afterwards he describes
himself as living in an old house with dovecot-shaped windows shadowed
with creeping plants, where we have a picture of him sitting close to
the fire, smoking his pipe of "_terre Gambiese_," conjuring up fancies
of palm-trees and humming-birds, and perfume-laden winds, while a "voice
from the far tropics called to him across the darkness."

It is easy with our knowledge of Hearn to imagine how the money he
started with in his pocket from Cincinnati melted away during his
sojourn at Memphis, his journey