I would
not swear to the word before the trial's done. I miss all my objects in
the meantime; and, thank God, I have enough of my old, and maybe
somewhat base philosophy, to keep me on a good understanding with myself
and Providence.

The mere extent of a man's travels has in it something consolatory. That
he should have left friends and enemies in many different and distant
quarters gives a sort of earthly dignity to his existence. And I think
the better of myself for the belief that I have left some in California
interested in me and my successes. Let me assure you, you who have made
friends already among such various and distant races, that there is a
certain phthisical Scot who will always be pleased to hear good news of
you, and would be better pleased by nothing than to learn that you had
thrown off your present incubus, largely consisting of letters I
believe, and had sailed into some square work by way of change.

And by way of change in itself, let me copy on the other pages some
broad Scotch I wrote for you when I was ill last spring in Oakland. It
is no muckle worth: but ye should na look a gien horse in the
moo'.--Yours ever,

R. L. STEVENSON.

TO MR. AND MRS. THOMAS STEVENSON

The verses here mentioned to Dr. John Brown (the admired author of
_Rab and his Friends_) were meant as a reply to a letter of
congratulation on the _Inland Voyage_ received from him the year
before. They are printed in _Underwoods_.

_Hotel Belvedere, Davos, December 21, 1880._

MY DEAR PEOPLE,--I do not understand these reproaches. The letters come
between seven and nine in the evening; and every one about the books was
answered that same night, and the answer left Davos by seven o'clock
next morning. Perhaps the snow delayed them; if so, 'tis a good hint to
you not to be uneasy at apparent silences. There is no hurry about my
father's notes; I shall not be writing anything till I get home again, I
believe. Only I want to be able to keep reading _ad hoc_ all winter, as
it seems about all I shall be fit for. About John Brown, I have been
breaking my heart to finish a Scotch poem to him. Some of it is not
really bad, but the rest will not come, and I mean to get it right
before I do anything else.

The bazaar is over, L160 gained, and everybody's health lost:
altogether, I never had a more uncomfortable time; apply to Fanny for
further details of the discomfort.

We have our Wogg in somewhat b