How does your class get along? If you like to touch on _Otto_, any day in a by-hour, you may tell them--as the author's last dying confession--that it is a strange example of the difficulty of being ideal in an age of realism; that the unpleasant giddy-mindedness, which spoils the book and often gives it a wanton air of unreality and juggling with air-bells, comes from unsteadiness of key; from the too great realism of some chapters and passages--some of which I have now spotted, others I dare say I shall never spot--which disprepares the imagination for the cast of the remainder. Any story can be made _true_ in its own key; any story can be made _false_ by the choice of a wrong key of detail or style: _Otto_ is made to reel like a drunken--I was going to say man, but let us substitute cipher--by the variations of the key. Have you observed that the famous problem of realism and idealism is one purely of detail? Have you seen my _Note on Realism_ in Cassell's Magazine of Art; and _Elements of Style_ in the Contemporary; and _Romance_ and _Humble Apology_ in Longman's? They are all in your line of business; let me know what you have not seen and I'll send 'em. I am glad I brought the old house up to you. It was a pleasant old spot, and I remember you there, though still more dearly in your own strange den upon a hill in San Francisco; and one of the most San Francisco-y parts of San Francisco. Good-bye, my dear fellow, and believe me your friend, ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. TO EDMUND GOSSE Concerning the payment which Mr. Gosse had procured him from an American magazine for the set of verses addressed to Mr. Low (see above, p. 172). [_Skerryvore, Bournemouth, Feb. 17, 1886._] DEAR GOSSE,--Non, c'est honteux! for a set of shambling lines that don't know whether they're trochees or what they are, that you or any of the crafty ones would blush all over if you had so much as thought upon, all by yourselves, in the water-closet. But God knows, I am glad enough of five pounds; and this is almost as honest a way to get it as plain theft, so what should I care?--Ever yours, R. L. S. TO J. A. SYMONDS _Skerryvore, Bournemouth [Spring 1886]._ MY DEAR SYMONDS,--If we have lost touch, it is (I think) only in a material sense; a question of letters, not hearts. You will find a warm welcome at Skerryvore from both the lightkeepers; and, indeed, we never tell ourselves one of our financial fairy tales, but a run to Davos is a prime feature. I am not changeable in friendship; and I think I can promise you you have a pair of trusty well-wishers and friends in Bournemouth: whether they write or not is but a small thing; the flag may not be waved, but it is there. _Jekyll_ is a dreadful thing, I own; but the only thing I feel dreadful about is that damned old business of the war in the members. This time it came out; I hope it will stay in, in future.