tried to lay myself out to be sociable with an
eye to yoursel'. Several niceish people have turned up: Fanny has an
evening, but she is about at the end of the virtuous effort, and shrinks
from the approach of any fellow creature.

Have you seen Hyde's (Dr. not Mr.) letter about Damien? That has been
one of my concerns; I have an answer in the press; and have just written
a difficult letter to Damon trying to prepare him for what (I fear)
must be to him extremely painful. The answer is to come out as a
pamphlet; of which I make of course a present to the publisher. I am not
a cannibal, I would not eat the flesh of Dr. Hyde,--and it is
conceivable it will make a noise in Honolulu. I have struck as hard as I
knew how; nor do I think my answer can fail to do away (in the minds of
all who see it) with the effect of Hyde's incredible and really
villainous production. What a mercy I wasn't this man's _guest_ in the
_Morning Star_! I think it would have broke my heart.

Time for me to go!--I remain, with love,

R. L. S.

TO CHARLES BAXTER

Stevenson had not been long at Sydney--just long enough to write and
print the famous _Letter to Dr. Hyde_ in defence of Father
Damien--when, to his heavy disappointment, he fell ill again with one
of his old bad attacks of fever and hemorrhage from the lungs. It was
this experience which finally determined him to settle for good on
his new island property in Samoa, which at first he had thought of
rather as an occasional refuge and resting-place in the intervals
between future projected yachting voyages.

_Union Club, Sydney, March 7th, 1890._

MY DEAR CHARLES,--I did not send off the enclosed before from laziness;
having gone quite sick, and being a blooming prisoner here in the club,
and indeed in my bedroom. I was in receipt of your letters and your
ornamental photo, and was delighted to see how well you looked, and how
reasonably well I stood.... I am sure I shall never come back home
except to die; I may do it, but shall always think of the move as
suicidal, unless a great change comes over me, of which as yet I see no
symptom. This visit to Sydney has smashed me handsomely; and yet I made
myself a prisoner here in the club upon my first arrival. This is not
encouraging for further ventures; Sydney winter--or, I might almost say,
Sydney spring, for I came when the worst was over--is so small an
affair, comparable to our June depression