Letter: TO J. A. SYMONDS



SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH [SPRING 1886].

MY DEAR SYMONDS, - If we have lost touch, it is (I think) only in a
material sense; a question of letters, not hearts. You will find a
warm welcome at Skerryvore from both the lightkeepers; and, indeed,
we never tell ourselves one of our financial fairy tales, but a run
to Davos is a prime feature. I am not changeable in friendship;
and I think I can promise you you have a pair of trusty well-
wishers and friends in Bournemouth: whether they write or not is
but a small thing; the flag may not be waved, but it is there.

Jekyll is a dreadful thing, I own; but the only thing I feel
dreadful about is that damned old business of the war in the
members. This time it came out; I hope it will stay in, in future.

Raskolnikoff is easily the greatest book I have read in ten years;
I am glad you took to it. Many find it dull: Henry James could
not finish it: all I can say is, it nearly finished me. It was
like having an illness. James did not care for it because the
character of Raskolnikoff was not objective; and at that I divined
a great gulf between us, and, on further reflection, the existence
of a certain impotence in many minds of to-day, which prevents them
from living IN a book or a character, and keeps them standing afar