TO W. E. HENLEY This letter speaks of contributions to the Magazine of Art (in these years edited by Mr. Henley) from J. A. Symonds and from R. L. S. himself, "Bunyan" meaning the essay on the cuts in Bagster's edition of the _Pilgrim's Progress_. A toy press had just been set up in the chalet for the lad Lloyd. _Davos Printing Office, managed by Samuel Lloyd Osbourne & Co., The Chalet [Nov. 1881]._ DEAR HENLEY,--I have done better for you than you deserved to hope; the Venice Medley is withdrawn; and I have a Monte Oliveto (short) for you, with photographs and sketches. I think you owe luck a candle; for this no skill could have accomplished without the aid of accident. How about carving and gilding? I have nearly killed myself over Bunyan; and am too tired to finish him to-day, as I might otherwise have done. For his back is broken. For some reason, it proved one of the hardest things I ever tried to write; perhaps--but no--I have no theory to offer--it went against the spirit. But as I say I girt my loins up and nearly died of it. In five weeks, six at the latest, I should have a complete proof of _Treasure Island_. It will be from 75 to 80,000 words; and with anything like half good pictures, it should sell. I suppose I may at least hope for eight pic's? I aspire after ten or twelve. You had better --Two days later. Bunyan skips to-day, pretty bad, always with an official letter. Yours came last night. I had already spotted your Dickens; very pleasant and true. My wife is far from well; quite confined to bed now; drain poisoning. I keep getting better slowly; appetite dicky; but some days I feel and eat well. The weather has been hot and heartless and unDavosy. I shall give Symonds his note in about an hour from now. Have done so; he will write of Vesalius and of Botticelli's Dante for you. Morris's _Sigurd_ is a grrrrreat poem; that is so. I have cried aloud at this re-reading; he had fine stuff to go on, but he has touched it, in places, with the hand of a master. Yes. Regin and Fafnir are incredibly fine. Love to all.--Yours ever, R. L. S. TO P. G. HAMERTON The volume of republished essays here mentioned is _Familiar Studies of Men and Books_. "The silly story of the election" refers again to his correspondent's failure as a candidate for the Edinburgh Chair of Fine Arts. [_Chalet am Stein, Davos, December 1881._] MY DEAR MR. HAMERTON,--My conscience has long been smiting me, till it became nearly chronic. My excuses, however, are many and not pleasant. Almost immediately after I last wrote to you, I had a hemorreage (I can't spell it), was badly treated by a doctor in the country, and have been a long while picking up--still, in fact, have much to desire on that side. Next, as soon as I got here, my wife took ill; she is, I fear, seriously so; and this combination of two invalids very much depresses both.