ndifferent, and though, as we
have seen, his actual life and practice were quite opposed to this.

I am sorry I _cannot_ find the link in Mr Symons' essay, which would
quite make these two statements consistently coincide critically. As an
enthusiastic, though I hope still a discriminating, Stevensonian, I do
wish Mr Symons would help us to it somehow hereafter. It would be well
worth his doing, in my opinion.

CHAPTER XXXIV--LETTERS AND POEMS IN TESTIMONY

Among many letters received by me in acknowledgment of, or in commentary
on, my little tributes to R. L. Stevenson, in various journals and
magazines, I find the following, which I give here for reasons purely
personal, and because my readers may with me, join in admiration of the
fancy, grace and beauty of the poems. I must preface the first poem by a
letter, which explains the genesis of the poem, and relates a striking
and very touching incident:

"37 ST DONATT'S ROAD,
LEWISHAM HIGH ROAD, S.E.,
1_st_ _March_ 1895.

"DEAR SIR,--As you have written so much about your friend, the late
Robert Louis Stevenson, and quoted many tributes to his genius from
contemporary writers, I take the liberty of sending you herewith some
verses of mine which appeared in _The Weekly Sun_ of November last. I
sent a copy of these verses to Samoa, but unfortunately the great
novelist died before they reached it. I have, however, this week,
received a little note from Mrs Strong, which runs as follows:

"'Your poem of "Greeting" came too late. I can only thank you by
sending a little moss that I plucked from a tree overhanging his grave
on Vaea Mountain.'

"I trust you will appreciate my motive in sending you the poem. I do
not wish to obtrude my claims as a verse-writer upon your notice, but
I thought the incident I have recited would be interesting to one who
is so devoted a collector of Stevensoniana.--Respectfully yours,

F. J. COX."

GREETING

(TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, IN SAMOA)

We, pent in cities, prisoned in the mart,
Can know you only as a man apart,
But ever-present through your matchless art.

You have exchanged the old, familiar ways
For isles, where, through the range of splendid days,
Her treasure Nature lavishly displays.

There, by the gracious sweep of ampler seas,
That swell responsive to the odorous breeze.
You have the wine of Life, and we the lees!

You mark, perchance, wi