r. Stevenson's--a
General Gordon out of the _Arabian Nights_. Do you remember a drawing
of Mr. du Maurier's in _Punch_, wherein, seizing upon a locution of
Miss Rhoda Broughton's, he gave us a group of "magnificently ugly"
men? I seem to see Attwater in that group.

But if Mr. Stevenson is responsible for Attwater, surely also he
contributed the two splendid surprises of the story. I am the more
certain because they occur in the same chapter, and within three pages
of each other. I mean, of course, Captain Davis's sudden confession
about his "little Adar," and the equally startling discovery that the
cargo of the _Farallone_ schooner, supposed to be champagne, is mostly
water. These are the two triumphant surprises of the book: and I shall
continue to believe that only one living man could have contrived
them, until somebody writes to Samoa and obtains the assurance that
they are among Mr. Osbourne's contributions to the tale.

Two small complaints I have to make. The first is of the rather
inartistically high level of profanity maintained by the speech of
Davis and Huish. It is natural enough, of course; but that is no
excuse if the frequency of the swearing prevent its making its proper
impression in the right place. And the name "Robert Herrick," bestowed
on one of the three beach-loafers, might have been shunned. You may
call an ordinary negro "Julius Caesar": for out of such extremes you
get the legitimately grotesque. But the Robert Herrick, loose writer
of the lovely _Hesperides_, and the Robert Herrick, shameful haunter
of Papeete beach, are not extremes: and it was so very easy to avoid
the association of ideas.

* * * * *

Dec. 22, 1894. R.L.S. In Memorium.

The Editor asks me to speak of Stevenson this week: because, since the
foundation of THE SPEAKER, as each new book of Stevenson's appeared, I
have had the privilege of writing about it here. So this column, too,
shall be filled; at what cost ripe journalists will understand, and
any fellow-cadet of letters may guess.

For when the telegram came, early on Monday morning, what was our
first thought, as soon as the immediate numbness of sorrow passed and
the selfish instinct began to reassert itself (as it always does) and
whisper "What have _I_ lost? What is the difference to _me_?" Was it
not something like this--"Put away books and paper and pen. Stevenson
is dead. Stevenson is dead, and now there is nobody left to wri