MRS. R. L. S. TO HER MOTHER-IN-LAW

[A postscript to an unknown letter, written at Davos (in 1881?) on stationery with heading: Davos Printing Office].

P. S. I find that my letter has not been sent off. I have just been to see about the things I told you of for the bazaar. The people will pack and send them where they are bought. If sent by slow freight they will take from three to four weeks to get to you. By grande vitesse they will cost half again as much and you would have them inside of eight days. One shop keeper said there would be no duty to pay, and another thought there was a small duty. There are blue beads as follows

1 string small ones f.15.
1 string large round facets 36.
1 string large cut in 36.
1 lovely match boy lapis lazuli 7.
1 moss agate bonboniere 6.70

Taking a half dozen or a dozen the boxes would be cheaper. There are pretty vases at two three and four francs, and decorated plates the same. Sets for tea six cups, tea pot etc. upon a tray of the same material 24 francs, and a little more and a little less. 24 the average price. As to dearer things a pair of exquisite vases this shape [picture] are 350 apiece. A pitcher vase this shape, very beautiful, [picture] more slender than I have made it 6 francs, one this shape [picture] 20 francs, like this [picture] 7 francs. A seagreen like this [picture] two francs 20. If you want any of the things you had better send what money you want to spend and let me get them. It is snowing heavily and I am very tired. Sam and Louis are quarreling loudly over a game of soldiers as they always do when they play. Our things are not yet come from Gnich. [i.e. Greenwich?] I will write to Minnie as soon as I can gather together my senses, tonight, perhaps. Love to all.

Fanny

[Letter of five pages, dated in the latter's hand: St. Marcel,

Jany 13, 1883]

My dear Mrs. Stevenson,

I hope with all my heart that Louis has written to you; I was not well enough at Nice, and have had rheumatism horribly in my right shoulder since I came back. It made me quite helpless at first, and is rather awkward yet. I got cold on the way back. Louis got better the moment he arrived at Nice, as I had hoped, when I arrived he was already taking on flesh. I have had a miserable time altogether, and the people, meaning to be so kind were really so dreadful. I met some hideous English beings, I can't call them people, on the way back from Nice. The man of them said such dreadful things to me about Louis that when we arrived at Marseilles another Englishman who had been in the carriage came to me and spoke about it, saying that he didn't know what to do, and had been so wretched all the time; he said he knew all about Louis and me through Colvin who is his particular friend, and insisted upon stopping his journey a day to help me in my affairs. I got him to do all the things that I couldn't do without Louis' help. I think he is a professor in Cambridge, most probably of history. (I nearly wrote hysterics then). He spent last summer at Davos. I feel so grateful to Colvin for having such a friend. Here is a specimen of the horrid person. "What are you going to do when your husband dies?" I "I don't expect him to die." He. "Oh I know all about that; I've heard that kind of talk before. He's done for, and in this country they'll shovel him under ground in twenty four hours, almost before the breath is out of him, his mother'll never see him again." I do not speak, but look

intently out of the window. Again he speaks, leaning forward to be sure that I hear him, "Have him embalmed, that's the thing! Have you got money enough?" Can you fancy five hours of this? I got out several times in the rain to try and get into another carriage, but they were all filled. I think Louis had better stay two or three weeks longer in Nice. He talks of coming back in a week. He seems to be getting better, so I think he had better stay long enough to make coming here another change. I don't know how we should have managed, especially I, had it not been for Sam. Sam seems to know a good deal of French, only being shy and mixed a little in pronunciation. In a short time I can see he would do very well. He is troubled because he thinks, and rightly, that I forgot to tell you that he got the prize for general marks, and another for mathematics. Louis says he really does know something about Euclid. He surprised me tonight by suddenly bursting out with a forlorn cry because of his not being clever. He wants to be able to do something when he is a man, and he is sure he never can; he has been hunting up the careers of people, and all that have come to anything have, he says, done something clever when they were his age. I know he is wrong, but I cannot get my mind clear enough on account of rheumatism to remember names. He won't court artists, only literary and scientific people. I cannot write any more on account of my shoulder. I got a note from Aunt Josy asking for the receipt book that Amy lent me. I gave it back to somebody before I came away, but forgot to which. I find that I am rather writing nonsense, as well as badly. Much love to all. Sam asked me long ago to send thanks for his card, and to say that he preferred it to mine.

Fanny.

#12, p 1

[Four pages of a letter in which the beginning and the end are lacking.]

Dated by M. I. S.: St. Marcel. Feb 3. 1983]

affection for you, he is such a reticent queer boy. I had always thought that he preferred Mr. Young. I don't want to take the gloss off, but I fancy one reason why he was disappointed at not seeing you was that he thinks you care more than the rest about his getting prizes. He is a good deal cut up just now because he thinks he has made the discovery that he is not clever, that he is only plodding. Louis thinks he is a very clever boy, but I fancy Sam is pretty right in his own estimate of himself. It is hard to make a young person believe that one need not be clever to be happy. Of course we will go and see "Bulldog's" brother; I shall never forget Bulldog's leg, never.

What kind of an artist is the one who is going to take Mr Young's portrait? Louis will be delighted when he hears it. How I do wish somebody could paint Louis; he is not looking his prettiest just now, but I do so want a good picture of him. Photographs don't seem to do it. Wasn't it delightful the article in the Century? The person evidently was writing in such a stage of delight at having found out Louis. My sister Nelly writes me that she picked up a paper in Monterey with an article about the "nights" [i.e. New Arabian Nights] in it, saying it was for sale in San Francisco in, I think, the "seaside library" edition; she sent off for it at once. Mrs. Williams came across it by accident, and without saying anything took it home and began reading it aloud to her husband, who suddenly started, crying out "Why that's Stevenson!" I am so pleased that it was in the Century, for every friend and relation I have in the world will read it. I suppose you

#12, p 2

are even prouder of Louis than I am, for he is only mine accidentally and he
is yours by birth and blood. Two or three times last night I woke up just
from pure pleasure to think of all the people I know reading about Louis.
The "Treasure of Franchard" is straightened out and will probably come out in
April; it is very nice, now, indeed, I think. I wonder how Keegan Paul
looks upon Louis now? Isn't it a dismal thing to pack for uncertainty?
I hardly know what to do.

Now if you want to scold me just scold away. You are the best and the
dearest people in the whole world aside from being Louis' father and mother,
and all the scoldings that come from you can't be anything very fearful,
that I know. Just the thought of you, I find, brings my heart in my throat.
I do hope nothing will happen to stop off the portrait. I think some one
ought to talk to Mr. Young all the time he sits. I don't forget [letter
breaks off here]

13

[A letter written in Hyeres. Dated in an unknown hand: Ap, 83?
A few words are torn off the letter.]

My dear Mrs. Stevenson,

We are all just recovering from an attack of influenza. It seemed
to be contagious, and though it was pretty fierce in the beginning has not had
the effect of an ordinary cold. It rather frightened us to have Louis get it,
but he is now much better and [it] seems to be leaving him. The weather is
unsurpassably lovely. I am trying to make a study from our garden of the back
view of the house; if it comes off it is for you. Today we were all vaccinated
with cow vaccine. Louis needn't have told you that I was not well; it was only
that I was tired. You are right, I cannot do housework without getting knocked
up. But I don't call that anything serious enough to enter in a letter. Our
servant of whom we have grown very fond is to leave us in a . . . or two.

I hate to begin with a new . . . She comes well recommended the new one, and is
a most respectable. . . young woman, reminding me a little of Margaret. You
must feel lost indeed in giving up Margaret. The girl with the red hair did a
good deal of harm I think. I fear it will not be easy to get another Margaret.
Our neighbor, Mrs. Wilson, came in last evening with a present for Louis of a
pair of lovely little birds in a cage. They looked like some sort of delicious
ice to be eaten with a spoon. Mrs. W. had heard Louis say that he wanted some
little birds, so she bought them at Toulon. Wasn't it kind of her? The crystals
came today to my great joy. They act wonderfully for me. It is a great comfort
to hear that Mr. Young is better. I am so tired with painting that I think I had
better stop writing I cannot think of what I want to say. It is as you think about
. . . tutor. Sam's French is not fluent enough for him to get along without great
difficulty, so he is trying to get it up in the meantime. Vacation will soon begin,
and he can or ought to learn a lot. Much love and many thanks for the crystals.

Fanny.

#14, p 1

[Dated in an unknown hand: 1884. Bournemouth Nov. or Dec.]

My dear Mrs. Stevenson,

I have just been going the rounds of my garden, and have brought in as
a sort of sentimental reminder of you, the first marguerite which I will
enclose in this letter. I am glad Mr. Young liked the tramp picture.
I thought it the best by far, though I don't agree with you that the figure
with the pitcher is the best. Valentine did not pose in that; a lady in the
neighborhood kindly offered, but as she had no idea of posing, I pretended
that it was all right and got Louis to do it afterwards. Valentine posed
for the awkward woman making the fire. I cannot remember exactly what I
wanted done with them but I think it was this. To have the two that are
for Mrs. Ferguson H . . . made of the same size, one, as you will remember
was done on a stretcher a little too long. I want it changed to another
stretcher which will match the size of the tramps. Then they are all greatly
sunken in, and I do not want them shown to anyone until they have been
varnished. I don't think you understand varnishing, so they had better be
varnished at Nelsons (all three of them) when the stretcher is changed. The
tramps was taken not far from our back garden, just beyond the sort of castle
that you see in the upper part of the photograph. I have had a photograph
of myself taken at last for my mother and Sam. I sent Sam the one that came
first, when they all come home I will send one for you and one for Aunty.
I think they are very good for a little place like this. They look plumper
than I had hoped. Do you know that Bob really admires nothing but the Rubens
women? I said "I suppose that was the first thing you told Louisa?" He

#14, p 2

looked foolish and admitted the truth of my conjecture. I told him he
was just like his Uncle Tom. Have you noticed that Bob is getting all his
Uncle's little tricks of manner? He was greatly pleased when I told him
that but thought the compliment would be considered quite a one sided one.
The weather is like Paradise. The sun is shining, the birds are singing,
and Louis is walking up and down in front of the house with a red umbrella
over his head enjoying the day. The good weather is excellent for him.
The trouble with the kidneys has passed, as are all, I think, of the evil
effects of that terrible illness at Nice. He has only now to be careful
and try to get up his strength. No one is allowed to differ with him,
much less to contradict him, and no affairs can be spoken of before him.
So do please tell me what to do with Sam on these soon-approaching
holidays. I had forgotten them completely. The only remark Louis has
made on this subject is that "my mother will see to that,". But [several
words omitted in letter] into them when I would rather not. Much love
to you all. Katherine is even better than Louis as one of the ...
I think of writing as the mistress. How are the bogues? My dear love
to you all.

Fanny

#15, p.1

[Dated by M. I. S.: Exeter Septr 7. 1885]

My dear Mrs. Stevenson,

I am greatly troubled that you got neither letter nor telegram.

I have sometimes written every day, and sometimes every other day since Louis was ill, and the telegram I sent at once. I cannot understand it, a few times Sam wrote for me. You ask if it was the same sort of thing as the illness at Hyères. It was the same, but stopped sooner, I think because the injection acted quicker than by the mouth which was difficult to manage besides. I am very sorry that we have had to send for money. When we left home, we thought we were going to cheap lodgings in a farm house on Dartmoor, and also had reason to believe that we would have plenty of money. It is too long an explanation to make by letter. Katherine came with us because she had got an order to translate a French book in great haste and could not do it with the children, her husband sends her no more money. Agnes is taking care of the children, and Valentine stayed at home to let K take her place. The night of the bad attack Sam got a sore throat running about half dressed, and though K at once proposed to go home I had to keep her under pain of Lady Shelley sending me her housekeeper, as I was, and am, greatly broken down. I had had a long spell of nursing before we left home, and long continued night nursing is rather wearing; I tell all this baldly, as it must seem that we shouldn't have K with us to add to expense. We have both been much worried about it. The reason I directed the last letter to 17 Heriot Row was that in your last you said "we shall not be able to start for home until Monday at the latest," and I got it into my head that it was last Monday, and the quickest way was to send the letter to Heriot Row. Sam's letter was

#15, p.2

dropt out of a packet of others, and did not go until an hour or two
after mine, and so, I suppose, missed a mail. I have had an enormous lot of
business letters to write for Louis, as well as letters to anxious friends.
Louis seems going on very well, now, with the exception of what always
happens when he is weak, suppression of urine. I was up all last night
with him, and shall be again tonight. It is the only thing that frightens
him, but it does not frighten me. I know it will come right. You ask,
too, what he did in the beginning. I lost him one day in the garden,
and thought he had gone to bed, but an hour after time for lunch he appeared
broken with exhaustion, having been digging out playhouses for Sword and
Dick in the chine. He denies it but that was the beginning of it all.
There certainly was too much "racket" also, but I could make no one listen
to me; they only laughed and said I was well known to be an "alarmist."
The most innocent of them are now in a state of miserable penitence.
Henley writes that one of them told him that it came from Louis reading
poetry aloud an entire afternoon. That is not true whoever said it.
He once began to read, and I stopped it. Did you know that you said in
your letter that you had sent 50 pounds while the cheque was for 18?
Louis did not name any sum, as we were in such confusion about it, and
yet feared not to send. I do not know the hotel charges, nor the doctors;
I dismissed the doctor today as I am in communication with Scott, and it is
all plain sailing. I cannot remember any more questions that you have
asked. I think I have answered all now, though in so bold a way that it
sounds rude. I don't mean that; it is that I am so very tired, Louis doesn't
really let any one do anything for him but me. It seems that he just can't;
to have anyone else is really only a concession to his friends who are always
in such a way about every little thing. It must be miserable for you to have
two to worry about at once. However this one is, I think, now tired over,
we will leave as soon as we can, when I will telegraph. Much love from all,

Fanny

no. 16

New London Hotel, Exeter Exeter. [Dated in an unknown hand: Sept 85].

My dear Mrs Stevenson, I wrote you a post card last night, but kept it over to
send this morning; when I came to look at it I found it directed to "Marine
Hotel, Kingstown, Ireland," absolutely without your name at all. I may have
done the same thing before, and that may account for lost letters. Long continued
anxiety and fatigue "jocht Tommas" with one's brain. I must enclose an American
anecdote for Mr Tommy. I think it will amuse him; it did us. A Mrs Lemon, a
great armirer of Louis, a good while ago said that she had a very fine Persian
cat that she wished to present to Louis. I had forgotten till yesterday that
it was here the cat lived. Mrs Lemon came to call, and as I found the cat was
near at hand I went and took a look at it; to Katharine and Louis' dismay I
refused to have it because it was not good enough. I don't know what else I was
to do. Anything that is what the French call dead nature you can accept with
thanks, and then stow it away in the garret,- but live nature is another thing.
To accept an animal is like adopting a child,

Louis is still going on very well. The bed rest from Lady Shelley has been
a real blessing. We will move on a little just as soon as Louis can, for I find
it extremely relaxing here, and am sure it is not good for him. I shall be glad
of the pillow, for I shall feel much safer with it. You both sit and lean
against it, so there can be no jarring. I try to write plainly but can't; I am
too nervous; my hand jerks about any kind of way. I feel pretty uncertain that
Louis' brain must be better, for his pulse is much higher, and that was what I
was to watch for, so even if we have lost in one respect, we have gained in
another. I don't think he should do much letter writing for some time. I hope
his father wont mind. I will try and write, though I do get so idiotic just when
I don't want to. Has Gately been ill? We never heard of it if she has. Valentine
said this morning "Mrs Alain is better today." What can that mean? I hope she is
making use of Agnes. I left her for that purpose entirely. Had it not been for
Gately I should have sent her home. Louis demands me now, so with much love for all
I stop.

F

#19, p. 1

[Last four pp. of a letter written possibly in Hawaii in
the first half of 1889]

to work with a will, in the midst of the illumination. Once an early
milk cart appeared, and down Joe and I dropped in the shadow of a tree trunk.

I forgot to say that the chosen spot was inside a tall picket fence with
wide gates padlocked. We had to climb stone fences, and jump ditches to
get in, The milk wagon, to our horror stopped just in front of the gates
and the man got down and went up as though to unlock them. I raised my
head an inch or so, and saw that Joe was quite safely hidden, but that I
was in the very pathway that the waggon would take. However I thought I
wouldn't move until I was forced to, and lay quietly back again. Joe
raised his head too, and watched the milkman, who, with the utmost deliber-
ation took a bottle of whisky from among his milk cans and drank a long
long drink. It was most alarming, for what explanation could we give of
our presence there, a big hole dug in the ground, and a bag that was to
contain the treasure? When Mr. Poor came home we told him about it; he
studied the chart, and pointed out an error. The romance of the adventure
tempted him, and he proposes to try once more at the other site. What a
thing is diplomatic training. He said that if we were discovered that we
should immediately explain that one of us had had a dream about hidden
treasure; that the dreamer passing this place was struck by its being the
same as in her dream. She told this to friends who could not resist
trying to see what would come of digging in so unlikely[a]spot. The
dreamer did not go the first night, and the friends dug under the wrong
tree, and then laughed her to scorn. She, fired by their laughter, dared
them all to accompany her to the right spot, "and this" says Mr. Poor,

#19, p.2

is our situation. We had accompanied her, and we have dug up half the
forest, and yet we find nothing." If the money is there, it seems too
bad that no one should get it; and then the idea of hidden treasure, and
a sure enough robbers chart, you must confess, is entrancing.

Two days after, we have not gone after the treasure yet, and cannot
for a day or two, as I fell down flat on my back and bruised and stiffened
it so that I can hardly walk or move. I got no real injury, only I am
alarmed about the packing. That old idiot Bella made me ill for an
entire day, besides. The night of Silas' funeral, as Bella refused to go
home lest Silas' ghost should be there, Belle had to go down to the cottage
to sleep, so I went also. I was very tired, and was sleeping heavily at
about three in the morning when I was awakened by some one sobbing beside
my bed, a lighted candle in her hand, who cried in a most dismal voice,
"oh mamma--oh mamma". I thought it was Belle, and that something terrible
had taken place. As Louis was away, I naturally thought of him, and in
my sudden awakening and alarm I could not see that it was only old Bella,
My heart turned summersaults and my head began aching like a tooth. When
I took in the fact that it was Bella, I asked her what the matter was.
"Me fraid; me fraid, mamma," she whimpered. She was certainly much more
afraid in five minutes time, I sent her flying back to the ghosts in the
morning, telling her that she might be very thankful I had not made one of
her, I certainly wanted to.

Lloyd is taking his singing lessons, and has learned to play very
prettily on his taropatch. Joe has a guitar, and the two play together
most delightfully. You would like it, as it certainly is not loud. I will
try and write once more before we leave, if it is only a note. We miss you

#19, p.3

as much as ever, and find ourselves but a dull company without you.
I do not know where you may be when you get this but please give our
love to those we love when you meet and with dearest love to yourself.

Ever most affectionately yours

Fanny V. de G. Stevenson

[Written aboard a ship of the United Steam Ship Company of New Zealand on stationery of that company. Mrs. M. I. S. has written at the top of page one: Received Novr 13th]

Oct 18th 1893

Dearest Tamaitai. As you see I am on a steamer again, worse luck, going to Louis in Honolulu. Louis says that he has measles, but I doubt that statement very much. Talolo, who was with him, had measles, and the last I heard of Louis was that in the best of health and spirits he gave a sort of lecture before a Scotch club, and the next morning was taken very ill with a sudden chill. However, I shall soon know, as we arrive tomorrow. I have tried not to be anxious, but as we get nearer the place I find myself more and more nervous and frightened. I suppose Belle has written to you by this mail about our epidemic of measles. I wish you could see Misipolo now; he is quite the dandy, and the most determined character on the place. It seems almost impossible that he could be the ragamuffin who ran about with your cap on his head. Speaking of heads, everything has gone out of mine and I can't think how to address this letter. I suppose Louis will be writing to you himself by this mail so you will get the very latest news from the fountainhead.

You wild bad woman how could you think we were not longing for your
return any day? The only thing was that I was really extremely glad you were
away during that war; and if there is another you must really go up to the
colonies until it is passed. If England would only be decent and annex us
there would be no more trouble.

I should like this letter to reach you for one thing however; I must
have that "jungle extermination for white ants" just as quick as I can get it.
Please put my getting it into train as fast as possible, or something will
happen to the house. It has been the most extraordinary affair altogether.

17

Your silver chest arrived looking all right, but in just a day or two it
began to crumble all round the edges in the strangest way. I took all the
silver out of it and stood it out on the veranda to examine it. The measles
stopped me for a day or two, when to my horror I saw several trains of ants
(the white ants . . . I knew them at once) going into the posts of the
veranda. I tried poking in the cracks with a bit of wire, and out came a
swarm of real white ants. I did them all the damage I could with a garden
syringe and sulphuric acid, and then thoroughly examined the chest. It was
just almost rotten; but the strange thing was that it was nothing new, when
the ants had got in, on the outside of the wood a sort of composition had
been plastered over it and painted to match the wood. Now I know you didn't
do this; it was too unsafe. But who did? Had the Samoan climate not softened
the composition so that it is now like new putty, I should never have found
it out. I just sat down beside the boy and cried. The trays do not seem
damaged only the . . . which I can pick to pieces with my fingers, almost.
And it . . . me about the house. So do, please, send the jungle extermination
quickly. Belle declares I killed poor Mandy with my poison that I was hunting
the ants with. I couldn't bear to think so; and I really do believe that she
died of measles, for she had been coughing and looking sore-eyed for some time.
Please ask Uncle George if a cat could die of the measles. Much love to all.

F--

#18, p.1

MRS. R. L. S. TO AN UNKNOWN RECIPIENT

[Four pp. of an undated letter, of which the beginning and the end are lacking.]

do you even know about it? I didn't until it was suddenly sprung upon me to my dismay, a few days ago. I have just received a newspaper from America, the one that wants Louis' life (his literary life, not bloodshed) with a review which I will send you. I will send the entire paper so that you can see it. I have had a letter from my sister Betty, the widow who married the Scotchman a year and a half ago. She has a baby which she says is the most beautiful creature in the world, dwelling particularly on the size of its head which seems to be enormous. Such is the blind vanity of mothers. I cannot myself think of an enormous head as a mark of great beauty. Nellie's baby, the hoped for little Louis Sanchez, is expected next month. I feel very anxious about the affair. Here comes dinner, and here ends my letter.

Since the above was written the postman has come with Mr. Young's letter with the sad news. Louis has tried to write to his father, but finds himself too much upset to do more than write a note. From what is said there seems to be no hope, and the end must be near; possibly all is over by now. I am afraid it will not do Mr. Young any good. I have been thinking this very morning of making overtures of peace to a member of my own family who has ever since Nellie's marriage was thought of, held aloof from me. Louis thought I was not called upon to do so; I think if I ask him now he will agree that though I was not the agressor I may be the first to offer peace and friendliness. Death levels everything, and may come to any one of us at any moment. I shall try and write my letter as soon as I

#18, p.2

am done with this, though it will not be very easy. I wonder if you
could get another of the American papers! If you could, would you be so
kind as to send this to my dear cousin for whom I was named, Miss Fanny
Whitecas, 1009 South 19th Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania? I wonder
if Mr. Young remembers laughing at me for saying that I had driven ten
miles to make a visit from one point of Philadelphia to another? Fanny
complains that she lives 8 1/2 miles from the general postoffice, and
begs that her letters may be directed to the house where she lives.

Philadelphia is a big town, but a pleasant homely one. If you keep the
paper please send me back the date in case I forget it or lose it. I lose
and forget everything, for I really have a good deal to think of. A very
pleasant person, an artist, from Edinburgh, named Halket, has been to see
Louis; I am glad that he is here, but I should like Miss Ferrier or some
lady to speak to sometimes. The Miss Meres came to see me Saturday which
is something, but they are such determined creatures that they are a little
appalling, and then they're older than my grandmother so that I have to
give [here the letter breaks off]

841

MRS. R. L. S. AND R. L. S. TO MRS. M. I. STEVENSON

[Four pages of a letter, of which the beginning and the end are lacking.

Mrs. R. L. S. has written three pages and part of the fourth. R. L. S. has written thirteen lines at the end of the fourth page]

my stomach. There are a great many people here, I do not know the number exactly,
but will ask someone, and tell you. I always do some little dressing for dinner.

All kinds of dressing goes on from Mrs. Dickens who generally appears in full
dress as though attired for a ball, to the curate's wife opposite who only
changes her brooch; so however I dress I cannot feel out of place. I keep my
black cashmere for dress, and frizzle up a little with things, but reserve my
dinner dress for grand occasions when we are expected to do more. We have
had private theatricals in which Louis was invited to join, but declined, and
a Swiss concert which seemed to appall Louis, but which I was delighted with,
my taste being rather barbarous, I fear. After the singing Louis actually had to
come up stairs and change his underclothing, it throwing him into such a sweat.

I felt a little ashamed, I must confess, that I liked it so much, when Louis
was so shocked, but then I had been used to hearing that kind of music when a
child. My mother was very fond of that kind of song and having a very fine
voice sang a great deal to us children, so that in my mind Scotch songs and
Swiss mountain songs and yodeling go together. I hope that Louis will be able
to take part in the theatricals before he goes away. I am vain enough to want to
show these amaterus how much better he can do the thing than they. The seal
skin jacket I have hardly worn since I came, but they tell me that it will be
in great request soon. They, seal skins, are considered indispensable wear
after the sun goes down, heretofore I have not stayed out after sunfall. The
sights here are grand. I do not believe there can be such sights anywhere
else in the world. One day when I picked up my flannel to put it on it
crackled with electricity quite loudly. There! I have, I think, answered all
the questions. I think you are quite right the Edinburgh papers and the

[illegible word] I believe they do not know what to say, and so keep a discreet silence.

I am afraid Mr. Stevenson was right about Louis and my conduct being unchristian. If I see Louis rolling a cigarette I say "Oh very well! smoke your cigarette, and break the doctor's orders, and I shall do so too: I shall dine upon bread and butter today!" If I lay my hand accidentally upon a bit of bread Louis cries out "another cigarette for me!" Do you suppose the doctor is a shrewd cynic and meant to cause discord in this small and usually peaceable family? Watty Woggs is very well again. He is a sweet creature, Louis took a toboggan ride yesterday, and he enjoyed it greatly. Last night he shook violently and frightened me into thinking he had an ague, but I found it all make believe, he wanted to get into my bed. He is a sly dog, and has a bad temper, but is most engaging. I wrote a letter to Mr. Lara Simpson, and yesterday received a most delightful answer. I think Lara a most clever writer. I always thought he had a fine head. I will leave Louis a line which he may like to fill up, Louis has lost his smoking cap, and yesterday managed to lose his hat, but it was found again. Did I ever tell you how I saw him sitting upon a rock at dressed in a long nightgown, my shawl, and a mushroom hat of mine on backwards with the feathers over his nose? [The following lines are by R.L.S.] So far the wife. She has been pretty ill these days, in bed one day and confined to the room for two and had a hard night. She has run up the bill horrid by these exploits, for they charge everything you get upstairs on a quite different and very imaginative scale. Tell my father I am delighted with the pamphlet purchase, and if he can still get for five shillings had better snap at it. It strikes me as being very cheap.

Let him see if there is a cheap "Renditions of 1689 and 1715,"
and above all let him get for me and send to me Skenes "Highlanders of Scotland."
There are two books I have discovered up here. I believe I shall get Pepys
done before the year [the letter breaks off here]