How to answer your kind suggestion about pulling me "out of my shell," I don't well know. I like to be out of the shell--but much of that kind of thing could only result in the blue devils. After seeing men like you and the other Guardsman,--the dear doctor,--one is beset with a foolish wish to get back into the world which produced you both, back to the U. S. A.,--out of Government grind, out of the unspeakable abomination and dulness and selfishness and stupidity of mere officialism. And I can't afford that feeling often--not _yet_. I have too many little butterfly-lives to love and take care of. Some day, I know, I must get back for a time. Meanwhile I must face the enemy and stand the music.
Now I want you to tell me that Highbinder romance when I next meet you. Perhaps your solitary experience could give me more than one good story. Every good man's life is full of romances. The trouble is to get him to tell them, and to understand them properly when told. Your "Prussian officer" is delicious; but I fear my talent is not quite up to the mark of telling it as it ought to be told. Maupassant--Kipling--they would delight the world with such a thing. Never mind!--I am sure, _if_ you want me to write stories, that you can give me all the material you want or that I need. I shall sit again at the table, supporting that beautiful cap with its silver-eagle,--and I shall talk and talk and talk until you tell me more stories.
Won't you be glad to hear that my new book will be finished this month,--perhaps this week? Then for the "Stories from Many Lips"--or something of that kind.
Ever affectionately yours, LAFCADIO HEARN.
DEAR McDONALD,--I got your kindest reply to my note of the other day,--actually apologizing for not writing sooner. But I told you never to bother yourself about writing me when you do not feel like it or when you are in the least busy; and I shall never feel neglected if you be silent, but only think that you have business on hand, and hope that you will have good luck in the undertaking.
Why, yes: I must get down some Saturday, or Friday afternoon--that would be still better--so as to return to T[=o]ky[=o] Sunday night: for my Saturdays are free. But not _too_ soon. It is only about two weeks since I was with you--though I acknowledge that it seems to me like three months. I wish I could see you more often;--then again, I think, you would be tired of my chatter soon. (I know what you would protest; but it doesn't matter.) Well, not to argue too much, I promise to make a visit during February,--though I shall scarcely be able to name an exact day in advance.