eps on as it has begun, I may be solvent.--Yours,

THRENODIAE AVCTOR
(The author of ane Threnodie).

Op. 2: Scherzo (in G Major) expressive of the Sense of favours to come.

TO R. A. M. STEVENSON

_Skerryvore [Bournemouth, July 1886]._

DEAR BOB,--Herewith another shy; more melancholy than before, but I
think not so abjectly idiotic. The musical terms seem to be as good as
in Beethoven, and that, after all, is the great affair. Bar the dam
bareness of the bass, it looks like a piece of real music from a
distance. I am proud to say it was not made one hand at a time; the bass
was of synchronous birth with the treble; they are of the same age, sir,
and may God have mercy on their souls!--Yours,

THE MAESTRO.

TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON

Mr. and Mrs. T. Stevenson had been thinking of trying a winter at
Bournemouth for the sake of being near their son, a plan which was
eventually carried out. The health of the former was now fast and
painfully breaking. Mr. J. W. Alexander, the well-known American
artist, had been down at Skerryvore with an introduction from Mr.
Gosse, and had made a drawing of Stevenson's head.

_Skerryvore, Bournemouth, July 7th, 1886._

MY DEAR PEOPLE,--It is probably my fault, and not yours, that I did not
understand. I think it would be well worth trying the winter in
Bournemouth; but I would only take the house by the month--this after
mature discussion. My leakage still pursues its course; if I were only
well, I have a notion to go north and get in (if I could) at the inn at
Kirkmichael, which has always smiled upon me much. If I did well there,
we might then meet and do what should most smile at the time.

Meanwhile, of course, I must not move, and am in a rancid box here,
feeling the heat a great deal, and pretty tired of things. Alexander did
a good thing of me at last; it looks like a mixture of an aztec idol, a
lion, an Indian Rajah, and a woman; and certainly represents a mighty
comic figure. F. and Lloyd both think it is the best thing that has been
done of me up to now.

You should hear Lloyd on the penny whistle, and me on the piano! Dear
powers, what a concerto! I now live entirely for the piano, he for the
whistle; the neighbours, in a radius of a furlong and a half, are
packing up in quest of brighter climes.--Ever yours,

R. L. S.

_P.S._--Please say if you can afford to let us have money for this tri