castle, and hill, for the sake of the
magnificent panorama, and besides, because it is the friendliest spot in
all Avignon to me.

_Later._--You cannot picture to yourself anything more steeped in hard
bright sunshine than the view from the hill. The immovable inky shadow
of the old bridge on the fleeting surface of the yellow river seemed
more solid than the bridge itself. Just in the place where I sat
yesterday evening a shaven man in a velvet cap was studying
music--evidently one of the singers for _La Muette de Portici_ at the
theatre to-night. I turned back as I went away: the white Christ stood
out in strong relief on his brown cross against the blue sky, and the
four kneeling angels and lanterns grouped themselves about the foot with
a symmetry that was almost laughable; the musician read on at his music,
and counted time with his hand on the stone step.

_Menton, November 12th._--My first enthusiasm was on rising at Orange
and throwing open the shutters. Such a great living flood of sunshine
poured in upon me, that I confess to having danced and expressed my
satisfaction aloud; in the middle of which the boots came to the door
with hot water, to my great confusion.

To-day has been one long delight, coming to a magnificent climax on my
arrival here. I gave up my baggage to an hotel porter and set off to
walk at once. I was somewhat confused as yet as to my directions, for
the station of course was new to me, and the hills had not sufficiently
opened out to let me recognise the peaks. Suddenly, as I was going
forward slowly in this confusion of mind, I was met by a great volley of
odours out of the lemon and orange gardens, and the past linked on to
the present, and in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the whole
scene fell before me into order, and I was at home. I nearly danced
again.

I suppose I must send off this to-night to notify my arrival in safety
and good-humour and, I think, in good health, before relapsing into the
old weekly vein. I hope this time to send you a weekly dose of sunshine
from the south, instead of the jet of _snell_ Edinburgh east wind that
used to was.--Ever your faithful friend,

R. L. S.

TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON

_Hotel du Pavillon, Menton, November 13, 1873._

MY DEAR MOTHER,--The _Place_ is not where I thought; it is about where
the old Post Office was. The Hotel de Londres is no more an hotel. I
have found a charming room in the Hotel du Pavillon,