to Mrs. Sitwell

The Cottage, Castleton of Braemar, August 1881.

. . . Well, I have been pretty mean, but I have not yet got over my cold so completely as to have recovered much energy.  It is really extraordinary that I should have recovered as well as I have in this blighting weather; the wind pipes, the rain comes in squalls, great black clouds are continually overhead, and it is as cold as March.  The country is delightful, more cannot be said; it is very beautiful, a perfect joy when we get a blink of sun to see it in.  The Queen knows a thing or two, I perceive; she has picked out the finest habitable spot in Britain.

I have done no work, and scarce written a letter for three weeks, but I think I should soon begin again; my cough is now very trifling.  I eat well, and seem to have lost but I little flesh in the meanwhile.  I was wonderfully well before I caught this horrid cold.  I never thought I should have been as well again; I really enjoyed life and work; and, of course, I now have a good hope that this may return.

I suppose you heard of our ghost stories.  They are somewhat delayed by my cold and a bad attack of laziness, embroidery, etc., under which Fanny had been some time prostrate.  It is horrid that we can get no better weather.  I did not get such good accounts of you as might have been.  You must imitate me.  I am now one of the most conscientious people at trying to get better you ever saw.  I have a white hat, it is much admired; also a plaid, and a heavy stoop; so I take my walks abroad, witching the world.

Last night I was beaten at chess, and am still grinding under the blow.—Ever your faithful friend,

R. L. S.