the ignoble midst without woodcuts, and attracted not the least
attention. I did not care. I liked the tale myself, for much the
same reason as my father liked the beginning: it was my kind of
picturesque. I was not a little proud of John Silver also; and to
this day rather admire that smooth and formidable adventurer. What
was infinitely more exhilarating, I had passed a landmark. I had
finished a tale and written The End upon my manuscript, as I had
not done since THE PENTLAND RISING, when I was a boy of sixteen,
not yet at college. In truth, it was so by a lucky set of
accidents: had not Dr Japp come on his visit, had not the tale
flowed from me with singular ease, it must have been laid aside,
like its predecessors, and found a circuitous and unlamented way to
the fire. Purists may suggest it would have been better so. I am
not of that mind. The tale seems to have given much pleasure, and
it brought (or was the means of bringing) fire, food, and wine to a
deserving family in which I took an interest. I need scarcely say
I mean my own."


He himself gives a goodly list of the predecessors which had found
a circuitous and unlamented way to the fire


"As soon as I was able to write, I became a good friend to the
paper-makers. Reams upon reams must have gone to the making of
RATHILLET, THE PENTLAND RISING, THE KING'S PARDON (otherwise PARK
WHITEHEAD), EDWARD DAVEN, A COUNTRY DANCE, and A VENDETTA IN THE
WEST. RATHILLET was attempted before fifteen, THE VENDETTA at
twenty-nine, and the succession of defeats lasted unbroken till I
was thirty-one."