THE LATE R. L. STEVENSON.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1205, 5 April 1895, Page 13

THE LATE R. L. STEVENSON.

HIS LAST LETTEB. The Times publishes a letter from Mr Edmund Gosse, who says :—The Samoan post has brough t me a long letter from the late Mr Robert Louis Stevenson, which must have been, I suppose, the last he wrote, since it is begun on December 1 and continued at a later date. The first day’s writing is in his own hand, the rest in that of his amanuensis, and the signature again his own. This letter, of the deepest and most sacred interest to the recipient, and ultimately, no doubt, to be given to the world, is of too private a nature for publication at this moment. It is, however, of the highest importance to all who loved him to know what his condition was up to the last, and I think it right to communicate certain passages, which should tend to console us for this irreparable loss. From all parts of this

last letter I gather two things—first, that he was conscious of no physical pain or distress ; secondly, that the unconscious shadow of death was upon him, preparing him to die. A great part of his letter is occupied with recalling an incident of our friendship—a matter apparently irrelevant that happened neai’ly 20 years ago. lie relates this little story with all His old animation, and ends—“ I was always thought light—the irresponsible jester—- ! you remember. Oh quantum mutatus ab I had been reminding him too of old stories, and he adds—“ I sendfyou back this piece of ancient history, consule planco, as a salute." But the continuation dictated, as I suppose, on the 2nd, or even on the fatal 3rd, is graver. It is full of reflections most unusual in his letters, which were commonly so gay on the decline of life and the cessation of vitality. I venture to quote a pregnant and pathetic passage, which will be of great interest to all who know him. I cannot, without obscuring it entirely, withdraw all reference to myself, and will, therefore, add that my own last fletcer referred to the change in the four-and-twenty years since first we met. “You take the change gallantly. Not ;

I, I confess. It is all very well to talk of renunciation, and, of course, it has to be done. But for my part give me a roaring toothache 1 I do not like to be deceived and to dream, but I have very little use for either watching or meditation, I was

not born for age, and curiously enough I ' seem to see a contrary drift in my work I from that which is so remarkable in ' yours. You are going on sedately, travelling through your ages decently, chang- ' ing with the years to the proper tune. And here ara I quite out of my true course, and with nothing in my foolish, elderly head but love stories. This must repose upon some curious distinction of temperaments. It is funny that this matter should come up just now, as I am at present engaged in treating a severe case of middle age in one of my stories, ‘ The Justice Clerk.’ The case is that of a woman, and I think that I am doing her justice. Come to think of it, Gossie, I think the main distinction is that I am a childless, rather bitter, very clear-eyed, blighted youth. I have, in fact, lost the path that makes it easy and natural for you to descend the hill. lam going at it straight, and where I have to go down it is a precipice."