d sometimes
in a great flight. The sharp perfume of the shrub-geraniums fills the
air.

I cannot write, in any sense of the word; but I am as happy as can be,
and wish to notify the fact, before it passes. The sea is blue, grey,
purple and green; very subdued and peaceful; earlier in the day it was
marbled by small keen specks of sun and larger spaces of faint
irradiation; but the clouds have closed together now, and these
appearances are no more. Voices of children and occasional crying of
gulls; the mechanical noise of a gardener somewhere behind us in the
scented thicket; and the faint report and rustle of the waves on the
precipice far below, only break in upon the quietness to render it more
complete and perfect.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

TO MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON

After spending a few days in one of the more retired hotels of Monte
Carlo, we went on to Mentone and settled at the Hotel Mirabeau, long
since, I believe, defunct, near the eastern extremity of the town.
The little American girl mentioned in the last paragraph is the same
we shall meet later under her full name of Marie Johnstone.

_[Hotel Mirabeau, Menton], January 2nd, 1874._

Here I am over in the east bay of Mentone, where I am not altogether
sorry to find myself. I move so little that I soon exhaust the
immediate neighbourhood of my dwelling places. Our reason for coming
here was however very simple. Hobson's choice. Mentone during my absence
has filled marvellously.

Continue to address P. R.[11] Menton; and try to conceive it as possible
that I am not a drivelling idiot. When I wish an address changed, it is
quite on the cards that I shall be able to find language explicit enough
to express the desire. My whole desire is to avoid complication of
addresses. It is quite fatal. If two P. R.'s have contradictory orders
they will continue to play battledoor and shuttlecock with an unhappy
epistle, which will never get farther afield but perish there miserably.

You act too much on the principle that whatever I do is done unwisely;
and that whatever I do not, has been culpably forgotten. This is
wounding to my nat'ral vanity.

I have not written for three days I think; but what days! They were very
cold; and I must say I was able thoroughly to appreciate the blessings
of Mentone. Old Smoko this winter would evidently have been very summary
with me. I could not stand the cold at all. I exhausted all my own and