ng　thought　has　been　put　to　the　door　I　can　watch　it　out　of　　the　loophole　where；　with　its　fellows；　it　raves　and　threatens　in　　dumb　show。　　Years　ago　when　that　thought　was　young；　it　was　dearer　to　　me　than　all　others；　and　I　would　speak　with　it　always　when　I　had　an　　hour　alone。　　These　rags　that　so　dismally　trick　forth　its　madness　　were　once　the　splendid　livery　my　favour　wrought　for　it　on　my　bed　at　　night。　　Can　you　see　the　device　on　the　badge？　　I　dare　not　read　it　　there　myself；　yet　have　a　guess　…　'BAD　WARE　NICHT'　…　is　not　that　the　　humour　of　it？
  。　。　。　。　。　。　。　。　。
  〃A　plague　o'　these　Sundays！　　How　the　Church　bells　ring　up　the　　sleeping　past！　　If　I　were　a　dove　and　dwelt　in　the　monstrous　　chestnuts；　where　the　bees　murmur　all　day　about　the　flowers；　if　I　　were　a　sheep　and　lay　on　the　field　there　under　my　comely　fleece；　if　　I　were　one　of　the　quiet　dead　in　the　kirkyard　…　some　homespun　farmer　　dead　for　a　long　age；　some　dull　hind　who　followed　the　plough　and　　handled　the　sickle　for　threescore　years　and　ten　in　the　distant　　past；　if　I　were　anything　but　what　I　am　out　here；　under　the　sultry　　noon；　between　the　deep　chestnuts；　among　the　graves；　where　the　　fervent　voice　of　the　preacher　comes　to　me；　thin　and　solitary；　　through　the　open　windows；　IF　I　WERE　WHAT　I　WAS　YESTERDAY；　AND　WHAT；　　BEFORE　GOD；　I　SHALL　BE　AGAIN　TO…MORROW；　HOW　SHOULD　I　OUTFACE　THESE　　BRAZEN　MEMORIES；　HOW　LIVE　DOWN　THIS　UNCLEAN　RESURRECTION　OF　DEAD　　HOPES！〃
  Close　associated　with　this　always　is　the　moralising　faculty；　which　　is　assertive。　　Take　here　the　cunning　sentences　on　SELFISHNESS　AND　　EGOTISM；　very　Hawthornian　yet　quite　original：
  〃An　unconscious；　easy；　selfish　person　shocks　less；　and　is　more　　easily　loved；　than　one　who　is　laboriously　and　egotistically　　unselfish。　　There　is　at　least　no　fuss　about　the　first；　but　the　　other　parades　his　sacrifices；　and　so　sells　his　favours　too　dear。　　　Selfishness　is　calm；　a　force　of　nature；　you　might　say　the　trees　　were　selfish。　　But　egotism　is　a　piece　of　vanity；　it　must　always　　take　you　into　its　confidence；　it　is　uneasy；　troublesome；　seeking；　　it　can　do　good；　but　not　handsomely；　it　is　uglier；　because　less　　dignified；　than　selfishness　itself。〃
  If　Mr　Henley　had　but　had　this　clear　in　his　mind　he　might　well　have　　quoted　it　in　one　connection　against　Stevenson　himself　in　the　PALL　　MALL　MAGAZINE　article。　　He　could　hardly　have　quoted　anything　more　　apparently　apt　to　the　purpose。
  In　the　sphere　of　minor　morals　there　is　no　more　important　topic。　　　Unselfishness　is　too　often　only　the　most　exasperating　form　of　　selfishness。　　Here　is　another　very　characteristic　bit：
  〃You　will　always　do　wrong：　　you　must　try　to　get　used　to　that；　my　　son。　　It　is　a　small　matter　to　make　a　work　about；　when　all　the　world　　is　in　the　same　case。　　I　meant　when　I　was　a　young　man　to　write　a　　great　poem；　and　now　I　am　cobbling　little　prose　articles　and　in　　excellent　good　spirits。　　I　thank　you。　。　。　。　Our　business　in　life　is　　not　to　succeed；　but　to　continue　to　fail；　in　good　spirits。〃
  Again：
  〃It　is　the　mark　of　good　action　that　it　appears　inevitable　in　the　　retrospect。　　We　should　have　been　cut…throats　to　do　otherwise。　　And　　there's　an　end。　　We　ought　to　know　distinctly　that　we　are　damned　for　　what　we　do　wrong；　but　when　we　have　done　right；　we　have　only　been　　gentlemen；　after　all。　　There　is　nothing　to　make　a　work　about。〃
  The　moral　to　THE　HOUSE　OF　ELD　is　incisive　writ　out　of　true　　experience　…　phantasy　there　becomes　solemn；　if　not；　for　the　nonce；　　tragic：…
  〃Old　is　the　tree　and　the　fruit　good；　Very　old　and　thick　the　wood。　Woodman；　is　your　courage　stout？　Beware！　the　root　is　wrapped　about　Your　mother's　heart；　your　father's　bones；　And；　like　the　mandrake；　comes　with　groans。〃
  The　phantastic　moralist　is　supreme；　jauntily　serious；　facetiously　　earnest；　most　gravely　funny　in　the　whole　series　of　MORAL　EMBLEMS。
  〃Reader；　your　soul　upraise　to　see；　In　yon　fair　cut　designed　by　me；　The　pauper　by　the　highwayside　Vainly　soliciting　from　pride。　Mark　how　the　Beau　with　easy　air　Contemns　the　anxious　rustic's　prayer　And　casting　a　disdainful　eye　Goes　gaily　gallivanting　by。　He　from　the　poor　averts　his　head　。　。　。　He　will　regret　it　when　he's　dead。〃
  Now；　the　man　who　would　trace　out　step　by　step　and　point　by　point；　　clearly　and　faithfully；　the　process　by　which　Stevenson　worked　　himself　so　far　free　of　this　his　besetting　tendency　to　moralised　　symbolism　or　allegory　into　the　freer　air　of　life　and　real　　character；　would　do　more　to　throw　light　on　Stevenson's　genius；　and　　the　obstacles　he　had　had　to　contend　with　in　becoming　a　novelist　　eager　to　interpret　definite　times　and　character；　than　has　yet　been　　done　or　even　faithfully　attempted。　　This　would　show　at　once　　Stevenson's　wonderful　growth　and　the　saving　grace　and　elasticity　of　　his　temperament　and　genius。　　Few　men　who　have　by　force　of　native　　genius　gone　into　allegory　or　moralised　phantasy　ever　depart　out　of　　that　fateful　and　enchanted　region。　　They　are　as　it　were　at　once　　lost　and　imprisoned　in　it　and　kept　there　as　by　a　spell　…　the　more　　they　struggle　for　freedom　the　more　surely　is　the　bewitching　charm　　laid　upon　them　…　they　are　but　like　the　fly　in　amber。　　It　was　so　　with　Ludwig　Tieck；　it　was　so　with　Nathaniel　Hawthorne；　it　was　so　　with　our　own　George　MacDonald；　whose　professedly　real　pictures　of　　life　are　all　informed　of　this　phantasy；　which　spoils　them　for　what　　they　profess　to　be；　and　yet　to　the　discerning　cannot　disguise　what　　they　really　are　…　the　attempts　of　a　mystic　poet　and　phantasy　writer　　and　allegoristic　moralist　to　walk　in　the　ways　of　Anthony　Trollope　　or　of　Mrs　Oliphant；　and；　like　a　stranger　in　a　new　land　always　　looking　back　（at　least　by　a　side…glance；　an　averted　or　half…averted　　face　which　keeps　him　from　seeing　steadily　and　seeing　whole　the　real　　world　with　which　now　he　is　fain　to　deal）；　to　the　country　from　which　　he　came。
  Stevenson　did　largely　free　himself；　that　is　his　great　achievement　…　　had　he　lived；　we　verily　believe；　so　marked　was　his　progress；　he　　would　have　been　a　great　and　true　realist；　a　profound　interpreter　of　　human　life　and　its　tragic　laws　and　wondrous　compensations　…　he　　would　have　shown　how　to　make　the　full　retreat　from　fairyland　　without　penalty　of　too　early　an　escape　from　it；　as　was　the　case　　with　Thomas　the　Rymer　of　Ercildoune；　and　with　one　other　told　of　by　　him；　and　proved　that　to　have　been　a　dreamer　need　not　absolutely　　close　the　door　to　insight　into　the　real　world　and　to　art。　　This　　side　of　the　subject；　never　even　glanced　at　by　Mr　Henley　or　Mr　　Zangwill　or　their　CONFRERES；　yet　demands；　and　will　well　reward　the　　closest　and　most　careful　attention　and　thought　that　can　be　given　to　　it。
  The　parabolic　element；　with　the　whimsical　humour　and　turn　for　　paradoxical　inversion；　comes　out　fully　in　such　a　work　as　DR　JEKYLL　　AND　MR　HYDE。　　There　his　humour　gives　body　to　his　fancy；　and　reality　　to　the　half…whimsical　forms　in　which　he　embodies　the　results　of　　deep　and　earnest　speculations　on　human　nature　and　motive。　　But　even　　when　he　is　professedly　concerned　with　incident　and　adventure　　merely；　he　manages　to　communicate　to　his　pages　some　touch　of　　universality；　as　of　unconscious　parable　or　allegory；　so　that　the　　reader　feels　now　and　then　as　though　some　thought；　or　motive；　or　　aspiration；　or　weakness　of　his　own　were　being　there　cunningly　　unveiled　or　presented；　and　not　seldom　you　feel　he　has　also　unveiled　　and　presented　some　of　yours；　secret　and　unacknowledged　too。
  Hence　the　interest　which　young　and　old　alike　have　felt　in　TREASURE　　ISLAND；　KIDNAPPED；　and　THE　WRECKER　…　a　something　which　suffices　　decisively　to　mark　off　these　books　from　the　mass　with　which　　superficially　they　might　be　classed。
  CHAPTER　XIX　…　EDMUND　CLARENCE　STEDMAN'S　ESTIMATE
  It　should　be　clearly　remembered　that　Stevenson　died　at　a　little　　over　forty　…　the　age　at　which　severity　and　simplicity　and　breadth　　in　art　but　begin　to　be　attained。　　If　Scott　had　died　at　the　age　when　　Stevenson　was　taken　from　us；　the　world　would　have　lacked　the　　WAVERLEY　NOVELS；　if　a　like　fate　had　overtaken　Dickens；　we　should　　not　have　had　A　TALE　OF　TWO　CITIES；　and　under　a　similar　stroke；　　Goldsmith　could　not　have　written　RETALIATION；　or　tasted　the　bitter…　sweet　first　night　of　SHE　STOOPS　TO　CONQUER。　　At　the　age　of　forty…　four　Mr　Thomas　Hardy　had　probably　not　dreamt　of　TESS　OF　THE　　D'URBERVILLES。　　But　what　a　man　has　already　done　at　forty　years　is　　likely；　I　am　afraid；　to　be　a　gauge　as　well　as　a　promise　of　what　he　　will　do　in　the　future；　and　from　Stevenson　we　were　entitled　to　　expect　perfect　form　and　continued　variety　of　subject；　rather　than　a　　measurable　dynamic　gain。
  This　is　the　point　of　view　which　my　friend　and　correspondent　of　　years　ago；　Mr　Edmund　Clarence　Stedman；　of　New　York；　set　out　by　　emphasising　in　his　address；　as　President　of　the　meeting　under　the　　auspices　of　the　Uncut　Leaves　Society　in　New　York；　in　the　beginning　　of　1895；　on　the　death　of　Stevenson；　and　to　honour　the　memory　of　the　　great　romancer；　as　reported　in　the　NEW　YORK　TRIBUNE：
  〃We　are　brought　together　by　tidings；　almost　from　the　Antipodes；　of　　the　death　of　a　beloved　writer　in　his　early　prime。　　The　work　of　a　　romancer　and　poet；　of　a　man　of　insight　and　feeling；　which　may　be　　said　to　have　begun　but　fifteen　years　ago；　has　ended；　through　　fortune's　sternest　cynicism；　just　as　it　seemed　en