tood up, and then the figure he cut was extraordinary,
for his coat proved to be merely a large cape, with a small one above it,
and under both came his extra long legs, or, rather, his long lavender
trousers, for they appeared to have no legs within them.

Mrs. Stevenson was with him, but sat apart studying the scenery. Her
husband looked at her frequently with a whimsical smile, and found great
fun in laughing at her behind his book when a dude of tremendous style
took the seat beside her.--_The Sun, 1887._

APPRECIATION AND HOMAGE.

"The precious memory of a single afternoon at the Saville Club.... We
chiefly talked of the craft and the art of story-telling and of its
technique.... Stevenson praised heartily Mark Twain's 'Huckleberry Finn,'
and it was his belief that it was greater, riper, and richer than its
forerunner, 'Tom Sawyer.'"

...."He was a writer of travel sketches and was able to describe Edinburgh
with the same freedom from the commonplace that gave freshness to
'Silverado Squatters'.... He was also a biographer and a literary critic
... but as a story-teller he won his widest triumphs."

_Brander Matthews._

"No other writer of our time has come as near as Stevenson to the conquest
of a perfect English style. He is the one who stands first with the true
lovers of the art of words. To quote from himself he is the one who is
most unceasingly inspired by '_an unextinguishable zest in technical
successes_' and has also most constantly remembered that '_The end of all
art is to please_.'"

_M. G. Van Rensselaer._

"In the years I knew him, if Stevenson expressed much interest in
children, it was mainly for the sake of their fathers and mothers: but
that after a while he began to take a very great delight in summoning back
to his clear recollection the panic fears and adventurous pleasure of his
own early youth, thus becoming, in his portraiture of himself, the
consummate painter of one species of child. But his relation to other
children was shy and gently defiant; it would have exhausted him to play
with them; but he looked forward to a time when they should be old enough
to talk to him."

_Edmund Gosse._

R. L. S. AND MUSIC.

Mr. Andrew Lang recently declared that most poets and literary men hate
music. They hate it because it thrusts itself upon them when they don't
want it--the poet when his eye is in a fine frenzy rolling, and the
prosaic literary man when he is debatin