93._

DEAR JOHNNIE,--Well, I must say you seem to be a tremendous fellow!
Before I was eight I used to write stories--or dictate them at
least--and I had produced an excellent history of Moses, for which I got
L1 from an uncle; but I had never gone the length of a play, so you
have beaten me fairly on my own ground. I hope you may continue to do
so, and thanking you heartily for your nice letter, I shall beg you to
believe me yours truly,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

TO RUSSELL P----N

_Vailima, Samoa, December 3rd, 1893._

DEAR RUSSELL,--I have to thank you very much for your capital letter,
which came to hand here in Samoa along with your mother's. When you
"grow up and write stories like me," you will be able to understand that
there is scarce anything more painful than for an author to hold a pen;
he has to do it so much that his heart sickens and his fingers ache at
the sight or touch of it; so that you will excuse me if I do not write
much, but remain (with compliments and greetings from one Scot to
another--though I was not born in Ceylon--you're ahead of me
there).--Yours very truly,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM

_Vailima, December 5, 1893._

MY DEAREST CUMMY,--This goes to you with a Merry Christmas and a Happy
New Year. The Happy New Year anyway, for I think it should reach you
about _Noor's Day_. I dare say it may be cold and frosty. Do you
remember when you used to take me out of bed in the early morning, carry
me to the back windows, show me the hills of Fife, and quote to me

"A' the hills are covered wi' snaw,
An' winter's noo come fairly"?

There is not much chance of that here! I wonder how my mother is going
to stand the winter. It she can, it will be a very good thing for her.
We are in that part of the year which I like the best--the Rainy or
Hurricane Season. "When it is good, it is very, very good; and when it
is bad, it is horrid," and our fine days are certainly fine like heaven;
such a blue of the sea, such green of the trees, and such crimson of the
hibiscus flowers, you never saw; and the air as mild and gentle as a
baby's breath, and yet not hot!

The mail is on the move, and I must let up.--With much love, I am, your
laddie,

R. L. S.

TO CHARLES BAXTER

The following quotes the extract, from Fountainhall's "Decisions of
the Lords of Council, etc.," which suggested to Stevenson the romance
of