Talking of Meredith, I have just re-read for the third and fourth time _The Egoist_. When I shall have read it the sixth or seventh, I begin to see I shall know about it. You will be astonished when you come to re-read it; I had no idea of the matter—human, red matter he has contrived to plug and pack into that strange and admirable book. Willoughby is, of course, a pure discovery; a complete set of nerves, not heretofore examined, and yet running all over the human body—a suit of nerves. Clara is the best girl ever I saw anywhere. Vernon is almost as good. The manner and the faults of the book greatly justify themselves on further study. Only Dr. Middleton does not hang together; and Ladies Busshe and Culmer _sont des monstruosités_. Vernon’s conduct makes a wonderful odd contrast with Daniel Deronda’s. I see more and more that Meredith is built for immortality. Talking of which, Heywood, as a small immortal, an immortalet, claims some attention. _The Woman killed with Kindness_ is one of the most striking novels—not plays, though it’s more of a play than anything else of his—I ever read. He had such a sweet, sound soul, the old boy. The death of the two pirates in _Fortune by Sea and_ _Land_ is a document. He had obviously been present, and heard Purser and Clinton take death by the beard with similar braggadocios. Purser and Clinton, names of pirates; Scarlet and Bobbington, names of highwaymen. He had the touch of names, I think. No man I ever knew had such a sense, such a tact, for English nomenclature: Rainsforth, Lacy, Audley, Forrest, Acton, Spencer, Frankford—so his names run. Byron not only wrote _Don Juan_; he called Joan of Arc ‘a fanatical strumpet.’ These are his words. I think the double shame, first to a great poet, second to an English noble, passes words. Here is a strange gossip.—I am yours loquaciously, R. L. S. My lungs are said to be in a splendid state. A cruel examination, an exa_nim_ation I may call it, had this brave result. _Taïaut_! Hillo! Hey! Stand by! Avast! Hurrah! TO MRS. T. STEVENSON [_Chalet am Stein_, _Davos_, _April_ 9, 1882.] MY DEAR MOTHER,—Herewith please find belated birthday present. Fanny has another. Cockshot = Jenkin. But pray regard these as secrets. Jack = Bob. Burly = Henley. Athelred = Simpson. Opalstein = Symonds. Purcel = Gosse.