to Thomas Stevenson

Terminus Hotel, Marseille, le 17th October 1882.

MY DEAR FATHER,—.  We grow, every time we see it, more delighted with our house.  It is five miles out of Marseilles, in a lovely spot, among lovely wooded and cliffy hills—most mountainous in line—far lovelier, to my eyes, than any Alps.  To-day we have been out inventorying; and though a mistral blew, it was delightful in an open cab, and our house with the windows open was heavenly, soft, dry, sunny, southern.  I fear there are fleas—it is called Campagne Defli—and I look forward to tons of insecticide being employed.

I have had to write a letter to the New York Tribune and the Athenæum.  Payn was accused of stealing my stories!  I think I have put things handsomely for him.

Just got a servant! ! !—Ever affectionate son,

R. L. Stevenson.

Our servant is a Muckle Hash of a Weedy!