not breathe to you my plot. It is, I fancy, my first real shoot at a
story; an odd thing, sir, but, I believe, my own, though there is a
little of Scott's _Pirate_ in it, as how should there not? He had the
root of romance in such places. Aros is Earraid, where I lived lang
syne;[40] the Ross of Grisapol is the Ross of Mull; Ben Ryan, Ben More.
I have written to the middle of Chapter IV. Like enough, when it is
finished I shall discard all chapterings; for the thing is written
straight through. It must, unhappily, be re-written--too well written
not to be.

The chair is only three months in summer; that is why I try for it. If I
get it, which I shall not, I should be independent at once. Sweet
thought. I liked your Byron well; your Berlioz better. No one would
remark these cuts; even I, who was looking for it, knew it not at all to
be a torso. The paper strengthens me in my recommendation to you to
follow Colvin's hint. Give us an 1830; you will do it well, and the
subject smiles widely on the world:--

1830: _A Chapter of Artistic History_, by William Ernest Henley (or _of
Social and Artistic History_, as the thing might grow to you). Sir, you
might be in the Athenaeum yet with that; and, believe me, you might and
would be far better, the author of a readable book.--Yours ever,

R. L. S.

The following names have been invented for Wogg by his dear papa:--

Grunty-pig (when he is scratched),

Rose-mouth (when he comes flying up with his rose-leaf tongue
depending), and

Hoofen-boots (when he has had his foots wet).

How would _Tales for Winter Nights_ do?

TO W. E. HENLEY

The spell of good health did not last long, and with a break of the
weather came a return of catarrhal troubles and hemorrhage. This
letter answers some criticisms made by his correspondent on _The
Merry Men_ as drafted in MS.

_Pitlochry, if you please [August], 1881._

DEAR HENLEY,--To answer a point or two. First, the Spanish ship was
sloop-rigged and clumsy, because she was fitted out by some private
adventurers, not over wealthy, and glad to take what they could get. Is
that not right? Tell me if you think not. That, at least, was how I
meant it. As for the boat-cloaks, I am afraid they are, as you say,
false imagination; but I love the name, nature, and being of them so
dearly, that I feel as if I would almost rather ruin a story than omit
the reference. The proudest moments of my life hav