I meant to write some more last night, but my father was ill and it
put it out of my way. He is better this morning.

If I had written last night, I should have written a lot. But this
morning I am so dreadfully tired and stupid that I can say nothing.
I was down at Leith in the afternoon. God bless me, what horrid
women I saw; I never knew what a plain-looking race it was before.
I was sick at heart with the looks of them. And the children,
filthy and ragged! And the smells! And the fat black mud!

My soul was full of disgust ere I got back. And yet the ships were
beautiful to see, as they are always; and on the pier there was a
clean cold wind that smelt a little of the sea, though it came down
the Firth, and the sunset had a certain ECLAT and warmth. Perhaps
if I could get more work done, I should be in a better trim to
enjoy filthy streets and people and cold grim weather; but I don't
much feel as if it was what I would have chosen. I am tempted
every day of my life to go off on another walking tour. I like
that better than anything else that I know. - Ever your faithful
friend,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.



Letter: TO SIDNEY COLVIN