Tag Archives: Spectator

And I have been a Scotchman all my life, and denied my native land!

Posted on February 8, 2015 by mafalda

‘Away with your gardens of roses’: first line of Byron’s ‘Lachin y Gair’ (‘Lochnagar’) in praise of the Highlands. The volume of essays must be Virginihus Puerisque, published the following spring, 1881. The first poem enclosed by RLS will be … Continue reading →

Rate this:

Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged Amateur Emigrant, article, Ben Wyvis Hotel, birch woods, breath, copyless, country, dedication, delightful, deny, essays, Fanny, father, French, gardens, heather, Henley, Highlands, humanitaire, larmes, native land, parents, pecuniary loss, poems, post runner, reputation, Robert Louis Stevenson, Rogie waterfall, roses, Scotchman, Sidney Colvin, soul, Spectator, Strathpeffer, strea die, time, valley, wife, withdraw, world | 2 Comments

When I suffer in mind, stories are my refuge; I take them like opium; and I consider one who writes them as a sort of doctor of the mind

Posted on January 4, 2015 by mafalda

One day at the Savile Club in London, RLS, hearing a certain laugh, cried out that he must know the laugher, who turned out to be a fellow-countryman, John Meiklejohn, the well-known educational authority and professor at St. Andrews University. … Continue reading →

Rate this:

Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged 608 Bush Street, answer, Arabian Nights, Asiatic, Balzac, belabour, blood and bones, body, Burns, bush, California, Charles Reade, copy, corner, Cornhill, doctor of the mind, drug, Dumas, easy mind, fate, feet, fortune, French, fun, gangrel, George Eliot, good talk, grandmamma, harassed, health, hot corner, idle, improvisatore, incident, interest, Latin, literature, luncheon, masses, Meiklejohn, middleagee, mind, morals, mystery, national, opium, ostrich, paper, philosophy, pleasure, poetic, posteriors, puir, pure, refuge, regard, Robert Louis Stevenson, rock, San Francisco, Shairp, shake hands, Shakespeare, sick, Spectator, Stephen, stories, story, storybook, suffer, thankless, Thoreau, trouvère, vanity, Walter Scott, wholesome, work, world, write, Yoshida Torajiro | Leave a comment

This is not a gay way to pass Christmas, is it?

Posted on December 7, 2014 by mafalda

Fanny Vandegrift obtained her divorce from Samuel Osbourne in Oakland, Ca., on 12 December 1879. The Emigrant is of course The Amateur Emigrant, the account of RLS’s journey to California, then still in draft. The “novel” should be A Vendetta … Continue reading →

Rate this:

Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged 608 Bush Street, Amateur Emigrant, café, Christmas, cookery-books, crack, curtain, den, Essay, harvest, Hayley, Henley, imitate, ink, landlady, landlord, mark, Mrs. Carson, music, night-hawk, Norma, novel, opera, overture, Pacific Coast, paper, perambulations. black-strap, restaurant, Robert Louis Stevenson, San Francisco, Sidney Colvin, Spectator, starve, style, Thoreau, vapid, waiters, work | 1 Comment

I have tales enough to keep you going till five in the morning

Posted on November 20, 2014 by mafalda

The Athæneum of 27 September 1879 announced that RLS intended to publish a volume containing his essays from the Cornhill and London. The book finally would be published as Virginibus Puerisque by Kegan Paul in 1881. Henley was reviewing (The … Continue reading →

Rate this:

Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged A Vendetta in the West, air, Alvarado Street, Amateur Emigrant, announcement, Anthony, articles, Athenæum, Augustin Dutra, back-room, balcony, barrel, Bob Stevenson, bread, Bronson, bullets, Burns, burthen, California, camp blankets, cards, Carmel, cars, Castroville, charges, chess, coast, coffee, Cornhill, discuss, draft, drink, editor, escape, essays, Europe, fire, floor, forest, François the baker, France, French doctor, frightened, guineas, Hadsell’s, Henley, Henley’s mother, high-water, home, hung, Italian fisherman, Judge Lynch, kingdom come, Labiche, lead, life, literary news, Mahomet’s coffin, mail, mechanic, Meiklejohn, money, Monterey, Monterey Californian, moon, mouth, Mrs. Henley, New Quaterly, oceans, old boy, Pacific, Pacific Coast, pages, Pall Mall Gazette, paper, pines, Point Pinas, Post Office, quid, rascals, restaurant, retreat, revolution, revolver, Robert Louis Stevenson, rogues, rooms, Salinas, San Francisco, Sanchez, Sanchez’s saloon, sands, seas, second edition, shadows, shot, side-walks, Sidney Colvin, Simoneau, smell, Spectator, station, Stephen, story, sun, surf, suspense, tablecloth, tales, tree, universe, waggon, waifs, wife, windows, Wolter’s waggon, woods, work, world | 1 Comment

I envy you your wife, your home, your child – I was going to say your cat

Posted on October 18, 2014 by mafalda

The ‘humorous friend’ was Charles Baxter: RLS stayed the weekend with the Baxters at Lochcote House near Bathgate, now demolished. Edmund William Gosse used to sign with two initials, E.W.G. The nickname Weg was fastened on him by RLS, partly … Continue reading →

Rate this:

Posted in Letters, Robert Louis Stevenson | Tagged 17 Heriot Row, admiration, anger, anxieties, Bathgate, beginner, brave, breath, cat, character, cheery, child, consummation, contempt, creature, crew, daughter, defy, departure, Edinburgh, envy, friend, frolic, glad, Gosse, health, hindmost, home, human beings, humour, husband, impersonation, initials, interest, lad, landlord, lass, life, Lochcote, lunch, maid, married, Miss Stewart, mother, oil colour; so I wrote her a declaration in verse, pock-pudding, poet, rival, Robert Louis Stevenson, Royal Hotel, sad, Sawbath, Scotch Church, secrets, seventh heaven, silence, Spectator, spirits, sprawling, statesman, suffused, survival, tired, trouble, tub, unconscious, unmanly, vapour, vernacular, verses, waiting, warm, Weg, wife, window, wit, witness, world | Leave a comment

M	T	W	T	F	S	S
« Oct
			1	2	3	4
5	6	7	8	9	10	11
12	13	14	15	16	17	18
19	20	21	22	23	24	25
26	27	28	29	30

Tag Archives: Spectator

And I have been a Scotchman all my life, and denied my native land!

Rate this:

When I suffer in mind, stories are my refuge; I take them like opium; and I consider one who writes them as a sort of doctor of the mind

Rate this:

This is not a gay way to pass Christmas, is it?

Rate this:

I have tales enough to keep you going till five in the morning

Rate this:

I envy you your wife, your home, your child – I was going to say your cat

Rate this:

Archives

Follow Blog via Email

Blog Stats

Blogs I Follow

Tags

Meta