"I can't understand," she confessed. "Often and often I have tried to think myself a man—a man with ambition. And to me that has always meant fighting. I see myself a man, and the people between me and the prize have all to be knocked down or pushed out of the way. But you don't even see them—all you see is a pimply-faced boy sucking a quill. Taffy——" "What is it, Honoria?" "I wish you would write to me, when you get to Oxford. Write regularly. Tell me all you do." "You will like to hear?" "Of course I shall; so will George. But it's not only that. You have such an easy way of going forward; you take it for granted you're going to be a great man——" "I don't." "Yes, you do. You think it just lies with yourself, and it is nobody's business to interfere with you. You don't even notice those who are on the same path. Now a woman would notice every one, and find out all about them." "Who said I wanted to be a great man?" "Don't be silly, that's a good boy. There's your father coming out of the church-porch, and you haven't told him yet. Run to him, but promise first." "What?" "That you will write." "I promise." (To be continued.) THE LETTERS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON Edited by Sidney Colvin BOURNEMOUTH (CONTINUED): 1885-1886 [The following correspondence with Mr. William Archer I insert continuously, though it belongs to two different periods of the year 1885. An anonymous review of the _Child's Garden_, appearing in March, gave R. L. S. so much pleasure that he wrote to inquire the name of his critic, and learned that it was Mr. Archer, with whom he had hitherto had no acquaintance, but with whom he thereupon entered into friendly correspondence. The "paper" referred to in the later letters of October 25 to November 1, is one on R. L. S. in general, which Mr. Archer wrote over his own signature in _Time_, a monthly magazine now extinct.] BOURNEMOUTH, March 29th, 1885. DEAR MR. ARCHER,—Yes, I have heard of you and read some of your work; but I am bound in particular to thank you for the notice of my verses. "There," I said, throwing it over to the friend who was staying with me, "it's worth writing a book to draw an article like that." Had you been as hard upon me as you were amiable, I try to tell myself I should have been no blinder to the merits of your notice. For I saw there, to admire and to be very grateful for, a most sober, agile pen; an enviable touch; the marks of a reader, such as one imagines for one's self in dreams, thoughtful, critical, and kind; and to put the top on this memorial column, a greater readiness to describe the author criticised than to display the talents of his censor. I am a man _blasé_ to injudicious praise (though I hope some of it may be judicious, too), but I have to thank you for THE BEST CRITICISM I EVER HAD; and am therefore, dear Mr. Archer, the most grateful critickee now extant. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.