to Mrs. Sitwell

[Edinburgh, June 1875.]

Simply a scratch.  All right, jolly, well, and through with the difficulty.  My father pleased about the Burns.  Never travel in the same carriage with three able-bodied seamen and a fruiterer from Kent; the A.-B.’s speak all night as though they were hailing vessels at sea; and the fruiterer as if he were crying fruit in a noisy market-place—such, at least, is my funeste experience.  I wonder if a fruiterer from some place else—say Worcestershire—would offer the same phenomena? insoluble doubt.

R. L. S.

Later.—Forgive me, couldn’t get it off.  Awfully nice man here to-night.  Public servant—New Zealand.  Telling us all about the South Sea Islands till I was sick with desire to go there: beautiful places, green for ever; perfect climate; perfect shapes of men and women, with red flowers in their hair; and nothing to do but to study oratory and etiquette, sit in the sun, and pick up the fruits as they fall.  Navigator’s Island is the place; absolute balm for the weary.—Ever your faithful friend,

R. L. S.