ay, and Etherege. They are
excellent; I hesitate between them; but perhaps Crashaw is the most
brilliant.

Your Webster is not my Webster; nor your Herrick my Herrick. On these
matters we must fire a gun to leeward, show our colours, and go by.
Argument is impossible. They are two of my favourite authors: Herrick
above all: I suppose they are two of yours. Well, Janus-like, they do
behold us two with diverse countenances, few features are common to
these different avatars; and we can but agree to differ, but still with
gratitude to our entertainers, like two guests at the same dinner, one
of whom takes clear and one white soup. By my way of thinking, neither
of us need be wrong.

The other papers are all interesting, adequate, clear, and with a
pleasant spice of the romantic. It is a book you may be well pleased to
have so finished, and will do you much good. The Crashaw is capital:
capital; I like the taste of it. Preface clean and dignified. The
handling throughout workmanlike, with some four or five touches of
preciosity, which I regret.

With my thanks for information, entertainment, and a pleasurable envy
here and there.--Yours affectionately,

R. L. S.

TO MISS FERRIER

Soon after he was settled again at Hyeres, Stevenson had a great
shock in the death of one of the oldest and most intimate of his
friends of Edinburgh days, Mr. James Walter Ferrier (see the essay
_Old Mortality_ in _Memories and Portraits_). It is in accordance
with the expressed wish of this gentleman's surviving sister that
publicity is given to the following letters:--

_La Solitude, Hyeres_ [_Sept. 1883_].

MY DEAR MISS FERRIER,--They say Walter is gone. You, who know how I have
neglected him, will conceive my remorse. I had another letter written;
when I heard he was worse, I promised myself to wake up for the last
time. Alas, too late!

My dear Walter, set apart that terrible disease, was, in his right mind,
the best and gentlest gentleman. God knows he would never intentionally
hurt a soul.

Well, he is done with his troubles and out of his long sickness, and I
dare say is glad to be at peace and out of the body, which in him seemed
the enemy of the fine and kind spirit. He is the first friend I have
ever lost, and I find it difficult to say anything and fear to intrude
upon your grief. But I had to try to tell you how much I shared it.

Could you get any one to tell me particulars? Do not