celebrating Stevenson for the consistency and
continuity of his undogmatic religion, he is almost throughout
celebrating "Cumy" and her influence, though unconsciously. Here, again,
we have an apt and yet more striking illustration, after that of the good
Lord Shaftesbury and many others, of the deep and lasting effect a good
and earnest woman, of whom the world may never hear, may have had upon a
youngster of whom all the world shall hear. When Mr Kelman says that
"the religious element in Stevenson was not a thing of late growth, but
an integral part and vital interest of his life," he but points us back
to the earlier religious influences to which he had been effectually
subject. "His faith was not for himself alone, and the phases of
Christianity which it has asserted are peculiarly suited to the spiritual
needs of many in the present time."

We should not lay so much weight as Mr Kelman does on the mere number of
times "the Divine name" is found in Stevenson's writings, but there is
something in such confessions as the following to his father, when he
was, amid hardship and illness, in Paris in 1878:

"Still I believe in myself and my fellow-men and the God who made us
all. . . . I am lonely and sick and out of heart. Well, I still hope;
I still believe; I still see the good in the inch, and cling to it. It
is not much, perhaps, but it is always something."

Yes, "Cumy" was a very effective teacher, whose influence and teaching
long remained. His other teachers, however famous and highly gifted, did
not attain to such success with him. And because of this non-success
they blamed him, as is usual. He was fond of playing truant--declared,
indeed, that he was about as methodic a truant as ever could have
existed. He much loved to go on long wanderings by himself on the
Pentland Hills and read about the Covenanters, and while yet a youth of
sixteen he wrote _The Pentland Rising_--a pamphlet in size and a piece of
fine work--which was duly published, is now scarce, and fetches a high
price. He had made himself thoroughly familiar with all the odd old
corners of Edinburgh--John Knox's haunts and so on, all which he has
turned to account in essays, descriptions and in stories--especially in
_Catriona_. When a mere youth at school, as he tells us himself, he had
little or no desire to carry off prizes and do just as other boys did; he
was always wishing to observe, and to see, and try things for
h