make our very kettle-holders of pieces
of a king's carpet. How many overworn quotations from Shakespeare
suddenly leap into meaning and brightness when they are seen in their
context! 'The cry is still, "They come!"'--'More honoured in the breach
than the observance,'--the sight of these phrases in the splendour of
their dramatic context in _Macbeth_ and _Hamlet_ casts shame upon their
daily degraded employments. But the man of affairs has neither the time
to fashion his speech, nor the knowledge to choose his words, so he
borrows his sentences ready-made, and applies them in rough haste to
purposes that they do not exactly fit. Such a man inevitably repeats,
like the cuckoo, monotonous catchwords, and lays his eggs of thought in
the material that has been woven into consistency by others. It is a
matter of natural taste, developed and strengthened by continual
practice, to avoid being the unwitting slave of phrases.

The artist in words, on the other hand, although he is a lover of fine
phrases, in his word-weaving experiments uses no shoddy, but cultivates
his senses of touch and sight until he can combine the raw fibres in
novel and bewitching patterns. To this end he must have two things: a
fine sense, in the first place, of the sound, value, meaning, and
associations of individual words, and next, a sense of harmony,
proportion, and effect in their combination. It is amazing what nobility
a mere truism is often found to possess when it is clad with a garment
thus woven.

Stevenson had both these sensitive capabilities in a very high decree.
His careful choice of epithet and name have even been criticised as
lending to some of his narrative-writing an excessive air of
deliberation. His daintiness of diction is best seen in his earlier
work; thereafter his writing became more vigorous and direct, fitter for
its later uses, but never unillumined by felicities that cause a thrill
of pleasure to the reader. Of the value of words he had the acutest
appreciation. _Virginibus Puerisque_, his first book of essays, is
crowded with happy hits and subtle implications conveyed in a single
word. 'We have all heard,' he says in one of these, 'of cities in South
America built upon the side of fiery mountains, and how, even in this
tremendous neighbourhood, the inhabitants are not a jot more impressed by
the solemnity of mortal conditions than if they were delving gardens in
the greenest corner of England.' You can fe