promise of their continuance for
the future, and of a cordial welcome for the new daughter-in-law in his
father's house. The following letters, chosen from among those written
during the period in question, depict his way of life, and reflect at
once the anxiety of his friends and the strain of the time upon himself.

TO SIDNEY COLVIN

The story mentioned at the beginning of this letter is _The Story of a
Lie_.

_On board s.s. "Devonia," an hour or two out of New York [August
1879]._

MY DEAR COLVIN,--I have finished my story. The handwriting is not good
because of the ship's misconduct: thirty-one pages in ten days at sea is
not bad.

I shall write a general procuration about this story on another bit of
paper. I am not very well; bad food, bad air, and hard work have brought
me down. But the spirits keep good. The voyage has been most
interesting, and will make, if not a series of _Pall Mall_ articles, at
least the first part of a new book. The last weight on me has been
trying to keep notes for this purpose. Indeed, I have worked like a
horse, and am now as tired as a donkey. If I should have to push on far
by rail, I shall bring nothing but my fine bones to port.

Good-bye to you all. I suppose it is now late afternoon with you and all
across the seas. What shall I find over there? I dare not wonder.--Ever
yours,

R. L. S.

_P.S._--I go on my way to-night, if I can; if not, to-morrow; emigrant
train ten to fourteen days' journey; warranted extreme discomfort. The
only American institution which has yet won my respect is the rain. One
sees it is a new country, they are so free with their water. I have been
steadily drenched for twenty-four hours; water-proof wet through;
immortal spirit fitfully blinking up in spite. Bought a copy of my own
work, and the man said "by Stevenson."--"Indeed," says I.--"Yes, sir,"
says he.--Scene closes.

I am not beaten yet, though disappointed. If I am, it's for good this
time; you know what "for good" means in my vocabulary--something inside
of 12 months perhaps; but who knows? At least, if I fail in my great
purpose, I shall see some wild life in the West and visit both Florida
and Labrador ere I return. But I don't yet know if I have the courage to
stick to life without it. Man, I was sick, sick, sick of this last year.

TO SIDNEY COLVIN

[_In the Emigrant Train from New York to San Francisco, August
1879._]

DEA