[_Edinburgh, January 1876._]
... OUR weather continues as it was, bitterly cold, and raining often.
There is not much pleasure in life certainly as it stands at present.
_Nous n'irons plus au bois, helas!_
I meant to write some more last night, but my father was ill and it put
it out of my way. He is better this morning.
If I had written last night, I should have written a lot. But this
morning I am so dreadfully tired and stupid that I can say nothing. I
was down at Leith in the afternoon. God bless me, what horrid women I
saw; I never knew what a plain-looking race it was before. I was sick at
heart with the looks of them. And the children, filthy and ragged! And
the smells! And the fat black mud!
My soul was full of disgust ere I got back. And yet the ships were
beautiful to see, as they are always; and on the pier there was a clean
cold wind that smelt a little of the sea, though it came down the Firth,
and the sunset had a certain _eclat_ and warmth. Perhaps if I could get
more work done, I should be in a better trim to enjoy filthy streets and
people and cold grim weather; but I don't much feel as if it was what I
would have chosen. I am tempted every day of my life to go off on
another walking tour. I like that better than anything else that I
know.--Ever your faithful friend,