But to all he was the same bewildering charming host, the man who variously displayed, to quote W. E. Henley:
"A deal of Ariel, just a streak of Puck,
Much Antony, of Hamlet most of all,—"
And combined with these curiously versatile fruits, "something of the Shorter Catechist."
Generous in criticism, kind in praise, grave and humorous in rapid transition, the amazing scope and variety of Stevenson's writings were excelled by the scope and variety of his talk. "There was no part of the writer that was not visibly present in the man." (Graham Balfour.) He had laid down his opinion that "there can be no fairer ambition than to excel in talk; to be affable, gay, ready, clear and welcome." But none save those who were privileged to hear him, as with quick, impetuous gestures, like a Southern foreigner, he emphasised his phrases, could realise the power, the versatility, the inexpressible, irrepressible charm with which the author could fulfil his "fair ambition."
When the visitors had severally taken their departure, the strong resonant voice, with its Scottish accent and rich, full tones still ringing in their ears,—Stevenson had suffered no abatement in the stream of his exuberant mental vitality. The excitement of conversation had, if anything, keyed him up; and presently, for the writing of a few unavoidable letters, he betook himself to his study; "the study where a smiling God beholds each day my stage of labour trod," and sate himself down there with reluctance.
Painting by W. Hatherell.
"All turned at the cry, and there in the wild
light of the morning heaving straight for
midway reef was the brig Flying Scud of
Hull."
The Wrecker.
