Critic on the Hearth,

No one but myself knows what I have suffered, nor
what my books have gained, by your unsleeping watchfulness
and admirable pertinacity. And now here is a volume that
goes into the world and lacks your imprimatur: a strange thing
in our joint lives; and the reason of it stranger still! I have
watched with interest, with pain, and at length with amuse-
ment, your unavailing attempts to peruse The Black Arrow;
and I think I should lack humour indeed, if I let the occasion
slip and did not place your name in the fly-leaf of the only
book of mine that you have never read -- and never will read.

That others may display more constancy is still my hope.
The tale was written years ago for a particular audience and
(I may say) in rivalry with a particular author; I think I
should do well to name him, Mr. Alfred R. Phillips. It was
not without its reward at the time. I could not, indeed, dis-
place Mr. Phillips from his well-won priority; but in the eyes
of readers who thought less than nothing of Treasure Island,
The Black Arrow was supposed to mark a clear advance.
Those who read volumes and those who read story papers be-
long to different worlds. The verdict on Treasure Island was
reversed in the other court; I wonder, will it be the same with
its successor?

R. L. S.

SARANAC LAKE, April 8, 1888.

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