or me to
write anything which went below the surface of R.L.S. I loved him,
and still love him, too tenderly to analyse him. But you, who have
the privilege of not being dazzled by having known him, have taken
the task into your strong competent hands. You could not have done it
better.

The latest survivor, the only survivor, of his little early circle
of intimate friends thanks you from the bottom of his heart.

_Don Quixote_ is a fantasia about the future: in which the study of
heraldry leads to the discovery of England and the centuries of her
happiness and of her faith. Increasingly Gilbert saw the only future
for his country in a re-marriage between those divorced three hundred
years ago: England and the Catholic Church. _Don Quixote_ is among
the less good of his books, but like all the works of these years it
is saturated with Catholicism. I wondered whether I felt more
admiration or amazement when a man once asked us to publish a book on
Chesterton saying, "I am an atheist myself but that doesn't matter,
as I don't deal with his religion."

As a young man Gilbert had wanted to marry the religion of Dr.
Johnson to the Republicanism of Wilkes and in his Catholic faith of
today he saw simply the rounding out and the completing of the
religion of Dr. Johnson. _The Judgment of Dr. Johnson_, his play
about that great man was, like _Magic_, an immense succes d'estime
but not a stage success: it was brilliantly acted and appreciatively
criticised but could not win a public. Bernard Shaw was still
constantly urging Gilbert towards the drama. Belloc too believed he
could write a successful play and he and Anstey (author of _Vice
Versa_) suggested the dramatising of a Belloc story. But neither the
scenario they jointly sketched for Belloc's _Emerald_ nor another
made by Gilbert alone for his own _Flying Inn_ ever reached the stage.

I remember going with the Chestertons to a pre-view of a Father Brown
picture. Two of the stories had been cleverly combined, the cast was
first rate, including Una O'Connor and Walter Connolly, and I came
out feeling convinced that Father Brown would become another Charlie
Chan. The stories would adapt so well, abounding as they do in scenes
impossible for the stage but perfectly easy for the screen--high
walls, windows, ladders, flying harlequins. But the first picture
failed (possibly because it was too short) and no more were made. The
drama remained the one field