_Northern Lights: Memoirs of a Family of Engineers_. I tell you, it is
going to be a good book. My idea in sending MS. would be to get it set
up; two proofs to me, one to Professor Swan, Ardchapel,
Helensburgh--mark it private and confidential--one to yourself; and
come on with criticisms! But I'll have to see. The total plan of the
book is this--

I. Domestic Annals.

II. The Service of the Northern Lights.

III. The Building of the Bell Rock.

IV. A Houseful of Boys (or the Family in Baxter's Place).

V. Education of an Engineer.

VI. The Grandfather.

VII. Alan Stevenson.

VIII. Thomas Stevenson.

There will be an Introduction 'The Surname of Stevenson' which has
proved a mighty queer subject of inquiry. But, Lord! if I were among
libraries.

_Sunday, 18th._--I shall put in this envelope the end of the
ever-to-be-execrated _Ebb Tide_, or Stevenson's Blooming Error. Also, a
paper apart for _David Balfour_. The slips must go in another enclosure,
I suspect, owing to their beastly bulk. Anyway, there are two pieces of
work off my mind, and though I could wish I had rewritten a little more
of _David_, yet it was plainly to be seen it was impossible. All the
points indicated by you have been brought out; but to rewrite the end,
in my present state of over-exhaustion and fiction-phobia, would have
been madness; and I let it go as it stood. My grandfather is good enough
for me, these days. I do not work any less; on the whole, if anything, a
little more. But it is different.

The slips go to you in four packets; I hope they are what they should
be, but do not think so. I am at a pitch of discontent with fiction in
all its form--or _my_ forms--that prevents me being able to be even
interested. I have had to stop all drink; smoking I am trying to stop
also. It annoys me dreadfully: and yet if I take a glass of claret, I
have a headache the next day! O, and a good headache too; none of your
trifles.

Well, sir, here's to you, and farewell.--Yours ever,

R. L. S.

TO EDMUND GOSSE

_June 10th, 1893._

MY DEAR GOSSE,--My mother tells me you never received the very long and
careful letter that I sent you more than a year ago; or is it two years?

I was indeed so much surprised at your silence that I wrote to Henry
James and begged him to inquire if you had received it; his reply was an
(if possible) higher power of the same silence; whereupon I bowed my