hat all the apologetics in the world are based
upon just this audacious paralogism."

Many writers have done the same--and not a few critics have hinted at
this: I do not think any writer has got at the radical truth of it more
directly, decisively, and clearly than "J. F. M.," in a monthly magazine,
about the time of Stevenson's death; and the whole is so good and clear
that I must quote it--the writer was not thinking of the drama specially;
only of prose fiction, and this but makes the passage the more effective
and apt to my point.

"In the outburst of regret which followed the death of Robert Louis
Stevenson, one leading journal dwelt on his too early removal in
middle life 'with only half his message delivered.' Such a phrase may
have been used in the mere cant of modern journalism. Still it set
one questioning what was Stevenson's message, or at least that part of
it which we had time given us to hear.

"Wonderful as was the popularity of the dead author, we are inclined
to doubt whether the right appreciation of him was half as wide. To a
certain section of the public he seemed a successful writer of boys'
books, which yet held captive older people. Now, undoubtedly there
was an element (not the highest) in his work which fascinated boys. It
gratified their yearning for adventure. To too large a number of his
readers, we suspect, this remains Stevenson's chief charm; though even
of those there were many able to recognise and be thankful for the
literary power and grace which could serve up their sanguinary diet so
daintily.

"Most of Stevenson's titles, too, like _Treasure Island_, _Kidnapped_,
and_ The Master of Ballantrae_, tended to foster delusion in this
direction. The books were largely bought for gifts by maiden aunts,
and bestowed as school prizes, when it might not have been so had
their titles given more indication of their real scope and tendency.

"All this, it seems to us, has somewhat obscured Stevenson's true
power, which is surely that of an arch-delineator of 'human nature'
and of the devious ways of men. As we read him we feel that we have
our finger on the pulse of the cruel politics of the world. He has
the Shakespearean gift which makes us recognise that his pirates and
his statesmen, with their violence and their murders and their
perversions of justice, are swayed by the same interests and a