ribble her novels as she was actually receiving and talking to
morning callers, the production of three or four novels a year--and
those not the cock-boats we often see now but attempts at least at "the
old three-decker" in its fullest dimensions--could leave little time or
inclination for extensive letter-writing. There were, however, some
exceptions. Charles Kingsley--who, though his novels were not very
numerous, supplemented them with all sorts of miscellaneous writing for
publication, was a diligent sportsman, an active cleric, and a busy man
in many kinds and ways--wrote certainly good and probably many letters.
The two brighter stars in the Bronte constellation, especially
Charlotte, were scarcely less remarkable with the pen in this way than
in others: and Mrs. Gaskell, Charlotte's biographer, has been put high
by some. The unconquerable personality of Charles Reade showed itself
here as elsewhere[48]: and others might be mentioned.[49] But perhaps
the most distinguished novelist next to Thackeray of the nineteenth
century, who was also a most distinguished letter-writer, was one who
died in middle age not long before its end--Robert Louis Stevenson.

[Sidenote: STEVENSON]

Stevenson had in fact practically all the qualifications necessary for a
good practitioner of our art. He had, eminently, that gift which the
Romans called _facundia_ and the French can translate, if with a slight
degradation of meaning, by _faconde_; but for which we, though the
adjective "facund" has, one believes, been tried, possess no noun,
"Eloquence" being too much specified to "fine" writing or speaking.
"Facility of expression" perhaps comes nearest. Whether he corrected or
corrupted this native gift by his famous "sedulous aping" of stylists
before him is a debated question: but one quite unnecessary to touch
here. It is sufficient to say that he never aped anyone in his letters,
unless playfully and in a sort of concert with his correspondent. Indeed
he possessed, quintessentially, that "naturalness" of matter and form on
which so much stress has been laid. He had a disposition equally
favourable to the business--if business we may call it. A person who is
habitually gloomy may write capital letters of an impressive character
now and then: but is likely to produce little but boredom if he extends
his practice. Louis Stevenson did not habitually "regard the world
through a horse collar" (as it was once put), but he certainly did not