sy ruin. If you would view my countenance aright, come--view it by
the pale moonlight. But that is on the mend. I believe I have now a
distant claim to tan.

A letter will be more than welcome in this distant clime, where I have a
box at the post-office--generally, I regret to say, empty. Could your
recommendation introduce me to an American publisher? My next book I
should really try to get hold of here, as its interest is international,
and the more I am in this country the more I understand the weight of
your influence. It is pleasant to be thus most at home abroad, above
all, when the prophet is still not without honour in his own land....

TO EDMUND GOSSE

The copy of the Monterey paper here mentioned never came to hand, nor
have the contributions of R. L. S. to that journal ever been traced.

_Monterey, 15th November 1879._

MY DEAR GOSSE,--Your letter was to me such a bright spot that I answer
it right away to the prejudice of other correspondents or -dants (don't
know how to spell it) who have prior claims.... It is the history of our
kindnesses that alone makes this world tolerable. If it were not for
that, for the effect of kind words, kind looks, kind letters,
multiplying, spreading, making one happy through another and bringing
forth benefits, some thirty, some fifty, some a thousandfold, I should
be tempted to think our life a practical jest in the worst possible
spirit. So your four pages have confirmed my philosophy as well as
consoled my heart in these ill hours.

Yes, you are right; Monterey is a pleasant place; but I see I can write
no more to-night. I am tired and sad, and being already in bed, have no
more to do but turn out the light.--Your affectionate friend, R. L. S.

I try it again by daylight. Once more in bed however; for to-day it is
_mucho frio, as_ we Spaniards say; and I had no other means of keeping
warm for my work. I have done a good spell, 9-1/2 foolscap pages; at
least 8 of Cornhill; ah, if I thought that I could get eight guineas for
it. My trouble is that I am all too ambitious just now. A book whereof
70 out of 120 are scrolled. A novel whereof 85 out of, say 140, are
pretty well nigh done. A short story of 50 pp., which shall be finished
to-morrow, or I'll know the reason why. This may bring in a lot of
money: but I dread to think that it is all on three chances. If the
three were to fail, I am in a bog. The novel is called _A Vendetta in
the West_. I s