to Mrs. Sitwell

[Edinburgh, January 1876.]

. . . Our weather continues as it was, bitterly cold, and raining often.  There is not much pleasure in life certainly as it stands at present.  Nous n’irons plus au boss, hélas!

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 éclat 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.