by
Stevenson, partly under a false impression as to the order of these
initials, partly in friendly derision of a passing fit of lameness,
which called up the memory of Silas Wegg, the immortal literary
gentleman "_with_ a wooden leg" of _Our Mutual Friend_.

_17 Heriot Row, Edinburgh [July 29, 1879]._

MY DEAR GOSSE,--Yours was delicious; you are a young person of wit; one
of the last of them; wit being quite out of date, and humour confined to
the Scotch Church and the _Spectator_ in unconscious survival. You will
probably be glad to hear that I am up again in the world; I have
breathed again, and had a frolic on the strength of it. The frolic was
yesterday, Sawbath; the scene, the Royal Hotel, Bathgate; I went there
with a humorous friend to lunch. The maid soon showed herself a lass of
character. She was looking out of window. On being asked what she was
after, "I'm lookin' for my lad," says she. "Is that him?" "Weel, I've
been lookin' for him a' my life, and I've never seen him yet," was the
response. I wrote her some verses in the vernacular; she read them.
"They're no bad for a beginner," said she. The landlord's daughter, Miss
Stewart, was present in oil colour; so I wrote her a declaration in
verse, and sent it by the handmaid. She (Miss S.) was present on the
stair to witness our departure, in a warm, suffused condition. Damn it,
Gosse, you needn't suppose that you're the only poet in the world.

Your statement about your initials, it will be seen, I pass over in
contempt and silence. When once I have made up my mind, let me tell you,
sir, there lives no pock-pudding who can change it. Your anger I defy.
Your unmanly reference to a well-known statesman I puff from me, sir,
like so much vapour. Weg is your name; Weg. W E G.

My enthusiasm has kind of dropped from me. I envy you your wife, your
home, your child--I was going to say your cat. There would be cats in my
home too if I could but get it. I may seem to you "the impersonation of
life," but my life is the impersonation of waiting, and that's a poor
creature. God help us all, and the deil be kind to the hindmost! Upon my
word, we are a brave, cheery crew, we human beings, and my admiration
increases daily--primarily for myself, but by a roundabout process for
the whole crowd; for I dare say they have all their poor little secrets
and anxieties. And here am I, for instance, writing to you as if you
were in the seventh heaven, and yet I k