only that I require it as a
pretext for a moment's escape, which I want much.

I am so glad that _Roads_ has got in. I had almost as soon have it in
the Portfolio as the Saturday; the P. is so nicely printed and I am
_gourmet_ in type. I don't know how to thank you for your continual
kindness to me; and I am afraid I do not even feel grateful enough--you
have let your kindnesses come on me so easily.--Yours sincerely,

LOUIS STEVENSON.

TO MRS. SITWELL

When Stevenson a few days later came to London, it was before the
physicians and not the lawyers that he must present himself; and the
result of an examination by Sir Andrew Clark was his prompt and
peremptory despatch to Mentone for a winter's rest and sunshine at a
distance from all causes of mental agitation. This episode of his
life gave occasion to the essay _Ordered South_, the only one of his
writings in which he took the invalid point of view or allowed his
health troubles in any degree to colour his work. Travelling south by
slow stages, he wrote on the way a long diary-letter from which
extracts follow:--

_Avignon [November 1873]._

I have just read your letter upon the top of the hill beside the church
and castle. The whole air was filled with sunset and the sound of bells;
and I wish I could give you the least notion of the _southernness_ and
_Provencality_ of all that I saw.

I cannot write while I am travelling; _c'est un defaut_; but so it is. I
must have a certain feeling of being at home, and my head must have time
to settle. The new images oppress me, and I have a fever of restlessness
on me. You must not be disappointed at such shabby letters; and besides,
remember my poor head and the fanciful crawling in the spine.

I am back again in the stage of thinking there is nothing the matter
with me, which is a good sign; but I am wretchedly nervous. Anything
like rudeness I am simply babyishly afraid of; and noises, and
especially the sounds of certain voices, are the devil to me. A blind
poet whom I found selling his immortal works in the streets of Sens,
captivated me with the remarkable equable strength and sweetness of his
voice; and I listened a long while and bought some of the poems; and now
this voice, after I had thus got it thoroughly into my head, proved
false metal and a really bad and horrible voice at bottom. It haunted me
some time, but I think I am done with it now.

I hope you do