nd complaint--for the second time in two months. All
this, and the fact that both my womenkind require to see a doctor: and
some wish to see Lord Jersey before he goes home: all send me off on a
month's holiday to Sydney. I may get my mail: or I may not: depends on
freight, weather, and the captain's good-nature--he is one of those who
most religiously fear Apia harbour: it is quite a superstition with
American captains. (Odd note: American sailors, who make British hair
grey by the way they carry canvas, appear to be actually _more_ nervous
when it comes to coast and harbour work.) This is the only holiday I
have had for more than 2 years; I dare say it will be as long again
before I take another. And I am going to spend a lot of money. Ahem!

On the other hand, you can prepare to dispose of the serial rights of
the _Schooner Farallone:_ a most grim and gloomy tale. It will run to
something between _Jekyll and Hyde_ and _Treasure Island_. I will not
commit myself beyond this, but I anticipate from 65 to 70,000 words,
could almost pledge myself not shorter than 65,000, but won't. The tale
can be sent as soon as you have made arrangements; I hope to finish it
in a month; six weeks, bar the worst accidents, for certain. I should
say this is the butt end of what was once _The Pearl Fisher_. There is a
peculiarity about this tale in its new form: it ends with a conversion!
We have been tempted rather to call it _The Schooner Farallone: a tract
by R. L. S._ and _L. O._ It would make a boss tract; the three main
characters--and there are only four--are barats, insurance frauds,
thieves and would-be murderers; so the company's good. Devil a woman
there, by good luck; so it's "pure." 'Tis a most--what's the
expression?--unconventional work.

R. L. S.

TO SIDNEY COLVIN

_At Sea, s.s._ Mariposa, _Feb. 19th, '93_.

MY DEAR COLVIN,--You will see from this heading that I am not dead yet
nor likely to be. I was pretty considerably out of sorts, and that is
indeed one reason why Fanny, Belle, and I have started out for a month's
lark. To be quite exact, I think it will be about five weeks before we
get home. We shall stay between two and three in Sydney. Already, though
we only sailed yesterday, I am feeling as fit as a fiddle. Fanny ate a
whole fowl for breakfast, to say nothing of a tower of hot cakes. Belle
and I floored another hen betwixt the pair of us, and I shall be no
sooner done with the present amanue