the poet, Sir Percy's father, as they
imagined him.

_Skerryvore, Bournemouth, Jan. Somethingorother-th, 1886._

MY DEAR LOW,--I send you two photographs: they are both done by Sir
Percy Shelley, the poet's son, which may interest. The sitting down one
is, I think, the best; but if they choose that, see that the little
reflected light on the nose does not give me a turn-up; that would be
tragic. Don't forget "Baronet" to Sir Percy's name.

We all think a heap of your book; and I am well pleased with my
dedication.--Yours ever,

R. L. STEVENSON.

_P.S._--Apropos of the odd controversy about Shelley's nose: I have
before me four photographs of myself, done by Shelley's son: my nose is
hooked, not like the eagle, indeed, but like the accipitrine family in
man: well, out of these four, only one marks the bend, one makes it
straight, and one suggests a turn-up. This throws a flood of light on
calumnious man--and the scandal-mongering sun. For personally I cling to
my curve. To continue the Shelley controversy: I have a look of him, all
his sisters had noses like mine: Sir Percy has a marked hook; all the
family had high cheek-bones like mine; what doubt, then, but that this
turn-up (of which Jeaffreson accuses the poet, along with much other
_fatras_) is the result of some accident similar to what has happened in
my photographs by his son?

R. L. S.

TO CHARLES J. GUTHRIE

"The lad" is Lloyd Osbourne, at this time a student at Edinburgh
University.

_Skerryvore, Bournemouth, Jan. 18th, 1886._

MY DEAR GUTHRIE,--I hear the lad has got into the Spec. and I write to
thank you very warmly for the part you have played. I only wish we were
both going there together to-morrow night, and you would be in the
secretary's place (that so well became you, sir) and I were to open a
debate or harry you on "Private Business," and Omond perhaps to read us
a few glowing pages on--the siege of Saragossa, was it? or the Battle of
Saratoga? my memory fails me, but I have not forgotten a certain white
charger that careered over the fields of incoherent fight with a
prodigious consequence of laughter: have you? I wonder, has Omond?

Well, well, _perierunt_, but, I hope, _non imputantur_. We have had good
fun.

Again thanking you sincerely, I remain, my dear Guthrie, your old
comrade,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

TO THOMAS STEVENSON

_Kidnapped_ had at this time just been take