_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.