to Miss Middleton

Vailima, Samoa, September 9, 1894.

DEAR MISS MIDDLETON,—Your letter has been like the drawing up of a curtain.  Of course I remember you very well, and the Skye terrier to which you refer—a heavy, dull, fatted, graceless creature he grew up to be—was my own particular pet.  It may amuse you, perhaps, as much as ‘The Inn’ amused me, if I tell you what made this dog particularly mine.  My father was the natural god of all the dogs in our house, and poor Jura took to him of course.  Jura was stolen, and kept in prison somewhere for more than a week, as I remember.  When he came back Smeoroch had come and taken my father’s heart from him.  He took his stand like a man, and positively never spoke to my father again from that day until the day of his death.  It was the only sign of character he ever showed.  I took him up to my room and to be my dog in consequence, partly because I was sorry for him, and partly because I admired his dignity in misfortune.

With best regards and thanks for having reminded me of so many pleasant days, old acquaintances, dead friends, and—what is perhaps as pathetic as any of them—dead dogs, I remain, yours truly,

Robert Louis Stevenson.