e had no
descriptions of anything? The reason is that I can't describe anything.
No words come to me when I see a thing. I want awfully to tell you
to-day about a little "_piece_" of green sea, and gulls, and clouded sky
with the usual golden mountain-breaks to the southward. It was
wonderful, the sea near at hand was living emerald; the white breasts
and wings of the gulls as they circled above--high above even--were dyed
bright green by the reflection. And if you could only have seen or if
any right word would only come to my pen to tell you how wonderfully
these illuminated birds floated hither and thither under the grey
purples of the sky!

* * * * *

To-day has been windy but not cold. The sea was troubled and had a fine
fresh saline smell like our own seas, and the sight of the breaking
waves, and above all the spray that drove now and again in my face,
carried me back to storms that I have enjoyed, O how much! in other
places. Still (as Madame Zassetsky justly remarked) there is something
irritating in a stormy sea whose waves come always to the same spot and
never farther: it looks like playing at passion: it reminds one of the
loathsome sham waves in a stage ocean.

TO SIDNEY COLVIN

[_Menton, January 1874._]

MY DEAR COLVIN,--I write to let you know that my cousin may possibly
come to Paris before you leave; he will likely look you up to hear about
me, etc. I want to tell you about him before you see him, as I am tired
of people misjudging him. You know _me_ now. Well, Bob is just such
another mutton, only somewhat farther wandered. He has all the same
elements of character that I have: no two people were ever more alike,
only that the world has gone more unfortunately for him although more
evenly. Besides which, he is really a gentleman, and an admirable true
friend, which is not a common article. I write this as a letter of
introduction in case he should catch you ere you leave.

_Monday._--No letters to-day. _Sacre chien, Dieu de Dieu_--and I have
written with exemplary industry. But I am hoping that no news is good
news and shall continue so to hope until all is blue.--Ever yours,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

TO SIDNEY COLVIN

It had been a very cold Christmas at Monaco and Monte Carlo, and
Stevenson had no adequate overcoat, so it was agreed that when I went
to Paris I should try and find him a warm cloak or wrap. I amused
mysel