RobertLouisStevenson
byWalterRaleigh
WHENapopularwriterdies，thequestionithasbecomethefashionwithanervousgenerationtoaskisthequestion，’Willhelive？’
Therewasnoidlerquestion，nonemorehopelesslyimpossibleandunprofitabletoanswer。Itisoneofthemanyvanitiesofcriticismtopromiseimmortalitytotheauthorsthatitpraises，topatroniseawriterwiththeassurancethatourgreat—grandchildren，whosetimeandtastesarethusfrivolouslymortgaged，willreadhisworkswithdelight。But’thereisnoantidoteagainsttheopiumoftime，whichtemporallyconsiderethallthings：ourfathersfindtheirgravesinourshortmemories，andsadlytellushowwemaybeburiedinoursurvivors。’LetusmakesurethatoursonswillcareforHomerbeforewepledgeamoredistantgenerationtoanewercult。
Nevertheless，withouthandlingthepricklyquestionofliteraryimmortality，itiseasytorecognisethattheliteraryreputationofRobertLouisStevensonismadeofgoodstuff。Hisfamehasspread，aslastingfameiswonttodo，fromthefewtothemany。
Fifteenyearsagohisessaysandfancifulbooksoftravelweretreasuredbyasmallanddiscerningcompanyofadmirers；longbeforehechancedtofelltheBritishpublicwithTREASUREISLAND
andDR。JEKYLLANDMR。HYDEhehadshownhimselfadelicatemarksman。Andalthoughlargeeditionsarenothing，standardeditions，richlyfurnishedandcomplete，areworthyofremark。
Stevensonisoneoftheveryfewauthorsinourliteraryhistorywhohavebeenhonouredduringtheirlifetimebytheappearanceofsuchanedition；thebestofhispublic，itwouldseem，donotonlywishtoreadhisworks，buttopossessthem，andallofthem，atthecostofmanypounds，inlibraryform。ItwouldbeeasytomentionmorevoluminousandmorepopularauthorsthanStevensonwhosepublisherscouldnotfindfivesubscribersforanadventurelikethis。HehasmadeabravebeginninginthatraceagainstTimewhichallmustlose。
Itisnotintheleastnecessary，afterall，tofortifyourselveswiththepresumedconsentofourpoordescendants，whomayhaveaworldofotherbusinesstoattendto，inordertoestablishStevensoninthepositionofagreatwriter。Letusleavethatfoolishtricktothepoliticians，whoneverclaimthattheyareright—merelythattheywillwinatthenextelections。Literarycriticismhasstandardsotherthanthesuffrage；itispossibleenoughtosaysomethingoftheliteraryqualityofaworkthatappearedyesterday。Stevensonhimselfwassingularlyfreefromthevanityoffame；’thebestartist，’hesaystruly，’isnotthemanwhofixeshiseyeonposterity，buttheonewholovesthepracticeofhisart。’Heloved，ifevermandid，thepracticeofhisart；
andthosewhofindmeatanddrinkinthedelightofwatchingandappreciatingtheskilfulpracticeoftheliteraryart，willabandonthemselvestotheenjoymentofhismasterstrokeswithoutteasingtheirunbornandpossiblyilliterateposteritytoanswersolemnquestions。Willabooklive？Willacricketmatchlive？Perhapsnot，andyetbothbefineachievements。
Itisnoteasytoestimatethelosstolettersbyhisearlydeath。
InthededicationofPRINCEOTTOhesays，’Well，wewillnotgiveinthatwearefinallybeaten……Istillmeantogetmyhealthagain；Istillpurpose，byhookorcrook，thisbookorthenext，tolaunchamasterpiece。’Itwouldbeachurlishoraverydaintycriticwhoshoulddenythathehaslaunchedmasterpieces，butwhetherheeverlaunchedhismasterpieceisanopenquestion。Ofthestorythathewaswritingjustbeforehisdeathheisreportedtohavesaidthat’thegoodnessofitfrightenedhim。’Agoodnessthatfrightenedhimwillsurelynotbevisible，likeBanquo’sghost，toonlyonepairofeyes。Hisgreatestwasperhapsyettocome。HadDrydendiedathisage，weshouldhavehadnoneofthegreatsatires；hadScottdiedathisage，weshouldhavehadnoWaverleyNovels。Dyingattheheightofhispower，andinthefulltideofthoughtandactivity，heseemsalmosttohavefulfilledtheaspirationandunconsciousprophecyofoneoftheearlyessays：
’Doesnotlifegodownwithabettergracefoaminginfullbodyoveraprecipice，thanmiserablystragglingtoanendinsandydeltas？
’WhentheGreeksmadetheirfinesayingthatthosewhomthegodslovedieyoung，Icannothelpbelievingthattheyhadthissortofdeathalsointheireye。Forsurely，atwhateverageitovertaketheman，thisistodieyoung。Deathhasnotbeensufferedtotakesomuchasanillusionfromhisheart。Inthehot—fitoflife，a—
tiptoeonthehighestpointofbeing，hepassesataboundontotheotherside。Thenoiseofthemalletandchiselisscarcelyquenched，thetrumpetsarehardlydoneblowing，when，trailingwithhimcloudsofglory，thishappystarred，full—bloodedspiritshootsintothespiritualland。’
Butweonthissidearethepoorer—byhowmuchwecanneverknow。
Whatstrengthenstheconvictionthathemightyethavesurpassedhimselfanddwarfedhisownbestworkis，certainlynoimmaturity，fortheflavourofwisdomandoldexperiencehangsabouthisearliestwritings，butavaguesenseawakenedbythatbrilliantseriesofbooks，sodiverseintheme，soslightofteninstructureandoccasionssogailyexecuted，thatherewasafinishedliterarycraftsman，whohadservedhisperiodofapprenticeshipandwasplayingwithhistools。Thepleasureofwieldingthegraventool，theitchofcraftsmanship，wasstronguponhim，andmanyoftheworkshehasleftaretheoverflowofalaughingenergy，arabesquescarvedontherockintheartist’spainlesshours。
Allart，itistrue，isplayofasort；the’sport—impulse’（totranslateaGermanphrase）isdeepattherootoftheartist’spower；Sophocles，Shakespeare，Moliere，andGoethe，inaveryprofoundsense，makegameoflife。Buttomakegameoflifewastoeachofthesetheveryloftiestandmostimperativeemploytobefoundforhimonthisplanet；toholdthemirroruptoNaturesothatforthefirsttimeshemayseeherself；to’beacandle—holderandlookon’atthepageantrywhich，butforthecandle—holder，wouldhuddlealongintheundistinguishableblackness，filledthemwiththeprideofplace。Stevensonhadthesport—impulseatthedepthsofhisnature，buthealsohad，perhapshehadinherited，aninstinctforworkinmoreblockishmaterial，forlighthouse—
buildingandiron—founding。Ina’LettertoaYoungArtist，’
contributedtoamagazineyearsago，hecomparestheartistinpaintorinwordstothekeeperofaboothattheworld’sfair，dependentforhisbreadonhissuccessinamusingothers。Inhisvolumeofpoemshealmostapologisesforhisexcellenceinliterature：
’Saynotofme，thatweaklyIdeclinedThelaboursofmysires，andfledthesea，Thetowerswefounded，andthelampswelit，Toplayathomewithpaperlikeachild；
Butrathersay：INTHEAFTERNOONOFTIME
ASTRENUOUSFAMILYDUSTEDFROMITSHANDS
THESANDOFGRANITE，ANDBEHOLDINGFAR
ALONGTHESOUNDINGCOASTSITSPYRAMIDS
ANDTALLMEMORIALSCATCHTHEDYINGSUN，SMILEDWELL—CONTENT，ANDTOTHISCHILDISHTASK
AROUNDTHEFIREADDRESSEDITSEVENINGHOURS。’
Someofhisworksare，nodoubt，bestdescribedaspaper—games。InTHEWRONGBOX，forinstance，thereissomethingverylikethecard—
gamecommonlycalled’OldMaid’；theoddcardisasuperfluouscorpse，andeachdismayedrecipientinturnassumesadisguiseandapseudonymandbravelypassesonthatuncomfortableinheritance。
Itisanadmirablefarce，hardlytouchedwithgrimness，unshakenbythebreathofreality，fulloffantasticcharacter；thestrangefuneralprocessionisattendedbyshoutsofgleeateachofitsstages，andfinallymeltsintospace。
But，whenallissaid，itisnotwithworkofthiskindthatOlympusisstormed；artmustbebroughtcloserintorelationwithlife，theseairyanddelightfulfreaksoffancymustbesubduedtoaseriousschemeiftheyaretoserveascredentialsforaseatamongtheimmortals。Thedecorativepainter，whosepencilrunssofreelyinlimningthesehalf—humanprocessionsofoutlinedfaunsandwood—nymphs，isaskedatlasttopaintaneaselpicture。
Stevensonisbestwhereheshowsmostrestraint，andhispeculiarlyrichfancy，whichranriotatthesuggestionofeverypassingwhim，gavehim，whatmanyamodernwritersadlylacks，plentytorestrain，anexuberantfieldforself—denial。Herewasanopportunityforartandlabour；theluxurianceofthevirginforestsoftheWestmaybeclippedandprunedforalifetimewithnofearofreducingthemtothetrimsimilitudeofaDutchgarden。
Hisbountifulandgenerousnaturecouldprofitbyaspelloftrainingthatwouldemaciateapoorerstock。Fromthefirst，hisdelightinearthandtheearth—bornwaskeenandmultiform；hiszestinlife’putaspiritofyouthineverything，ThatheavySaturnlaugh’dandleap’dwithhim；’
andhisfancy，lightandquickasachild’s，madeoftheworldaroundhimanenchantedpleasance。Therealism，asitiscalled，thatdealsonlywiththebanalitiesandsqualorsoflife，andweavesintothemeshofitsstorynocharacterbutwouldmakeyouyawnifyoupassedtenminuteswithhiminarailway—carriage，mightwelltakealessonfromthisman，ifithadthebrains。
Picturetoyourself（itisnothard）anaveragesuburbofLondon。
Thelongrowsofidenticalbiliousbrickhouses，withtheinevitablelacecurtains，asymbolmerelyofthewillandpowertowash；theawfulnondescriptobject，generallyunderglass，inthefrontwindow—theshrineoftheunknowngodofart；thesombreinvariablecitizen，whosegarbgivesnosuggestionofhisoccupationorhistastes—aperson，itwouldseem，onlybycourtesy；thepiano—organthemusicoftheday，andthehideousvoiceofthevendorofhalf—pennypapersthemusicofthenight；
couldanythingbelesspromisingthansucharowofhousesforthetheatreofromance？Setarealisttowalkdownoneofthesestreets：hewillinquireaboutmilk—billsandservants’wages，latch—keysandSundayavocations，andcomebackwithataleofsmallmeannessesandpettyrespectabilities，writtenintheapprovedmodernfashion。YetStevenson，itseemslikely，couldnotpassalongsuchalineofbrickbandboxeswithouthavinghispulsesseta—throbbingbytheimaginativepossibilitiesoftheplace。OfhisownLieutenantBrackenburyRichhesays：
’Thesuccessionoffacesinthelamplightstirredthelieutenant’simagination；anditseemedtohimasifhecouldwalkforeverinthatstimulatingcityatmosphereandsurroundedbythemysteryoffourmillionprivatelives。Heglancedatthehousesandmarvelledwhatwaspassingbehindthosewarmlylightedwindows；helookedintofaceafterface，andsawthemeachintentuponsomeunknowninterest，criminalorkindly。’
ItwasthatsameeveningthatPrinceFlorizel’sfriend，underthenameofMr。Morris，wasgivingapartyinoneofthehousesofWestKensington。Inoneatleastofthehousesofthatbrickwildernesshumanspiritswerebeingtestedasonananvil，andmostofthemtossedaside。Soalso，in，THERAJAH’SDIAMOND，itwasaquietsuburbangardenthatwitnessedthesuddenapparitionofMr。HarryHartleyandhistreasuresprecipitatedoverthewall；itwasinthesamegardenthattheRev。SimonRollessuddenly，tohisownsurprise，becameathief。Amonotonyofbadbuildingisnodoubtabadthing，butitcannotparalysetheactivitiesorfrustratetheagoniesofthemindofman。
ToamanwithStevenson’sliveandsearchingimagination，everyworkofhumanhandsbecamevocalwithpossibleassociations。
Buildingspositivelychatteredtohim；thelittleinnatQueensferry，whichevenforScotthadmeantonlymuttonandcurrantjelly，withcranberries’veraweelpreserved，’gavehimthecardinalincidentofKIDNAPPED。Howshouldtheworldeverseemdullorsordidtoonewhomarailway—stationwouldtakeintoitsconfidence，towhomtheveryflagstonesofthepavementtoldtheirstory，inwhosemind’theeffectofnight，ofanyflowingwater，oflightedcities，ofthepeepofday，ofships，oftheopenocean，’
calledup’anarmyofanonymousdesiresandpleasures’？Tohavethe’golden—tonguedRomancewithserenelute’foramistressandfamiliaristobefortifiedagainsttheassaultsoftedium。
Hisattitudetowardsthesurprisingandmomentousgiftsoflifewasoneprolongedpassionofpraiseandjoy。Thereisnoneofhisbooksthatreadslikethemeditationsofaninvalid。Hehasthereadiestsympathyforallexhibitionsofimpulsiveenergy；hisheartgoesouttoasailor，andleapsintoecstasyoveragenerousadventurerorbuccaneer。Ofoneofhisearlierbookshesays：
’FromthenegativepointofviewIflattermyselfthisvolumehasacertainstamp。Althoughitrunstoconsiderablyupwardsoftwohundredpages，itcontainsnotasinglereferencetotheimbecilityofGod’suniverse，norsomuchasasinglehintthatIcouldhavemadeabetteronemyself。’Andthiswasanomissionthatheneverremediedinhislaterworks。Indeed，hiszestinlife，whetherlivedinthebackgardensofatownoronthehighseas，wassogreatthatitseemsprobablethewriterwouldhavebeenlosthadthemanbeendoweredwithbetterhealth。
’WhereasmybirthandspiritrathertookThewaythattakesthetown，Thoudidstbetraymetoaling’ringbook，Andwrapmeinagown，’
saysGeorgeHerbert，who，inhisearlierambitions，wouldfainhaveruffleditwiththebestatthecourtofKingJames。ButfromStevenson，althoughnotonlythetown，butoceansandcontinents，beckonedhimtodeeds，nosuchwailescaped。Hisindomitablecheerfulnesswasneverembarkedinthecock—boatofhisownprosperity。Ahighandsimplecourageshinesthroughallhiswritings。Itissupposedtobeanormalhumanfeelingforthosewhoarehaletosympathizewithotherswhoareinpain。Stevensonreversedtheposition，andthereisnobraverspectacleinliteraturethantoseehimnotaskingotherstolowertheirvoicesinhissick—room，butraisinghisownvoicethathemaymakethemfeelateaseandavoidimposinghismisfortunesontheirnotice。
’OncewhenIwasgroaningaloudwithphysicalpain，’hesaysintheessayonCHILD’SPLAY，’ayounggentlemancameintotheroomandnonchalantlyinquiredifIhadseenhisbowandarrow。Hemadenoaccountofmygroans，whichheaccepted，ashehadtoacceptsomuchelse，asapieceoftheinexplicableconductofhiselders；
and，likeawiseyounggentleman，hewouldwastenowonderonthesubject。’Wasthereeverapassagelikethis？Thesympathyofthewriteriswhollywiththechild，andthechild’sabsoluteindifferencetohisownsufferings。Itmighthavebeensafelypredictedthatthisman，shouldheeverattaintopathos，wouldbefreefromthefacile，maudlinpathosofthehiredsentimentalist。
AndsoalsowithwhatDr。Johnsonhascalled’metaphysicaldistresses。’ItisstrikingenoughtoobservehowdifferentlythequietmonasteriesoftheCarthusianandTrappistbrotherhoodsaffectedMatthewArnoldandRobertLouisStevenson。Inhiswell—
knownelegiacstanzasMatthewArnoldlikenshisownstatetothatofthemonks：
’Wanderingbetweentwoworlds，onedead，Theotherpowerlesstobeborn，Withnowhereyettorestmyhead，LiketheseonearthIwaitforlorn。
Theirfaith，mytears，theworldderide—
Icometoshedthemattheirside。’
ToStevenson，ontheotherhand，ourLadyoftheSnowsisamistakendivinity，andtheplaceamonumentofchillyerror，—foronceinawayhetakesitonhimselftobeapreacher，histemperamentgivesvoiceinacreed：
’Andye，Obrethren，whatifGod，WhenfromHeaven’stopHespiesabroad，AndseesonthistormentedstageThenoblewarofmankindrage，WhatifHisvivifyingeye，Omonks，shouldpassyourcornerby？
ForstilltheLordisLordofmight；
Indeeds，indeeds，Hetakesdelight；
Theplough，thespear，theladenbarks，Thefield，thefoundedcity，marks；
Hemarksthesmilerofthestreets，Thesingerupongardenseats；
Heseestheclimberintherocks；
ToHim，theshepherdfoldshisflocks；
ForthoseHelovesthatunderpropWithdailyvirtuesHeaven’stop，Andbearthefallingskywithease，UnfrowningCaryatides。
ThoseHeapprovesthatplythetrade，Thatrockthechild，thatwedthemaid，Thatwithweakvirtues，weakerhands，Sowgladnessonthepeopledlands，Andstillwithlaughter，song，andshoutSpinthegreatwheelofearthabout。
Butye？—OyewholingerstillHereinyourfortressonthehill，Withplacidface，withtranquilbreath，Theunsoughtvolunteersofdeath，OurcheerfulGeneralonhighWithcarelesslooksmaypassyouby！’
Andthefactofdeath，whichhasdampedanddarkenedthewritingsofsomanyminorpoets，doesnotcastapalloronhisconviction。
Lifeisofvalueonlybecauseitcanbespent，orgiven；andtheloveofGodcovetedtheposition，andassumedmortality。Ifamantreasureandhughislife，onethingonlyiscertain，thathewillberobbedsomeday，andcutthepitiableandfutilefigureofonewhohasbeensavingcandle—endsinahousethatisonfire。Betterthanthistohaveafoolishspendthriftblazeandthelovingcupgoinground。StevensonspeaksalmostwithapersonalenvyoftheconductofthefourmarinesoftheWAGER。Therewasnoroomforthemintheboat，andtheywereleftonadesertislandtoacertaindeath。’Theyweresoldiers，theysaid，andknewwellenoughitwastheirbusinesstodie；andastheircomradespulledaway，theystooduponthebeach，gavethreecheers，andcried，\"GodblesstheKing！\"Now，oneortwoofthosewhowereintheboatescaped，againstalllikelihood，totellthestory。Thatwasagreatthingforus’—evenwhenlifeisextorteditmaybegivennobly，withceremonyandcourtesy。SostrongwasStevenson’sadmirationforheroicgraceslikethesethatintherequiemthatappearsinhispoemshespeaksofanordinarydeathasofaheartyexploit，anddrawshisfiguresfromlivesofadventureandtoil：
’UnderthewideandstarryskyDigthegraveandletmelie。
GladdidIliveandgladlydie，AndIlaidmedownwithawill。
Thisbetheverseyougraveforme：
HEREHELIESWHEREHELONGEDTOBE，HOMEISTHESAILOR，HOMEFROMTHESEA，ANDTHEHUNTERHOMEFROMTHEHILL。’
Thismanshouldsurelyhavebeenhonouredwiththepompandcolourandmusicofasoldier’sfuneral。
Themostremarkablefeatureoftheworkhehasleftisitssingularcombinationofstyleandromance。Ithassohappened，andtheaccidenthasgainedalmostthestrengthofatradition，thatthemostassiduousfollowersofromancehavebeencarelessstylists。
Theyhavetrustedtotheefficacyoftheirsituationandincident，andhavetoooftencaredlittleaboutthemannerofitspresentation。Byanoddpieceofironystylehasbeenlefttothecultivationofthosewhohavelittleornothingtotell。SirWalterScotthimself，withallhissplendidromanticandtragicgifts，often，inStevenson’sperfectlyjustphrase，’fobsusoffwithlanguidandinarticulatetwaddle。’Hewrotecarelesslyandgenially，andthenbreakfasted，andbeganthebusinessoftheday。
ButStevenson，whohadromancetinglingineveryveinofhisbody，sethimselflaboriouslyandpatientlytotrainhisotherfaculty，thefacultyofstyle。
I。STYLE。—Letnoonesaythat’readingandwritingcomesbynature，’unlessheispreparedtobeclassedwiththefoolishburgesswhosaiditfirst。Apoetisborn，notmade，—soiseveryman，—butheisbornraw。Stevenson’slifewasagravedevotiontotheeducationofhimselfintheartofwriting，’Thelyfsoshort，thecraftsolongtolerne，Thassaysohard，sosharptheconquering。’
Thosewhodenythenecessity，ordecrytheutility，ofsuchaneducation，aregenerallydeficientinasenseofwhatmakesgoodliterature—theyare’word—deaf，’asothersarecolour—blind。Allwritingisakindofword—weaving；askilfulwriterwillmakeasplendidtissueoutofthediversefibresofwords。Buttocareforwords，toselectthemjudiciouslyandlovingly，isnotintheleastessentialtoallwriting，allspeaking；forthesadfactisthis，thatmostofusdoourthinking，ourwriting，andourspeakinginphrases，notinwords。Theworkofafeeblewriterisalwaysapatchworkofphrases，someofthemborrowedfromtheimperialtextureofShakespeareandMilton，otherspickedupfromtheragsinthestreet。Wemakeourverykettle—holdersofpiecesofaking’scarpet。HowmanyoverwornquotationsfromShakespearesuddenlyleapintomeaningandbrightnesswhentheyareseenintheircontext！’Thecryisstill，\"Theycome！\"’—’Morehonouredinthebreachthantheobservance，’—thesightofthesephrasesinthesplendouroftheirdramaticcontextinMACBETHandHAMLETcastsshameupontheirdailydegradedemployments。Butthemanofaffairshasneitherthetimetofashionhisspeech，northeknowledgetochoosehiswords，soheborrowshissentencesready—
made，andappliestheminroughhastetopurposesthattheydonotexactlyfit。Suchamaninevitablyrepeats，likethecuckoo，monotonouscatchwords，andlayshiseggsofthoughtinthematerialthathasbeenwovenintoconsistencybyothers。Itisamatterofnaturaltaste，developedandstrengthenedbycontinualpractice，toavoidbeingtheunwittingslaveofphrases。
Theartistinwords，ontheotherhand，althoughheisaloveroffinephrases，inhisword—weavingexperimentsusesnoshoddy，butcultivateshissensesoftouchandsightuntilhecancombinetherawfibresinnovelandbewitchingpatterns。Tothisendhemusthavetwothings：afinesense，inthefirstplace，ofthesound，value，meaning，andassociationsofindividualwords，andnext，asenseofharmony，proportion，andeffectintheircombination。Itisamazingwhatnobilityameretruismisoftenfoundtopossesswhenitiscladwithagarmentthuswoven。
Stevensonhadboththesesensitivecapabilitiesinaveryhighdecree。Hiscarefulchoiceofepithetandnamehaveevenbeencriticisedaslendingtosomeofhisnarrative—writinganexcessiveairofdeliberation。Hisdaintinessofdictionisbestseeninhisearlierwork；thereafterhiswritingbecamemorevigorousanddirect，fitterforitslateruses，butneverunilluminedbyfelicitiesthatcauseathrillofpleasuretothereader。Ofthevalueofwordshehadtheacutestappreciation。VIRGINIBUS
PUERISQUE，hisfirstbookofessays，iscrowdedwithhappyhitsandsubtleimplicationsconveyedinasingleword。’Wehaveallheard，’hesaysinoneofthese，’ofcitiesinSouthAmericabuiltuponthesideoffierymountains，andhow，eveninthistremendousneighbourhood，theinhabitantsarenotajotmoreimpressedbythesolemnityofmortalconditionsthaniftheyweredelvinggardensinthegreenestcornerofEngland。’Youcanfeelthegroundshakeandseethevolcanotoweraboveyouatthatword’TREMENDOUS
neighbourhood。’Somethingofthesamedoublereferencetotheoriginalandacquiredmeaningsofawordistobefoundinsuchaphraseas’sedateelectrician，’foronewhoinabackofficewieldsallthelightsofacity；orinthatdescriptionofonedrawingneartodeath，whoisspokenofasgropingalreadywithhishands’onthefaceoftheIMPASSABLE。’
Thelikenessofthislastwordtoaverydifferentword，’IMPASSIVE，’ismadetodogoodliteraryserviceinsuggestingthesphinx—likeimageofdeath。Sometimes，ashere，thissubtlesenseofdoublemeaningsalmostleadstopunning。InACROSSTHEPLAINS
Stevensonnarrateshowabetwastransactedatarailway—station，andsubsequently，hesupposes，’LIQUIDATEDatthebar。’Thisisperhapsaninstanceoftheexcessofavirtue，butitisanexcesstobefoundplentifullyintheworksofMilton。
Hislovingregardforwordsbearsgoodfruitinhislaterandmorestirringworks。Hehasaquickearandappreciationforlivephrasesonthelipsoftramps，beach—combers，orAmericans。InTHE
BEACHOFFALESAthesea—captainwhointroducesthenewtradertotheSouthPacificislandwherethesceneofthestoryislaid，givesabriefdescriptionofthefateofthelastdealerincopra。
Itmayserveasasingleillustrationofvolumesofracy，humorous，andimaginativeslang；
’\"Doyoucatchabitofwhitetheretotheeast’ard？\"thecaptaincontinued。\"That’syourhouse……WhenoldAdamssawit，hetookandshookmebythehand。’I’vedroppedintoasoftthinghere，’sayshe。’Soyouhave，’saysI……PoorJohnny！Ineversawhimagainbuttheonce……andthenexttimewecameroundtherehewasdeadandburied。Itookandputupabitofsticktohim：’JohnAdams，OBITeighteenandsixty—eight。Gothouanddolikewise。’Imissedthatman。InevercouldseemuchharminJohnny。\"
’\"Whatdidhedieof？\"Iinquired。
’\"Somekindofsickness，\"saysthecaptain。\"Itappearsittookhimsudden。Seemshegotupinthenight，andfilleduponPain—
KillerandKennedy’sDiscovery。Nogo—hewasbookedbeyondKennedy。Thenhehadtriedtoopenacaseofgin。Nogoagain：
notstrongenough……PoorJohn！\"’
Thereisaworldofabrupt，homelytalklikethistobefoundinthespeechofCaptainNaresandofJimPinkertoninTHEWRECKER；
andawealthofScottishdialect，similarineffect，inKIDNAPPED，CATRIONA，andmanyotherstories。Itwasadelicateearandasensetrainedbypracticethatpickedupthesevividturnsofspeech，someofthemperhapsheardonlyonce，andamindgiventodwellonwords，thatrememberedthemforyears，andbroughtthemoutwhenoccasionarose。
ButthepraiseofStevenson’sstylecannotbeexhaustedinadescriptionofhisuseofindividualwordsorhismemoryofindividualphrases。Hismasteryofsyntax，theorderlyandemphaticarrangementofwordsinsentences，abranchofartsoseldommastered，wasevengreater。Andherehecouldowenogreatdebttohisromanticpredecessorsinprose。Dumas，itistrue，isamasterofnarrative，buthewroteinFrench，andastylewillhardlybearexpatriation。Scott’ssentencesare，manyofthem，shambling，knock—kneedgiants。Stevensonharkedfurtherbackforhismodels，andfedhisstyleonthemostvigorousoftheprosewritersoftheseventeenthandearlyeighteenthcenturies，thegoldenageofEnglishprose。’WhatEnglishthosefellowswrote！’
saysFitzgeraldinoneofhisletters；’Icannotreadthemodernmechaniqueafterthem。’AndhequotesapassagefromHarrington’sOCEANA：
’Thisfree—bornNationlivesnotuponthedoleorBountyofOneMan，butdistributingherAnnualMagistraciesandHonourswithherownhand，isherselfKingPeople。’
ItwasfromwritersofHarrington’stimeandlaterthatStevensonlearnedsomethingofhiscraft。BunyanandDefoeshouldbeparticularlymentioned，andthatlaterexcellentworthy，CaptainCharlesJohnson，whocompiledtheever—memorableLIVESOFPIRATES
ANDHIGHWAYMEN。Mr。GeorgeMeredithisthechiefofthoseveryfewmodernwriterswhoseinfluencemaybedetectedinhisstyle。
Howeveritwasmade，andwhencesoeverthematerialorsuggestionborrowed，hecamebyaveryadmirableinstrumentforthetellingofstories。Thosetouchesofarchaismthataresofrequentwithhim，theslightlyunusualphrasing，orunexpectedinversionoftheorderofwords，showamindalertinitsexpression，andgivethestingofnoveltyeventothecommonplacesofnarrativeorconversation。
Animbleliterarytactwillworkitswillonthephrasesofcurrentsmall—talk，remouldingthemnearertotheheart’sdesire，transformingthemtoitsownstamp。ThiswaswhatStevensondid，andtheveryconversationsthatpassbetweenhischaractershaveanairofdistinctionthatisallhisown。Hisbooksarefullofbrillianttalk—talkrealandconvincingenoughinitspurportandsetting，butpurgedofthelanguorsandfatuitiesofactualcommonplaceconversation。Itisanenjoymentlikethattobeobtainedfromabrilliantexhibitionoffencing，cleananddexterous，toassistatthetalkingboutsofDavidBalfourandMissGrant，CaptainNaresandMr。Dodd，AlexanderMackellarandtheMasterofBallantrae，PrinceOttoandSirJohnCrabtree，orthosewhollyadmirablepiecesofspecialpleadingtobefoundinA
LODGINGFORTHENIGHTandTHESIREDEMALETROIT’SDOOR。Butpeopledonottalklikethisinactuallife—’’tistrue，’tispity；andpity’tis，’tistrue。’Theydonot；inactuallifeconversationisgenerallysosmearedandblurredwithstupidities，soinvadedanddominatedbythespiritofdulness，soliabletoswoonintomeaninglessness，thattoturntoStevenson’sbooksislikeanescapeintomountainairfromthestagnantvapoursofamorass。
Theexactreproductionofconversationasitoccursinlifecanonlybeundertakenbyonewhosenaturaldulnessfeelsitselfincommodedbywitandfancyasbyagritintheeye。Conversationisoftennomorethananervoushabitofbody，liketwiddlingthethumbs，andtorecordeachparticularremarkisasmuchastodescribeeachparticulartwiddle。Orinitsmoreintellectualuses，whenspeechisemployed，forinstance，toconcealourthoughts，howoftenisitaworldtoowidefortheshrunkennudityofthethoughtitismeanttoveil，andthrownoverit，formless，flabby，andblack—likeatarpaulin！Itispleasanttoseethoughtandfeelingdressedforonceinthetrim，brightraimentStevensondevisesforthem。