uth, he had been accustomed to think too bleak and desolate. In
the history of the country and its clans, on the other hand, and
especially of their political and social transformation during the
eighteenth century, he had been always keenly interested. In
conversations with Principal Tulloch at Strathpeffer this interest was
now revived, and he resolved to attempt a book on the subject, his
father undertaking to keep him supplied with books and authorities; for
it had quickly become apparent that he could not winter in Scotland. The
state of his health continued to be very threatening. He suffered from
acute chronic catarrh, accompanied by disquieting lung symptoms and
great weakness; and was told accordingly that he must go for the winter,
and probably for several succeeding winters, to the mountain valley of
Davos in Switzerland, which within the last few years had been coming
into repute as a place of recovery, or at least of arrested mischief,
for lung patients. Thither he and his wife and stepson travelled
accordingly at the end of October. Nor must another member of the party
be forgotten, a black thoroughbred Skye terrier, the gift of Sir Walter
Simpson. This creature was named, after his giver, Walter--a name
subsequently corrupted into Wattie, Woggie, Wogg, Woggin, Bogie, Bogue,
and a number of other affectionate diminutives which will be found
occurring often enough in the following pages. He was a remarkably
pretty, engaging, excitable, ill-behaved little specimen of his race,
the occasion of infinite anxiety and laughing care to his devoted
master and mistress until his death six years later.

The Davos of 1880, approached by an eight-hours' laborious drive up the
valley of the Praettigau, was a very different place from the extended
and embellished Davos of to-day, with its railway, its modern shops, its
electric lighting, and its crowd of winter visitors bent on outdoor and
indoor entertainment. The Stevensons' quarters for the first winter were
at the Hotel Belvedere, then a mere nucleus of the huge establishment it
has since become. Besides the usual society of an invalid hotel, with
its mingled tragedies and comedies, they had there the great advantage
of the presence, in a neighbouring house, of an accomplished man of
letters and one of the most charming of companions, John Addington
Symonds, with his family. Mr. Symonds, whose health had been desperate
before he tried the place, was a living testimony