O, well, THE OWL only ends well in so far as some lovers come together, and nobody is killed at the moment, but you know they are all doomed, they are Chouan fellows.
FRIDAY, 9TH.
Well, the mail is in; no Blue-book, depressing letter from C.; a long, amusing ramble from my mother; vast masses of Romeike; they ARE going to war now; and what will that lead to? and what has driven, them to it but the persistent misconduct of these two officials? I know I ought to rewrite the end of this bluidy EBB TIDE: well, I can't. CEST PLUS FORT QUE MOI; it has to go the way it is, and be jowned to it! From what I make out of the reviews, I think it would be better not to republish THE EBB TIDE: but keep it for other tales, if they should turn up. Very amusing how the reviews pick out one story and damn the rest I and it is always a different one. Be sure you send me the article from LE TEMPS.
SATURDAY, 17TH.
Since I wrote this last, I have written a whole chapter of my grandfather, and read it to-night; it was on the whole much appreciated, and I kind of hope it ain't bad myself. 'Tis a third writing, but it wants a fourth. By next mail, I believe I might send you 3 chapters. That is to say FAMILY ANNALS, THE SERVICE OF THE NORTHERN LIGHTS, and THE BUILDING OF THE BELL ROCK. Possibly even 4 - A HOUSEFUL OF BOYS. I could finish my grandfather very easy now; my father and Uncle Alan stop the way. I propose to call the book: 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.
CHAPTER XXXI
SATURDAY, 24TH (?) JUNE.
MY DEAR COLVIN - Yesterday morning, after a day of absolute temperance, I awoke to the worst headache I had had yet. Accordingly, temperance was said farewell to, quinine instituted, and I believe my pains are soon to be over. We wait, with a kind of sighing impatience, for war to be declared, or to blow finally off, living in the meanwhile in a kind of children's hour of firelight and shadow and preposterous tales; the king seen at night galloping up our road upon unknown errands and covering his face as he passes our cook; Mataafa daily surrounded (when he awakes) with fresh 'white man's boxes' (query, ammunition?) and professing to be quite ignorant of where they come from; marches of bodies of men across the island; concealment of ditto in the bush; the coming on and off of different chiefs; and such a mass of ravelment and rag-tag as the devil himself could not unwind.