I wrote a piece besides on Giant Bunker; but I was not happily inspired, and it is condemned. Perhaps I'll try again; he was a horrid fellow, Giant Bunker! and some of my happiest hours were passed in pursuit of him. You were a capital fellow to play: how few there were who could! None better than yourself. I shall never forget some of the days at Bridge of Allan; they were one golden dream. See "A Good Boy" in the _Penny Whistles_, much of the sentiment of which is taken direct from one evening at B. of A. when we had had a great play with the little Glasgow girl. Hallowed be that fat book of fairy tales! Do you remember acting the Fair One with Golden Locks? What a romantic drama! Generally speaking, whenever I think of play, it is pretty certain that you will come into my head. I wrote a paper called _Child's Play_ once, where, I believe, you or Willie would recognise things.... Surely Willie is just the man to marry; and if his wife wasn't a happy woman, I think I could tell her who was to blame. Is there no word of it? Well, these things are beyond arrangement; and the wind bloweth where it listeth--which, I observe, is generally towards the west in Scotland. Here it prefers a south-easterly course, and is called the Mistral--usually with an adjective in front. But if you will remember my yesterday's toothache and this morning's crick, you will be in a position to choose an adjective for yourself. Not that the wind is unhealthy; only when it comes strong, it is both very high and very cold, which makes it the d-v-l. But as I am writing to a lady, I had better avoid this topic; winds requiring a great scope of language. Please remember me to all at home; give Ramsay a pennyworth of acidulated drops for his good taste.--And believe me, your affectionate cousin, ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. TO MISS FERRIER _La Solitude, Hyeres [November 22, 1883]._ DEAR MISS FERRIER,--Many thanks for the photograph. It is---well, it is like most photographs. The sun is an artist of too much renown; and, at any rate, we who knew Walter "in the brave days of old" will be difficult to please. I was inexpressibly touched to get a letter from some lawyers as to some money. I have never had any account with my friends; some have gained and some lost; and I should feel there was something dishonest in a partial liquidation even if I could recollect the facts, _which I cannot_. But the fact of his having put aside this memorandum touched me greatly. The mystery of his life is great. Our chemist in this place, who had been at Malvern, recognised the picture. You may remember Walter had a romantic affection for all pharmacies? and the bottles in the window were for him a poem? He said once that he knew no pleasure like driving through a lamplit city, waiting for the chemists to go by. All these things return now.