The state of health and spirits mentioned in the last soon gave way
to one of the fits of depression, frequent with him in Edinburgh
winters. In the following letter he unbosoms himself to a favourite
cousin (sister to R. A. M. Stevenson).
_Edinburgh, January 1876._
MY DEAR KATHARINE,--The prisoner reserved his defence. He has been
seedy, however; principally sick of the family evil, despondency; the
sun is gone out utterly; and the breath of the people of this city lies
about as a sort of damp, unwholesome fog, in which we go walking with
bowed hearts. If I understand what is a contrite spirit, I have one; it
is to feel that you are a small jar, or rather, as I feel myself, a very
large jar, of pottery work rather _mal reussi_, and to make every
allowance for the potter (I beg pardon; Potter with a capital P.) on his
ill-success, and rather wish he would reduce you as soon as possible to
potsherds. However, there are many things to do yet before we go
_Grossir la pate universelle
Faite des formes que Dieu fond._
For instance, I have never been in a revolution yet. I pray God I may be
in one at the end, if I am to make a mucker. The best way to make a
mucker is to have your back set against a wall and a few lead pellets
whiffed into you in a moment, while yet you are all in a heat and a fury
of combat, with drums sounding on all sides, and people crying, and a
general smash like the infernal orchestration at the end of the
_Huguenots_....
Please pardon me for having been so long of writing, and show your
pardon by writing soon to me; it will be a kindness, for I am sometimes
very dull. Edinburgh is much changed for the worse by the absence of
Bob; and this damned weather weighs on me like a curse. Yesterday, or
the day before, there came so black a rain squall that I was
frightened--what a child would call frightened, you know, for want of a
better word--although in reality it has nothing to do with fright. I lit
the gas and sat cowering in my chair until it went away again.--Ever
yours,