Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson Vol 2 | Page 7

lay my hand on my heart
and swear to it. It took place in that house in 1884; and if your daughter
was in that house at the time, all I can say is she must have kept very
bad society.

But I see you coming. Perhaps your daughter's house has not a balcony
at the back? I cannot answer for that; I only know that side of Queen
Square from the pavement and the back windows of Brunswick Row.
Thence I saw plenty of balconies (terraces rather); and if there is none
to the particular house in question, it must have been so arranged to
spite me.
I now come to the conclusion of this matter. I address three questions to
your daughter:-
1st Has her house the proper terrace?
2nd. Is it on the proper side of the hospital?
3rd. Was she there in the summer of 1884?
You see, I begin to fear that Mrs. Desborough may have deceived me
on some trifling points, for she is not a lady of peddling exactitude. If
this should prove to be so, I will give your daughter a proper certificate,
and her house property will return to its original value.
Can man say more? - Yours very truly,
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
I saw the other day that the Eternal had plagiarised from LOST SIR
MASSINGBERD: good again, sir! I wish he would plagiarise the death
of Zero.

Letter: TO W. H. LOW

SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, JAN.
SOMETHINGOROTHER-TH, 1886.
MY DEAR LOW, - I send you two photographs: they are both done by
Sir Percy Shelley, the poet's son, which may interest. The sitting down

one is, I think, the best; but if they choose that, see that the little
reflected light on the nose does not give me a turn-up; that would be
tragic. Don't forget 'Baronet' to Sir Percy's name.
We all think a heap of your book; and I am well pleased with my
dedication. - Yours ever,
R. L. STEVENSON.
P.S. - APROPOS of the odd controversy about Shelley's nose: I have
before me four photographs of myself, done by Shelley's son: my nose
is hooked, not like the eagle, indeed, but like the accipitrine family in
man: well, out of these four, only one marks the bend, one makes it
straight, and one suggests a turn-up. This throws a flood of light on
calumnious man - and the scandal- mongering sun. For personally I
cling to my curve. To continue the Shelley controversy: I have a look
of him, all his sisters had noses like mine; Sir Percy has a marked hook;
all the family had high cheek-bones like mine; what doubt, then, but
that this turn-up (of which Jeaffreson accuses the poet, along with
much other FATRAS) is the result of some accident similar to what has
happened in my photographs by his son?
R. L. S.

Letter: TO THOMAS STEVENSON

[SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH, JANUARY 25, 1886.]
MY DEAR FATHER, - Many thanks for a letter quite like yourself. I
quite agree with you, and had already planned a scene of religion in
BALFOUR; the Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge
furnishes me with a catechist whom I shall try to make the man. I have
another catechist, the blind, pistol-carrying highway robber, whom I
have transferred from the Long Island to Mull. I find it a most
picturesque period, and wonder Scott let it escape. The COVENANT is

lost on one of the Tarrans, and David is cast on Earraid, where (being
from inland) he is nearly starved before he finds out the island is tidal;
then he crosses Mull to Toronsay, meeting the blind catechist by the
way; then crosses Morven from Kinlochaline to Kingairloch, where he
stays the night with the good catechist; that is where I am; next day he
is to be put ashore in Appin, and be present at Colin Campbell's death.
To-day I rest, being a little run down. Strange how liable we are to
brain fag in this scooty family! But as far as I have got, all but the last
chapter, I think David is on his feet, and (to my mind) a far better story
and far sounder at heart than TREASURE ISLAND.
I have no earthly news, living entirely in my story, and only coming out
of it to play patience. The Shelleys are gone; the Taylors kinder than
can be imagined. The other day, Lady Taylor drove over and called on
me; she is a delightful old lady, and great fun. I mentioned a story
about the Duchess of Wellington which I had heard Sir Henry tell; and
though he was very tired, he looked it up and copied it out for me in his
own hand. - Your most affectionate son,