nce over and over on his tongue, tried and
tried again until he found the cadence that cast the prophetic purple
shadow--that not only expressed a meaning, but which tokened what would
follow.

He was always assiduously graceful, always desiring to present his idea
in as persuasive a light as possible, and with as much harmony as
possible. That self-revelatory expression of Stevenson's is eminently
characteristic of the man: "I know what pleasure is, for I have done
good work."

"Treasure Island" opened the market for Stevenson, and thereafter there
was a steadily increasing demand for his wares.

Health came back; and the folks at home seeing that Robert Louis was
getting his name in the papers, and noting the steady, triumphant tone
of sanity in all he wrote, came to the conclusion that his marriage was
not a failure.

* * * * *

Above all men in the realm of letters Robert Louis had that peculiar and
divine thing called "charm." To know him was to love him, and those who
did not love him did not know him.

This welling grace of spirit was also the possession of his wife.

In his married life Stevenson was always a lover, never the loved. The
habit of his mind is admirably shown in these lines:

TO MY WIFE

Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble dew,
Steel true and blade straight,
The Great Artisan made my mate.

Honor, courage, valor, fire,
A love that life could never tire,
Death quench nor evil stir,
The Mighty Master gave to her.

Teacher, pupil, comrade, wife,
A fellow-farer true through life,
Heart-whole and soul free,
The august Father gave to me.

Edmund Gosse gives a pen-picture of Stevenson thus:

I came home dazzled with my new friend, saying as Constance does of
Arthur, "Was ever such a gracious creature born?" That impression of
ineffable mental charm was formed the first moment of acquaintance,
about Eighteen Hundred Seventy-seven, and it never lessened or
became modified. Stevenson's rapidity in the sympathetic interchange
of ideas was, doubtless, the source of it. He has been described as
an "egotist," but I challenge the description. If ever there was an
altruist it was Louis Stevenson; he seemed to feign an interest in
himself merely to stimulate you to be liberal in your confidences.
Those who have written about him from later imp