to P. G. Hamerton

Châlet am Stein, Davos, Autumn [1881].

MY DEAR MR. HAMERTON,—My conscience has long been smiting me, till it became nearly chronic.  My excuses, however, are many and not pleasant.  Almost immediately after I last wrote to you, I had a hemorreage (I can’t spell it), was badly treated by a doctor in the country, and have been a long while picking up—still, in fact, have much to desire on that side.  Next, as soon as I got here, my wife took ill; she is, I fear, seriously so; and this combination of two invalids very much depresses both.

I have a volume of republished essays coming out with Chatto and Windus; I wish they would come, that my wife might have the reviews to divert her.  Otherwise my news is nil.  I am up here in a little chalet, on the borders of a pinewood, overlooking a great part of the Davos Thal, a beautiful scene at night, with the moon upon the snowy mountains, and the lights warmly shining in the village.  J. A. Symonds is next door to me, just at the foot of my Hill Difficulty (this you will please regard as the House Beautiful), and his society is my great stand-by.

Did you see I had joined the band of the rejected?  ‘Hardly one of us,’ said my confrères at the bar.

I was blamed by a common friend for asking you to give me a testimonial; in the circumstances he thought it was indelicate.  Lest, by some calamity, you should ever have felt the same way, I must say in two words how the matter appeared to me.  That silly story of the election altered in no tittle the value of your testimony: so much for that.  On the other hand, it led me to take quite a particular pleasure in asking you to give it; and so much for the other.  I trust, even if you cannot share it, you will understand my view.

I am in treaty with Bentley for a life of Hazlitt; I hope it will not fall through, as I love the subject, and appear to have found a publisher who loves it also.  That, I think, makes things more pleasant.  You know I am a fervent Hazlittite; I mean regarding him as the English writer who has had the scantiest justice.  Besides which, I am anxious to write biography; really, if I understand myself in quest of profit, I think it must be good to live with another man from birth to death.  You have tried it, and know.

How has the cruising gone?  Pray remember me to Mrs. Hamerton and your son, and believe me, yours very sincerely,

Robert Louis Stevenson.