on, November 1874._]

When I left you I found an organ-grinder in Russell Square playing to a
child; and the simple fact that there was a child listening to him, that
he was giving this pleasure, entitled him, according to my theory, as
you know, to some money; so I put some coppers on the ledge of his
organ, without so much as looking at him, and I was going on when a
woman said to me: "Yes, sir, he do look bad, don't he? scarcely fit like
to be working." And then I looked at the man, and O! he was so ill, so
yellow and heavy-eyed and drooping. I did not like to go back somehow,
and so I gave the woman a shilling and asked her to give it to him for
me. I saw her do so and walked on; but the face followed me, and so when
I had got to the end of the division, I turned and came back as hard as
I could and filled his hand with money--ten to thirteen shillings, I
should think. I was sure he was going to be ill, you know, and he was a
young man; and I dare say he was alone, and had no one to love him.

I had my reward; for a few yards farther on, here was another
organ-grinder playing a dance tune, and perhaps a dozen children all
dancing merrily to his music, singly, and by twos and threes, and in
pretty little figures together. Just what my organ-grinder in my story
wanted to have happen to him! It was so gay and pleasant in the twilight
under the street lamp.

I am very well, have eaten well, and am so sleepy I can write no more.
This I write to let you know I am no worse; all the better.--Ever your
faithful friend,

R. L. S.

TO MRS. SITWELL

_[Edinburgh, November 1874], Sunday._

I was never more sorry to leave you, but I never left you with a better
heart, than last night. I had a long journey and a cold one; but never
was sick nor sorry the whole way. It was a long one because when we got
to Berwick, we had to go round through the hills by Kelso, as there was
a block on the main line. I knew nothing of this, and you may imagine my
bewilderment when I came to myself, the train standing and whistling
dismally in the black morning, before a little vacant half-lit station,
with a name up that I had never heard before. My fellow-traveller woke
up and wanted to know what was wrong. "O, it's nothing," I said,
"nothing at all, it's an evil dream." However we had the thing explained
to us at the end of ends, and trailed on in the dark among the snowy
hills, stopping every now and again and whistling i