to E. L. Burlingame

Vailima Plantation, Samoan Islands, Oct. 10th, 1892.

MY DEAR BURLINGAME,—It is now, as you see, the 10th of October, and there has not reached the Island of Upolu one single copy, or rag of a copy, of the Samoa book.  I lie; there has come one, and that in the pocket of a missionary man who is at daggers drawn with me, who lends it to all my enemies, conceals it from all my friends, and is bringing a lawsuit against me on the strength of expressions in the same which I have forgotten, and now cannot see.  This is pretty tragic, I think you will allow; and I was inclined to fancy it was the fault of the Post Office.  But I hear from my sister-in-law Mrs. Sanchez that she is in the same case, and has received no ‘Footnote.’  I have also to consider that I had no letter from you last mail, although you ought to have received by that time ‘My Grandfather and Scott,’ and ‘Me and my Grandfather.’  Taking one consideration with another, therefore, I prefer to conceive that No. 743 Broadway has fallen upon gentle and continuous slumber, and is become an enchanted palace among publishing houses.  If it be not so, if the ‘Footnotes’ were really sent, I hope you will fall upon the Post Office with all the vigour you possess.  How does The Wrecker go in the States?  It seems to be doing exceptionally well in England.—Yours sincerely,

Robert Louis Stevenson.