I have been making not a few mistakes in Fors lately; and, indeed, am careless enough in it, not solicitous at all to avoid mistakes; for being entirely sure of my main ground, and entirely honest in purpose, I know that I cannot make any mistake which will invalidate my work, and that any chance error which the third Fors may appoint for me, is often likely to bring out, in its correction, more good than if I had taken the pains to avoid it. Here, for instance, is Dr. Brown's letter, which I should not have had, but for my having confused George's Street with George's Square, and having too shortly generalized my experience of modern novel readers; and it tells me, and you, something about Scott and Dickens which is of the greatest use. "My dear Friend,--I am rejoiced to see you upon Scott. It will be a permanent good, your having broken this ground. But you are wrong in two things--George's Square is not in the detestable New Town, it is to the south of the very Old Town, and near the Meadows. "Then you say 'nobody now will read them' (Miss Edgeworth and Sir Walter). She is less read than I think she should be, but he is enormously read--here and in America. "In the twelve months ending June, 1873, Adam Black and his sons have sold over 250,000 Waverleys, and I know that when Dickens--that great master of fun and falsetto--went last to America, and there was a fury for him and his books, the sale of them only touched for a short time the ordinary sale of the Scott Novels, and subsided immensely, soon, the Scotts going steadily on increasing. Our young 'genteel' girls and boys, I fear, don't read them as the same class did thirty years ago, but the readers of them, in the body of the people, are immense, and you have only to look at the four or five copies of the whole set in our public libraries to see how they are being read. That is a beautiful drawing of Chantrey's, and new to me,--very like, having the simple, childlike look which he had. The skull is hardly high enough." A subsequent letter tells me than Dinlay is a big hill in Liddesdale; and enclosed (search for it being made) the tune of Sour Plums in Galashiels, of which I will only at present bid you farther observe that it is the first "touch of the auld bread-winner" that Wandering Willie plays to Darsie. Another valued correspondent reminds me that people might get hold of my having spoken, a good many numbers back, of low sunshine "at six o'clock on an October morning;" and truly enough it must have been well on towards seven.