ttle
apology for my house; but I don't like to come before people who have a
note of song, and let it be supposed I do not know the difference.

To return to the more important--news. My wife again suffers in high and
cold places; I again profit. She is off to-day to New York for a change,
as heretofore to Berne, but I am glad to say in better case than then.
Still it is undeniable she suffers, and you must excuse her (at least)
if we both prove bad correspondents. I am decidedly better, but I have
been terribly cut up with business complications: one disagreeable, as
threatening loss; one, of the most intolerable complexion, as involving
me in dishonour. The burthen of consistent carelessness: I have lost
much by it in the past; and for once (to my damnation) I have gained. I
am sure you will sympathise. It is hard work to sleep; it is hard to be
told you are a liar, and have to hold your peace, and think, "Yes, by
God, and a thief too!" You remember my lectures on Ajax, or the
Unintentional Sin? Well, I know all about that now. Nothing seems so
unjust to the sufferer: or is more just in essence. _Laissez passer la
justice de Dieu._

Lloyd has learned to use the typewriter, and has most gallantly
completed upon that the draft of a tale, which seems to me not without
merit and promise, it is so silly, so gay, so absurd, in spots (to my
partial eyes) so genuinely humorous. It is true, he would not have
written it but for the _New Arabian Nights_; but it is strange to find a
young writer funny. Heavens, but I was depressing when I took the pen in
hand! And now I doubt if I am sadder than my neighbours. Will this
beginner move in the inverse direction?

Let me have your news, and believe me, my dear Symonds, with genuine
affection, yours,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

TO W. E. HENLEY

The following refers to a volume on the elder Dumas, which Mr. Henley
was at this time preparing to write, and which he proposed to
dedicate to his friend.

_Saranac [December 1887]._

MY DEAR LAD,--I was indeed overjoyed to hear of the Dumas. In the matter
of the dedication, are not cross dedications a little awkward? Lang and
Rider Haggard did it, to be sure. Perpend. And if you should conclude
against a dedication, there is a passage in _Memories and Portraits_
written _at_ you, when I was most desperate (to stir you up a bit),
which might be quoted: something about Dumas still waiting his
biographer. I ha