I have an interesting letter from Glasgow, but have not been able to read it yet. A slip of the 'Glasgow Chronicle' was enclosed, containing the Editor's opinions on my modes of selling my books. Not having any occasion for his opinions on the subject, I threw the slip into the fire. The letter, which I have just glanced at, says my comparison of the price of my books to a doctor's fee is absurd, for the poor don't pay guinea fees. I know that, and I don't want any poor people to read my books. I said so long ago, in 'Sesame.' I want them to read these letters, which they can get, each for the price of two pots of beer; and not to read my large books, nor anybody else's, till they are rich enough, at least, to pay for good printing and binding. Even oracular Mr. Grant Duff says they are all to be rich first, and only next to be intelligent, and I am happy in supposing it needs a great deal of intelligence to read 'Modern Painters.' But, by the way, if the Editor of the 'Glasgow Chronicle' will tell me, why, in these fine manufacturing counties of his, and mine, I can only, with the greatest possible difficulty, or by mere good luck, and help of the Third Fors, now get a quarter of a yard of honest leather to stitch my leaves into, I shall be greatly obliged to him, and will reprint his communication in my best type, instead of throwing it into the fire. FORS CLAVIGERA. LETTER XVI. Denmark Hill, 15th March, 1872. My Friends,