[To THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR. "] SIR,—Can you allow me
a corner to say how much interested I am in the letters on " Colours of Pain " in the Spectator of August 3rd and 17th ? As from childhood I have always seen different colours quite distinctly in proper names, as, for instance, Robert and George are dull crimson ; James and Jane, deep crimson ; Mary, deep blue ; Harry, light blue ; Ellen, greenish yellow ; Lucy, bright golden ; Annie, light red, and so on. My mother was the only person whom I have
heard speak of seeing colours in names; to her Caroline was yellow; to me it is whitish or greyish. I also have read of the same idea in a child's book many years ago, but nowhere
else have I come into contact with the idea. Like your corre- spondent, I see, but more faintly, colours in figures when printed in letters. One, greyish ; two, red ; three, pale yellow ;
four, dark brown ; five, six, and nine, yellow ; eight, siena, brown ; ten, bluish grey ; eleven, greenish yellow, and so
on. Many of us have heard of the man born blind who said that his idea of scarlet was the blare of a trumpet. I remember a little girl who was ill saying, " Everything looks very blue to me," but this might be the result of internal disorder. Mrs. 'lemons (a poet too much neglected now) makes a dying girl inquire:— "By what strange spell
Is it, that ever, when I gaze on flowers, I dream of music ? Something in their- hues, AN melting in coloured harmonies Wafts a swift thought of interwoven chords, Of blended singing tones, that swell and die."
And I, though unmusical, once felt the melody made by a gifted pianist (who passed away, alas ! in the bloom of an exquisite girlhood!) to suggest the perfume of flowers.—I am,