"I trust your health and that of Mrs. Hamerton keep better; your last account was a poor one. I was unable to make out the visit I had hoped as (I do not know if you heard of it) I had a very violent and dangerous hemorrhage last spring. I am almost glad to have seen death so close with all my wits about me, and not in the customary lassitude and disenchantment of disease. Even thus clearly beheld, I find him not so terrible as we suppose. But, indeed, with the passing of years, the decay of strength, the loss of all my old active and pleasant habits, there grows more and more upon me that belief in the kindness of this scheme of things, and the goodness of our veiled God, which is an excellent and pacifying compensation. I trust, if your health continues to trouble you, you may find some of the same belief. But perhaps my fine discovery is a piece of art, and belongs to a character cowardly, intolerant of certain feelings, and apt to self-deception. I don't think so, however; and when I feel what a weak and fallible vessel I was thrust into this hurly-burly, and with what marvellous kindness the wind has been tempered to my frailties, I think I should be a strange kind of ass to feel anything but gratitude.
"I do not know why I should inflict this talk upon you; but when I summon the rebellious pen, he must go his own way: I am no Michael Scott, to rule the fiend of correspondence. Most days he will none of me: and when he comes, it is to rape me where he will.
"Yours very sincerely,
"ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON."
Mr. Seeley wrote:—
"My brother the Professor has been staying with us and reading the 'Graphic Arts' and 'Landscape' most assiduously. He was deeply interested, and said they seemed to him most important works, giving him views about art which had never entered his mind before. He seems to feel that you are doing in Art what he is doing in History."
For the present, Mr. Hamerton had no great work in hand. There was the usual writing for the "Portfolio," and he had been asked for articles by the editors of "Longmans' Magazine" and the "Atlantic Monthly," but he had not yet made up his mind as to the subject of a new important book, and was discussing various schemes both with Mr. Seeley and Mr. Craik.
In one of his letters to Mr. Seeley he said:—
"I have sometimes thoughts of writing a book (not too long) on the Elements or Principles of Art Criticism, in the same way as G. H. Lewes once wrote a series of papers for the 'Fortnightly' on the Principles of Success in Literature. I think I could make such papers interesting by giving examples both from critics and artists, and from various kinds of art. It would add to the interest of such papers if they had a few illustrations specially for themselves, and as I went on with the writing I could tell you beforehand what illustrations might be useful, though I cannot say beforehand what might be required. I should make it my business to show in what real criticism, that is worth writing and worth reading, differs from the hasty expression of mere personal sensations which is so often substituted for it; and I would show in some detail how there are different criteria, and how they may be justly or unjustly applied, giving examples. The articles might be reprinted afterwards in the shape of a moderate-sized book like my 'Life of Turner,' but about half as thick, and if we kept the illustrations small they might go into the book. Such a piece of work would have the advantage of giving me opportunities for showing how strongly tempted we all are to judge works of art by some special criterion instead of applying different criteria. For example, I remember hearing a man say before a picture that told a story that 'its color was good, and, after all, the color was the main thing in a picture.' Another would have criticised the drawing of the figures, a third the composition, a fourth the handling. Lastly, it might have occurred to some one to inquire how the story was told, and whether the artist had understood the story he had to tell.
"I remember being in an exhibition with Robinson, the famous engraver, more than twenty, or perhaps thirty, years ago, and was very much struck by a criticism of his on a picture which seemed to me very good in many respects, though the effect was a very quiet one. He said, 'There's no light and shade;' and the want of good, strong oppositions of light and dark that could be effectively engraved seemed to him quite a fatal defect, though on looking at the work in color the absence of these oppositions did not strike me, as other qualities predominated. Here was the engraver's professional point of view interfering with his judgment of a picture that was good, but could not be engraved effectually.