When we learn that the articles alluded to are those collected in “Across the Plains” we quite assent to this impression made by them after a troubled interval, and envy the author who, in a far Pacific isle, could see “The Lantern Bearers,” “A Letter to a Young Gentleman” and “Pulvis et Umbra” float back to him as a guarantee of his faculty and between covers constituting the book that is to live. Stevenson’s masculine wisdom moreover, his remarkable final sanity, is always—and it was not what made least in him for happy intercourse—close to his comedy and next door to his slang. And however low the lights are, the stuff is true, and I believe the more effective; after all, what I wish to fight is the best fought by a rather cheerless presentation of the truth. The world must return some day to the word “duty,” and be done with the word “reward.” There are no rewards, and plenty duties. And the sooner a man sees that and acts upon it, like a gentleman or a fine old barbarian, the better for himself. It would perhaps be difficult to quote a single paragraph giving more than that of the whole of him. But there is abundance of him in this too: How do journalists fetch up their drivel? . . . It has taken me two months to write 45,500 words; and, be damned to my wicked prowess, I am proud of the exploit! . . . A respectable little five-bob volume, to bloom unread in shop windows. After that I’ll have a spank at fiction. And rest? I shall rest in the grave, or when I come to Italy. If only the public will continue to support me! I lost my chance not dying; there seems blooming little fear of it now. I worked close on five hours this morning; the day before, close on nine; and unless I finish myself off with this letter I’ll have another hour and a half, or _aiblins twa_, before dinner. Poor man, how you must envy me as you hear of these orgies of work, and you scarce able for a letter. But Lord! Colvin, how lucky the situations are not reversed, for I have no situation, nor am fit for any. Life is a steigh brae. Here, have at Knappe, and no more clavers!