very bad things. Oo, how the rain falls! The mist is quite low on
the hill. The birds are twittering to each other about the
indifferent season. O, here's a gem for you. An old godly woman
predicted the end of the world, because the seasons were becoming
indistinguishable; my cousin Dora objected that last winter had
been pretty well marked. 'Yes, my dear,' replied the
soothsayeress; 'but I think you'll find the summer will be rather
coamplicated.' - Ever your faithful

R. L. S.



Letter: TO MRS. SITWELL



[EDINBURGH, SATURDAY, APRIL 1875.]

I AM getting on with my rehearsals, but I find the part very hard.
I rehearsed yesterday from a quarter to seven, and to-day from four
(with interval for dinner) to eleven. You see the sad strait I am
in for ink. - A DEMAIN.

SUNDAY. - This is the third ink-bottle I have tried, and still it's
nothing to boast of. My journey went off all right, and I have
kept ever in good spirits. Last night, indeed, I did think my
little bit of gaiety was going away down the wind like a whiff of
tobacco smoke, but to-day it has come back to me a little. The
influence of this place is assuredly all that can be worst against