Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN



[EDINBURGH, AUTUMN 1875.]

MY DEAR COLVIN, - FOUS NE ME GOMBRENNEZ PAS. Angry with you? No.
Is the thing lost? Well, so be it. There is one masterpiece fewer
in the world. The world can ill spare it, but I, sir, I (and here
I strike my hollow boson, so that it resounds) I am full of this
sort of bauble; I am made of it; it comes to me, sir, as the desire
to sneeze comes upon poor ordinary devils on cold days, when they
should be getting out of bed and into their horrid cold tubs by the
light of a seven o'clock candle, with the dismal seven o'clock
frost-flowers all over the window.

Show Stephen what you please; if you could show him how to give me
money, you would oblige, sincerely yours,

R. L. S.

I have a scroll of SPRINGTIME somewhere, but I know that it is not
in very good order, and do not feel myself up to very much grind
over it. I am damped about SPRINGTIME, that's the truth of it. It
might have been four or five quid!

Sir, I shall shave my head, if this goes on. All men take a