and
which Mr. Chatfield has very properly never permitted to be removed. Here,
in one corner, stood a small bookcase with editions of his own works; the
walls were hung with engravings of ancestors--the only sign of his Scotch
origin I noted in the house--while above the chimney-piece (the only
chimney-pieces and fire-places in Samoa are at Vailima), were a lovely
series of drawings of Gordon Browne, to illustrate one of his later
books, "The Island Nights' Adventures." These pictures, though only in
black and white, breathe the spirit of the islands in a marvellous manner,
especially remarkable being the illustration, "The Beach of Falesa." In a
small bookcase over the head of the bed were some of his own books, a
Shakespeare, and, what was more curious, "A Record of Remarkable Crimes
and Criminals." I heard that Stevenson was fond of "supping full of
horrors," and that would, of course, account for the inevitable murder or
bloodshed which haunts his books; he was an avid reader of murders and
crimes of all sorts. His mind was of a curious cast. Mr. Chatfield told me
that on some days he was the most charming of companions--brilliant, witty
and fascinating; on others, dull and morose beyond description, hardly
uttering a word, and giving no sign of the wealth of tenderness and genial
kindness that lurked within. As a host, it is agreed on all hands he was
incomparable. His entertainment catered for the tastes of all, and in the
sunshine of his delightful company all sorts and conditions of men were
happy.

We left this room with a feeling of depression, and passing through the
other to the door, my eye fell on what I had not before noticed, the
original of the delightful map which is the frontispiece to Treasure
Island--a most beautiful piece of drawing, reminding me, in its quaint
accompaniments of spouting dolphins and horn-blowing Tritons, as much as
in its pretended accuracy, of those strange maps in the earlier editions
of Gulliver, where Brobdingnag, Laputa, etc., are all laid out with
geographical detail of latitude and longitude. The curious, sprawling
writing of Flint and Billy Bones were in contrast to the fine workmanship
of the rest of the map, which, save for some slight coarseness in the
shading of the steeper side of "Spyglass Hill," might have been engraved.
The last thing I saw in the library was perhaps the most curious of all.
It was a navigating chart constructed by the natives of the Wallis
Island