Please tell Campbell I got his letter. The Wild Woman of the West has been much amiss and complaining sorely. I hope nothing more serious is wrong with her than just my ill-health, and consequent anxiety and labour; but the deuce of it is, that the cause continues. I am about knocked out of time now: a miserable, snuffling, shivering, fever-stricken, nightmare-ridden, knee-jottering, hoast-hoast-hoasting shadow and remains of man. But we’ll no gie ower jist yet a bittie. We’ve seen waur; and dod, mem, it’s my belief that we’ll see better. I dinna ken ‘at I’ve muckle mair to say to ye, or, indeed, onything; but jist here’s guid-fallowship, guid health, and the wale o’ guid fortune to your bonny sel’; and my respecs to the Perfessor and his wife, and the Prinshiple, an’ the Bell Rock, an’ ony ither public chara’ters that I’m acquaunt wi’. R. L. S. TO EDMUND GOSSE _Bonallie Towers_, _Branksome Park_, _Bournemouth_, _Nov._ 15, 1884. MY DEAR GOSSE,—This Mr. Morley {339} of yours is a most desperate fellow. He has sent me (for my opinion) the most truculent advertisement I ever saw, in which the white hairs of Gladstone are dragged round Troy behind my chariot wheels. What can I say? I say nothing to him; and to you, I content myself with remarking that he seems a desperate fellow. All luck to you on your American adventure; may you find health, wealth, and entertainment! If you see, as you likely will, Frank R. Stockton, pray greet him from me in words to this effect:— My Stockton if I failed to like, It were a sheer depravity, For I went down with the _Thomas Hyke_ And up with the _Negative Gravity_! I adore these tales. I hear flourishing accounts of your success at Cambridge, so you leave with a good omen. Remember me to _green corn_ if it is in season; if not, you had better hang yourself on a sour apple tree, for your voyage has been lost.—Yours affectionately, ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. TO AUSTIN DOBSON _Bonallie Towers_, _Bournemouth_ [_December_ 1884?].