Tag Archives: kind

The marks of a reader, such as one imagines for oneself in dreams, thoughtful, critical, and kind

Posted on September 25, 2016 by mafalda

An anonymous review of the Child’s Garden of Verses, appearing in the Pall Mall Gazette for March 1885, gave RLS so much pleasure that he wrote (in the four words, ‘Now who are you?’) to inquire the name of its … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged agile, amiable, Archer W., aversion, Bournemouth, Child's Garden of Verses, childhood, complain, critical, criticism, dreams, enviable, experience, fever, French, gardens, grateful, injudicious, insight, insomnia, kind, land of counterpane, life, London, memorial, nightmare, painful, poems, praise, reader, review, Robert Louis Stevenson, sober, sorrows, sufferings, thanks, Thoreau, thoughtful, verses, wonder | 2 Comments

It still gives me a list to starboard (let us be ever nautical!)

Posted on May 3, 2015 by mafalda

Alexander Hay Japp (1837-1905), Scottish author, journalist and publisher, had paid his visit at Braemar as proposed, and listened delightedly to the first chapters of Treasure Island (then entitled The Sea Cook). He had proposed to offer the story for … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged attraction, book, Castleton of Braemar, conclusion, desirable, endear, fancy, father, health, Henderson, Japp, judge, kind, legitimate, nautical, point of view, practicability, rheumatism, Robert Louis Stevenson, sequel, sew, starboard, story, story-teller, The Sea Cook, Treasure Island, trouble, unmindful | Leave a comment

… the women (God bless them!)…

Posted on April 10, 2015 by mafalda

RLS got one more testimonial for his candidature to the Edinburgh History Chair from his friend Philip Gilbert Hamerton, English artist, art critic and author. Hamerton had been an unsuccessful candidate for the Professorship of Fine Art at Edinburgh University. … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged angel of death, answer, better time, bless, bliss, bones, bridegroom, canoes, care, case, catamaran, certainty, chance, class, complication, cough, counsel, cruel, cruise, damn, Davos, death, delete, deserve, doctor, Edinburgh Chair of Art, Edinburgh History Chair, electors, emblem, essays, expedition, experience, glad, Hamerton, Hamerton Eugénie, Hamerton’s son, haunt, health, home, hope, hulk, illness, justify, kind, kindness, Kinnaird Cottage, lady, Latin, legal, look, manners, marriage, married, mortality, mountains, neglect, Pitlochry, pleasures, prompt, prostration, riot, river, Robert Louis Stevenson, sail, Saone, sheer, show, sore, statement, streets, Stygian, Summer, testimonial, thanks, undeserving, unfortunately, unkind, unwonted, weakest spot, well-wisher, wild, wind, winter, wishes, women, words, work | Leave a comment

You were to me, then, only a part of an organised boredom

Posted on April 5, 2015 by mafalda

One more letter referring to the candidature of RLS for the Edinburgh History Chair: the chair was being left by Aeneas James George Mackay (1839-1911), Professor of History and Constitutional Law, who later became Advocate-Depute (Scottish law officer with the … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged absence, attraction, boredom, coals of fire, Constitutional Law, correct, course, decline, difficult, early, Edinburgh History Chair, evasion, good, health, heartily, History, honourable, hope, income, kind, Kinnaird Cottage, late, lectures, Mackay, mangle, mistaken, needs, offence, offices, opinion, organised, permanent, Pitlochry, pleasant, pledged, polite, questions, reasons, regret, resignation, Robert Louis Stevenson, serve, stand, summer class, thanks, vacancy | Leave a comment

That tells on my old gipsy nature; like a violin hung up, I begin to lose what music there was in me

Posted on March 25, 2015 by mafalda

Colvin went out to Davos in January 1881, and found RLS apparently little improved in health, and depressed by a sad turn of destiny which had brought out his old friend Mrs. Sitwell to the same place, at the same … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged admirable, apostle, beef-tea, bellows, Bertie Sitwell, blood, burnt, Carlyle, child, clear, cod-liver oil, Davos, dead, desolation, disregard, down-draught, drums, eclipse, F.A.S., fangs, Fanny, Fanny Sitwell, fardel, fear, French, gipsy, happy, health, heart, heavy, hopeless, horror, human, humility, hysterics, ill, jolly, judge, kind, lamentable, Landor, languor, Latin, Leslie Stephen, life, love, luck, mood, morbid, mother, music, nature, nerves, nurse, old, old man, over-ridden, peaceful, perilous, platoon, pulse, reading, respiration, reviewing, rhythm, Robert Louis Stevenson, Scottish, shoulders, sick, Sidney Colvin, silence, Southey, speech, strong, style, sudden, sunshine, Symonds, thanks, tonic, view, violin, weather, weeping, weight, wife, wine, Woggin, wolverine, world | Leave a comment

To write a book like this were impossible

Posted on March 20, 2015 by mafalda

A close intimate of J.A. Symonds, and frequent visitor at Davos, was Horatio Robert Forbes Brown (1854-1926), historian of Venice. He took warmly, as did every one, to Stevenson. The following two notes are from a copy of Penn’s Fruits … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson, Senza categoria | Tagged book, bouquiniste, Brown H.F., busy, colony, companion, copy, Davos, dear, death, fellow-creature, ferry-boats, gift, Hôtel Belvedere, honest, human conducit, impossible, intelligent, kind, last day, peaceful, Penn, pocket, present, Robert Louis Stevenson, San Francisco, sick, street car, streets, sweet, wife, wisdom, wrench, write | Leave a comment

But death is no bad friend

Posted on November 29, 2014 by mafalda

The following is in acknowledgment of Edmund Gosse’s volume called New Poems. The ‘Plymouth Brother’ refers to an anecdote told in Travels With a Donkey, Chapter ‘In the Valley of the Tarn’. [As usual, dots between square brackets indicate cuts … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged aconite, appetite, appropriateness, Bancroft, beast, bed, blooming, born again, brains, breakers, Burton, California, catlike, centenary edition, child, city, confidence, contemporary verse, convalescence, cook, curmudgeon, daughter, daybreak. muttons, death, delicious, Drake, eating cares, elegiacs, emphatical, Englishman, Eton boy, expurgated edition, father, fetter dance, fever, flatter, friend, friendly, gasps, gnash your teeth, god, Gosse, grim, guns, Hake, health, heavy, History of the United States, holes, honest, human, improvisations, Inland Voyage, Jenkin, jostling, kind, Latin, light, Livingstone, Meiklejohn, Middlemore, mild climate, Monterey, Mrs. Gosse, music, mysterious, nitor aquis, nurse, original, overwork, Patterson, perspicuous, plain, pleasure, pleurisy, Plymouth Brother, poem, poetry, Pollock, Robert Louis Stevenson, Sahara, Scotland, sea, sins, Speke, stars, sweat, timid, translating, truant, universal history, venue, weary, Weg, whip, wicked, wooden-hearted, young | Leave a comment

I do not fear to go on, for I am doing right

Posted on November 1, 2014 by mafalda

RLS arrived in Oakland, California on Sunday 30 August 1879, crossed by the ferry to San Francisco and then travelled some south by rail to Monterey, where Fanny Osbourne, her children and her sister Nellie were staying. The ranch of … Continue reading →

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Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged Angora goat, bear flag, bear-hunter, book, business, California, camping, Captain Smith, children, Coast Line Mountains, England, Fremont, frontiersmen, kind, letters, life, lonely, Mexican war, Monterey, mother, neglect, New York, nigh, notes, obey, old, oracle, physician, pilgrim, pleasant, ranche, rancheros, reading, right, Robert Louis Stevenson, sick, Sidney Colvin, start, States, successful, voyage | Leave a comment

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Tag Archives: kind

The marks of a reader, such as one imagines for oneself in dreams, thoughtful, critical, and kind

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It still gives me a list to starboard (let us be ever nautical!)

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… the women (God bless them!)…

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You were to me, then, only a part of an organised boredom

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That tells on my old gipsy nature; like a violin hung up, I begin to lose what music there was in me

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To write a book like this were impossible

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But death is no bad friend

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I do not fear to go on, for I am doing right

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