MY DEAR HENLEY, - I hope, then, to have a visit from you. If before August, here; if later, at Braemar. Tupe!

And now, MON BON, I must babble about 'The Merry Men,' my favourite work. It is a fantastic sonata about the sea and wrecks. Chapter I. 'Eilean Aros' - the island, the roost, the 'merry men,' the three people there living - sea superst.i.tions. Chapter II. 'What the Wreck had brought to Aros.' Eh, boy? what had it? Silver and clocks and brocades, and what a conscience, what a mad brain!

Chapter III. 'Past and Present in Sandag Bay' - the new wreck and the old - so old - the Armada treasure-ship, Santma Trinid - the grave in the heather - strangers there. Chapter IV. 'The Gale' - the doomed ship - the storm - the drunken madman on the head - cries in the night. Chapter V. 'A Man out of the Sea.' But I must not breathe to you my plot. It is, I fancy, my first real shoot at a story; an odd thing, sir, but, I believe, my own, though there is a little of Scott's PIRATE in it, as how should there not? He had the root of romance in such places. Aros is Earraid, where I lived lang syne; the Ross of Grisapol is the Ross of Mull; Ben Ryan, Ben More. I have written to the middle of Chapter IV. Like enough, when it is finished I shall discard all chapterings; for the thing is written straight through. It must, unhappily, be re-written - too well written not to be.

The chair is only three months in summer; that is why I try for it.

If I get it, which I shall not, I should be independent at once.

Sweet thought. I liked your Byron well; your Berlioz better. No one would remark these cuts; even I, who was looking for it, knew it not at all to be a TORSO. The paper strengthens me in my recommendation to you to follow Colvin's hint. Give us an 1830; you will do it well, and the subject smiles widely on the world:-

1830: A CHAPTER OF ARTISTIC HISTORY, by William Ernest Henley (or OF SOCIAL AND ARTISTIC HISTORY, as the thing might grow to you).

Sir, you might be in the Athenaeum yet with that; and, believe me, you might and would be far better, the author of a readable book. - Yours ever,

R. L. S.

The following names have been invented for Wogg by his dear papa:-

Grunty-pig (when he is scratched), Rose-mouth (when he comes flying up with his rose-leaf tongue depending), and Hoofen-boots (when he has had his foots wet).

How would TALES FOR WINTER NIGHTS do?

Letter: TO W. E. HENLEY

PITLOCHRY, IF YOU PLEASE, [AUGUST] 1881.

DEAR HENLEY, - To answer a point or two. First, the Spanish ship was sloop-rigged and clumsy, because she was fitted out by some private adventurers, not over wealthy, and glad to take what they could get. Is that not right? Tell me if you think not. That, at least, was how I meant it. As for the boat-cloaks, I am afraid they are, as you say, false imagination; but I love the name, nature, and being of them so dearly, that I feel as if I would almost rather ruin a story than omit the reference. The proudest moments of my life have been pa.s.sed in the stern-sheets of a boat with that romantic garment over my shoulders. This, without prejudice to one glorious day when standing upon some water stairs at Lerwick I signalled with my pocket-handkerchief for a boat to come ash.o.r.e for me. I was then aged fifteen or sixteen; conceive my glory.

Several of the phrases you object to are proper nautical, or long- sh.o.r.e phrases, and therefore, I think, not out of place in this long-sh.o.r.e story. As for the two members which you thought at first so ill-united; I confess they seem perfectly so to me. I have chosen to sacrifice a long-projected story of adventure because the sentiment of that is identical with the sentiment of 'My uncle.' My uncle himself is not the story as I see it, only the leading episode of that story. It's really a story of wrecks, as they appear to the dweller on the coast. It's a view of the sea. Goodness knows when I shall be able to re-write; I must first get over this copper-headed cold.

R. L. S.

Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN

PITLOCHRY, AUGUST 1881.

MY DEAR COLVIN, - This is the first letter I have written this good while. I have had a brutal cold, not perhaps very wisely treated; lots of blood - for me, I mean. I was so well, however, before, that I seem to be sailing through with it splendidly. My appet.i.te never failed; indeed, as I got worse, it sharpened - a sort of reparatory instinct. Now I feel in a fair way to get round soon.

MONDAY, AUGUST (2ND, is it?). - We set out for the Spital of Glenshee, and reach Braemar on Tuesday. The Braemar address we cannot learn; it looks as if 'Braemar' were all that was necessary; if particular, you can address 17 Heriot Row. We shall be delighted to see you whenever, and as soon as ever, you can make it possible.

. . . I hope heartily you will survive me, and do not doubt it.

There are seven or eight people it is no part of my scheme in life to survive - yet if I could but heal me of my bellowses, I could have a jolly life - have it, even now, when I can work and stroll a little, as I have been doing till this cold. I have so many things to make life sweet to me, it seems a pity I cannot have that other one thing - health. But though you will be angry to hear it, I believe, for myself at least, what is is best. I believed it all through my worst days, and I am not ashamed to profess it now.

Landor has just turned up; but I had read him already. I like him extremely; I wonder if the 'cuts' were perhaps not advantageous.

It seems quite full enough; but then you know I am a compressionist.

If I am to criticise, it is a little staid; but the cla.s.sical is apt to look so. It is in curious contrast to that inexpressive, unplanned wilderness of Forster's; clear, readable, precise, and sufficiently human. I see nothing lost in it, though I could have wished, in my Scotch capacity, a trifle clearer and fuller exposition of his moral att.i.tude, which is not quite clear 'from here.'

He and his tyrannicide! I am in a mad fury about these explosions.

If that is the new world! d.a.m.n O'Donovan Rossa; d.a.m.n him behind and before, above, below, and roundabout; d.a.m.n, deracinate, and destroy him, root and branch, self and company, world without end.

Amen. I write that for sport if you like, but I will pray in earnest, O Lord, if you cannot convert, kindly delete him!

Stories naturally at - halt. Henley has seen one and approves. I believe it to be good myself, even real good. He has also seen and approved one of f.a.n.n.y's. It will snake a good volume. We have now

Thrawn Janet (with Stephen), proof to-day.

The Shadow on the Bed (f.a.n.n.y's copying).

The Merry Men (scrolled).

The Body s.n.a.t.c.hers (scrolled).

IN GERMIS

The Travelling Companion.

The Torn Surplice (NOT FINAL t.i.tLE).

Yours ever,

R. L. S.

Letter: TO DR. ALEXANDER j.a.pP

THE COTTAGE, CASTLETON OF BRAEMAR, SUNDAY, AUGUST 1881.

MY DEAR SIR, - I should long ago have written to thank you for your kind and frank letter; but in my state of health papers are apt to get mislaid, and your letter has been vainly hunted for until this (Sunday) morning.

I regret I shall not be able to see you in Edinburgh; one visit to Edinburgh has already cost me too dear in that invaluable particular health; but if it should be at all possible for you to push on as far as Braemar, I believe you would find an attentive listener, and I can offer you a bed, a drive, and necessary food, etc.

If, however, you should not be able to come thus far, I can promise you two things: First, I shall religiously revise what I have written, and bring out more clearly the point of view from which I regarded Th.o.r.eau; second, I shall in the Preface record your objection.

The point of view (and I must ask you not to forget that any such short paper is essentially only a SECTION THROUGH a man) was this: I desired to look at the man through his books. Thus, for instance, when I mentioned his return to the pencil-making, I did it only in pa.s.sing (perhaps I was wrong), because it seemed to me not an ill.u.s.tration of his principles, but a brave departure from them. Thousands of such there were I do not doubt; still, they might be hardly to my purpose, though, as you say so, some of them would be.

Our difference as to pity I suspect was a logomachy of my making.

No pitiful acts on his part would surprise me; I know he would be more pitiful in practice than most of the whiners; but the spirit of that practice would still seem to be unjustly described by the word pity.

When I try to be measured, I find myself usually suspected of a sneaking unkindness for my subject; but you may be sure, sir, I would give up most other things to be so good a man as Th.o.r.eau.

Even my knowledge of him leads me thus far.

Should you find yourself able to push on to Braemar - it may even be on your way - believe me, your visit will be most welcome. The weather is cruel, but the place is, as I dare say you know, the very 'wale' of Scotland - bar Tummelside. - Yours very sincerely,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.