my
copyright.)

I'll make this boys' book business pay; but I have to make a beginning.
When I'm done with Young Folks, I'll try Routledge or some one. I feel
pretty sure the _Sea Cook_ will do to reprint, and bring something
decent at that.

Japp is a good soul. The poet was very gay and pleasant. He told me
much: he is simply the most active young man in England, and one of the
most intelligent. "He shall o'er Europe, shall o'er earth extend."[41]
He is now extending over adjacent parts of Scotland.

I propose to follow up _The Sea Cook_ at proper intervals by _Jerry
Abershaw: A Tale of Putney Heath_ (which or its site I must visit): _The
Leading Light: A Tale of the Coast_, _The Squaw Men: or the Wild West_,
and other instructive and entertaining work. _Jerry Abershaw_ should be
good, eh? I love writing boys' books. This first is only an experiment;
wait till you see what I can make 'em with my hand in. I'll be the
Harrison Ainsworth of the future; and a chalk better by St. Christopher;
or at least as good. You'll see that even by _The Sea Cook_.

Jerry Abershaw--O what a title! Jerry Abershaw: d--n it, sir, it's a
poem. The two most lovely words in English; and what a sentiment! Hark
you, how the hoofs ring! Is this a blacksmith's? No, it's a wayside inn.
Jerry Abershaw. "It was a clear, frosty evening, not 100 miles from
Putney," etc. Jerry Abershaw. Jerry Abershaw. Jerry Abershaw. _The Sea
Cook_ is now in its sixteenth chapter, and bids for well up in the
thirties. Each three chapters is worth L2, 10s. So we've L12, 10s.
already.

Don't read Marryat's _Pirate_ anyhow; it is written in sand with a
salt-spoon: arid, feeble, vain, tottering production. But then we're
not always all there. _He_ was _all_ somewhere else that trip. It's
_damnable_, Henley. I don't go much on _The Sea Cook_; but, Lord, it's a
little fruitier than the _Pirate_ by Cap'n. Marryat.

Since this was written _The Cook_ is in his nineteenth chapter. Yo-heave
ho!

R. L. S.

TO W. E. HENLEY

Stevenson's uncle, Dr. George Balfour, had recommended him to wear a
specially contrived and hideous respirator for the inhalation of
pine-oil.

_Braemar, 1881._

Dear Henley, with a pig's snout on
I am starting for London,
Where I likely shall arrive,
On Saturday, if still alive:
Perhaps your pirate doctor might
See me on Sunday? If all's right,
I should then lunch with you and with she
Who's dear