red for _Treasure Island_--how much do you suppose? I believe it
would be an excellent jest to keep the answer till my next letter. For
two cents I would do so. Shall I? Anyway, I'll turn the page first.
No--well--A hundred pounds, all alive, O! A hundred jingling, tingling,
golden, minted quid. Is not this wonderful? Add that I have now
finished, in draft, the fifteenth chapter of my novel, and have only
five before me, and you will see what cause of gratitude I have.

The weather, to look at the per contra sheet, continues vomitable; and
Fanny is quite out of sorts. But, really, with such cause of gladness, I
have not the heart to be dispirited by anything. My child's verse book
is finished, dedication and all, and out of my hands--you may tell
Cummy; _Silverado_ is done, too, and cast upon the waters; and this
novel so near completion, it does look as if I should support myself
without trouble in the future. If I have only health, I can, I thank
God. It is dreadful to be a great, big man, and not be able to buy
bread.

O that this may last!

I have to-day paid my rent for the half year, till the middle of
September, and got my lease: why they have been so long, I know not.

I wish you all sorts of good things.

When is our marriage day?--Your loving and ecstatic son,

TREESURE EILAAN.

It has been for me a Treasure Island verily.

TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON

_La Solitude, Hyeres, May 8, 1883._

MY DEAR PEOPLE,--I was disgusted to hear my father was not so well. I
have a most troubled existence of work and business. But the work goes
well, which is the great affair. I meant to have written a most
delightful letter; too tired, however, and must stop. Perhaps I'll find
time to add to it ere post.

I have returned refreshed from eating, but have little time, as Lloyd
will go soon with the letters on his way to his tutor, Louis Robert
(!!!!), with whom he learns Latin in French, and French, I suppose, in
Latin, which seems to me a capital education. He, Lloyd, is a great
bicycler already, and has been long distances; he is most new-fangled
over his instrument, and does not willingly converse on other subjects.

Our lovely garden is a prey to snails; I have gathered about a bushel,
which, not having the heart to slay, I steal forth withal and deposit
near my neighbour's garden wall. As a case of casuistry, this presents
many points of interest. I loathe the snails, but from loathing to