, that I hear crying this sordid and rank twaddle in my ear?
Preaching the dankest Grundyism and upholding the rank customs of our
trade--you who are so cruel hard upon the customs of the publishers? O
man, look at the Beam in our own Eyes; and whatever else you do, do not
plead Satan's cause, or plead it for all; either embrace the bad, or
respect the good when you see a poor devil trying for it. If this is the
honesty of authors--to take what you can get and console yourself
because publishers are rich--take my name from the rolls of that
association. 'Tis a caucus of weaker thieves, jealous of the
stronger.--Ever yours,

THE ROARING R. L. S.

You will see from the enclosed that I have stuck to what I think my dues
pretty tightly in spite of this flourish: these are my words for a poor
ten-pound note!

TO MISS FERRIER

This refers to the death of Sir Alexander Grant, the distinguished
Aristotelian scholar and Principal of Edinburgh University.

[_Bonallie Towers, Bournemouth, Dec. 1884._]

MY DEAR COGGIE,--We are very much distressed to hear of this which has
befallen your family. As for Sir Alexander, I can but speak from my own
feelings: he survived to finish his book and to conduct, with such a
great success, the tercentenary. Ah, how many die just upon the
threshold! Had he died a year ago, how great a disappointment! But all
this is nothing to the survivors. Do please, as soon as you are able,
let us know how it goes and _how it is likely to go_ with the family;
and believe that both my wife and I are most anxious to have good news,
or the best possible. My poor Coggie, I know very well how you must
feel; you are passing a bad time.

Our news must seem very impertinent. We have both been ill; I, pretty
bad, my wife, pretty well down; but I, at least, am better. The Bogue,
who is let out every night for half an hour's yapping, is anchored in
the moonlight just before the door, and, under the belief that he is
watchdog at a lone farm beleaguered by moss-troopers, is simply raising
Cain.

I can add nothing more, but just that we wish to hear as soon as you
have nothing else to do--not to hurry, of course,--if it takes three
months, no matter--but bear us in mind.

R. L. S.

TO W. E. HENLEY

_Bonallie Towers, Bournemouth [Winter 1884]._

MY DEAR LAD,--Here was I in bed; not writing, not hearing, and finding
myself gently and agreeably ill used; and behold I