able" at least. I know no more than that what it is—fancy, story allegory, what you will. I might invoke the great names of Hoffmann and Hawthorne for its Godfathers, I might recall a story much beloved by me, Sintram and His Companions^ did I not, most justly, fear the comparison I
But the word allegory is, in these days, a dangerous one, and some one will soon be showing me that we have, each one of us, his Sea-Fog, his White Tower, and that it is the fault of his own weakness if he does not fling out of the window his Red-Haired man.
No, no, God forbid. This is a tale and nothing but a tale, and all I ask is that once beginning it you will find it hard to lay down unfinished—
and that you will think of me always as
Your affectionate friend
Hugh.
