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and on our way thither we generally lingered on the verandah. Out over the great plain of the Pacific was a sky of such starlight as we do not see at home; the tropical forest all about us was profoundly silent, and from far away came the unvarying sound of the waters breaking on the coral reefs. He revelled in the beauty of the scene, but he admitted that he would gladly have exchanged it for the mist-enfolded coasts of the little islands he had left far away in the wintry seas.

My stay with him was too short: it would have been longer if I had known that I was not to see him again, and it was my own fault that it was not prolonged; but in one week he allowed me to know him intimately, and he was one of those whom to know is to love.* He had the power of winning affection as well as admiration by his writings from people who had never met him, and all that personal charm which shines through his work was found in a more marked degree in himself. It is difficult to write of him critically or without enthusiasm. He seemed to me to be the most inspiring comrade that ever put hope into his fellows, the most courteous gentleman that ever conferred a favour while seeming to ask one, and the most heroic spirit that ever fought and fought to win with a good heart against desperate odds.

## THE GIFT OF A BIRTHDAY.

MRS BOURKE COCKRAN.

MY friendship with Robert Louis Stevenson began before I actually met him. My father, who was the American Land Commissioner in Samoa in 1891, went out to the Islands without his family. An intimacy soon sprang up between him and the

*... I find myself telling myself, "O, I must tell this to Lysaght," or, "This will interest him," in a manner very unusual after so brief an acquaintance.' (From a letter of R. L. S.'s to George Meredith, April 17th, 1894.)—[Ed.]

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great writer. One day he happened to mention to Mr Stevenson that one of his daughters was born on Christmas Day, and had felt seriously the loss of a separate birthday. Mr Stevenson instantly responded, with the quick sympathy and whimsical turn of mind so characteristic of him, that he himself had a birthday which had become rather timeworn and which he had long since ceased to value. He would, therefore, gladly present it to the little girl born on Christmas Day. I was that little girl. Proceeding to give effect to this impulse he drew up what he called a deed of gift assigning the birthday to me. Here is a copy of it:—

I, Robert Louis Stevenson, Advocate of the Scots Bar, author of *The Master of Ballantrae* and *Moral Emblems*, stuck civil engineer, sole owner and patentee of the Palace and Plantation known as Vailima in the island of Upolu, Samoa, a British Subject, being in sound mind, and pretty well, thank you, in body:

In consideration that Miss Annie H. Ide, daughter of H. C. Ide in the county of Caledonia, in the state of Vermont, United States of America, was born out of all reason upon Christmas Day, is therefore out of all justice denied the consolation and profit of a proper birthday:

And considering that I, the said Robert Louis Stevenson, have attained an age when O we never mention it, and that I have now no further use for a birthday of any description:

And in consideration that I have met H. C. Ide, the father of the said Annie H. Ide, and found him about as white a land-commissioner as I require:

Have transferred and do hereby transfer, to the said Annie H. Ide, all and whole my rights and privileges in the thirteenth day of November, formerly my birthday, now, hereby and henceforth, the birthday of the said Annie H. Ide to have, hold, exercise, and enjoy the same in the customary manner, by the sporting of fine raiment, eating of rich meats, and receipt of gifts, compliments and copies of verse, according to the manner of our ancestors:

And direct the said Annie H. Ide to add to the said name of Annie H. Ide the name of Louisa, at least in private, and I charge her to use my said birthday with moderation and humanity, et tanquam bona filia familiæ, the said birthday not being so young

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as it once was, and having carried me in a very satisfactory manner
since I can remember:

And in the case the said Annie H. Ide shall neglect or con-
travene either of the above conditions I hereby revoke the
donation and transfer my rights in the said birthday to the
President of the United States of America for the time being.

In witness thereof I have hereto set my hand and seal this
nineteenth day of June in the year of grace eighteen hundred and
ninety-one.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

Witness—LLOYD OSBOURNE.

Witness—HAROLD WATTS.

Seal.

This was duly sent to me by mail, and my answer
acknowledging it evoked the following letter in
response :—

To Miss Anne Ide.

VAILIMA SAMOA.

November 1891.

MY DEAR LOUISA,—Your picture of the church the photograph
of yourself and your sister and your very witty and pleasing
letter came all in a bundle and made me feel I had my money's
worth for that birthday. I am now, I must be, one of your
nearest relatives; exactly what we are to each other I do not
know, I doubt if the case has ever happened before—your papa
ought to know, and I don't believe he does; but I think I ought
to call you in the meanwhile and until we get the advice of
counsel learned in the law my name-daughter.

Well, I was extremely pleased to see by the church that my
name-daughter could draw; by the letter, that she was no fool;
and by the photograph that she was a pretty girl, which hurts
nothing. See how virtues are rewarded! My first idea of adopt-
ing you was entirely charitable; and here I find that I am quite
proud of it, and of you, and that I chose just the kind of name-
daughter I wanted, for I can draw too, or rather I mean to say
that I could before I forgot how; and I am very far from being a
fool myself, however much I may look it; and I am as beautiful
as the day, or at least I once hoped that perhaps I might be
going to be. And so I might. So you see we are well met, and
peers on these important points. I am very glad also that you
are older than your sister. So should I have been if I had
had one. So that the number of points and virtues which you
inherited from your name-father is already quite surprising.

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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

You are quite wrong as to the effect of the birthday on your age. From the moment the deed was registered (as it was in the public press with every solemnity) the thirteenth of November became your own and only birthday and you ceased to have been born on Christmas Day. Ask your father: I am sure he will tell you this is sound law. You are thus become a month and twelve days younger than you were, but will go on growing older for the future in the regular and human manner from one thirteenth of November to the next. The effect on me is more doubtful; I may as you suggest live for ever, I might on the other hand come to pieces like the one horse shay at a moment's notice: doubtless the step is risky but I do not the least regret that which enables me to sign myself your revered and delighted name-father.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

The first celebration of the birthday thus given me, on the next thirteenth of November, was made memorable because Mr Stevenson sent me a Samoan painting made by Mrs Stevenson's son-in-law, Joe Strong, and also an autograph poem which he called a Nursery Jingle.

Within the following year it was fated that I should meet the donor of the birthday.

My father, having returned to the United States in 1892, was appointed the following year Chief Justice of Samoa (under the three-power treaty between Germany, Britain, and the United States). On this occasion he took his three young daughters with him. In San Francisco we learned that Mr and Mrs Stevenson were then in Honolulu, and would return to the Islands on our steamer *The Mariposa*.

As the time drew near for actually meeting the hero of my childish dreams, I was in a panic of shyness and apprehension. The great moment finally arrived, however, and I received the warmest possible greeting from both Mr and Mrs Stevenson. I was still too terrified to do more than repeat a few stilted sentences I had rehearsed elaborately in my cabin. We often laughed together afterwards about it.

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One of the most delightful characteristics of this altogether charming man was his sympathetic instinct for understanding others, which amounted almost to genius. To him there were no secrets in the heart of a child. At sunset time, he asked me to take a walk on the deck. We went up to the bow, and sat together on the big old-fashioned anchor. Much to my astonishment I found myself pouring out the thoughts and interests of my inmost soul to this new-found friend. For the first time in my life, I discovered the thrill of real conversation. He not only had the gift of giving out his own brilliant and humorous thoughts, but he inspired every listener to express his own half-formed ideas in a way which I have never seen equalled.

During the year in which I was privileged to see him two or three times a week, his spell was never broken. We all sat excitedly on the edge of our chairs drinking in every word he said, shouting with laughter, and panting to get our own points of view into circulation.

During this first memorable talk, he said to me, 'Don't look for a minute, I have something wonderful to show you. It is the Southern Cross. I make a prediction that you will have a very interesting and unusual life, and much of it will be under the Southern Cross. I want to be the first person to show it to you. Now turn round, and behold.' I have never since seen the Southern Cross, which was our nightly constellation in different parts of the world for years, without remembering this first wonderful introduction.

The *Mariposa* reached Apia on the 3rd November 1893, and my first glimpse of these beautiful Islands had the additional glamor of Mr Stevenson's vivid imagination and genuine love for place and people. We were instantly adopted by Mrs Stevenson's son and daughter, Lloyd Osbourne and Mrs Strong, as part of their family, and our friendship has lasted without interruption to this day.

It had been the habit of the natives to prepare a great

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Samoan feast for Tusitala (Robert Louis Stevenson's native name) on each November 13th, and it was tactfully explained to me that they might not understand that I was sole possessor of the birthday, so we should share the honours for once. The birthday feast was served at noon on big banana leaves spread on the lawn. About one hundred people sat down cross-legged in Samoan fashion, mostly natives, with a sprinkling of whites,—Mr Stevenson's mother wore her black silk dress and starched cap with long streamers, to which she clung persistently, in spite of the tropical climate. We all ate with our fingers in native style, a tribute to our Samoan hosts' sensibilities, and a custom which they observe with elegance and dignity.

Tusitala and I waited until all the guests were seated, walked out arm in arm, and sat side by side on leaves on the ground at the head of the long table. There were dozens of whole roast pigs, shrimps, wild pigeons, and Samoan dishes. I was decorated by Tusitala with native necklaces of shells, red seeds and garlands of flowers. We both wore red hibiscus over our ears. It was the proudest moment of my life. The gift of the birthday to me was explained in many speeches in Samoan and English, most of which must have been unintelligible, as among the many beneficent customs of that delightful land, no records of ages are kept. After dinner, the gifts were divided—fine mats, tapa cloth, fans, baskets, etc., were piled before us and I received my share. The high chiefs sat beside us in our post of honor on the steps of the veranda, while songs, written for the occasion, and siva dances kept the celebration going till dark.

We became extremely intimate with the Stevenson family, and dined and lunched back and forth constantly. The house was run on the most hospitable lines, and I recall the brilliant talk, the delicious food over which Mrs Stevenson exercised personal supervision, the old 1840 Madeira, of which I was now and

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

273

then given a glass in view of my position as name-
daughter, and a thousand and one festivities, all delight-
ful memories.

Sometimes we used to dance in the great hall, the
music furnished by a hand organ ground out by one
of the devoted Samoan retainers, who took a lively and
conversational interest in the proceedings. Tusitala
himself was by way of being a pupil, and we practiced
strange steps, polkas and mazurkas taught by an exiled
Austrian Count, and very strenuous lancers engineered
by the English midshipmen from the warships in the
harbor.

He decided that our education, however, must take
some more tangible shape than all these entertainments,
and offered to supplement the instructors my father had
found for us by giving my elder sister, Adelaide, and me
lessons in French. My sister Marjorie, to her secret
relief, was deemed too young. As Adelaide had had
two years' instruction in French, and my own knowledge
of that tongue was limited to 'Parlez-vous Français?'
with no answer available, I started with some trepida-
tion. I worked so hard, still retaining a little of my
awe of the great man, that I memorized French sentences
as I would have so much Hindustani. His quick mind
soon discerned this, and he began to skip around in their
English equivalents instead of giving them to me in
sequence, and I was hopelessly lost. He threw back his
head in shouts of laughter, but made me go back and
learn it properly. And while I have to confess that I
am not a credit to him, still he did make us really study
and really learn. He gave us, too, the most amusing
exercises. He had an enemy (due to difference in
Samoan politics) who was the editor of one of the local
papers. It was his delight to give us sentences like the
following, to be put into French.

‘Blank is a silly ass. Blank hasn’t an idea in his fat
head. What do you suppose I would do to Blank if
I came up behind him?’ etc.

R.L.S.

R

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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

On the occasion of a particularly vitriolic editorial
against him, Stevenson was led to charge us with having
dropped some of his French exercises on our way home
which the editor found. When my sister Adelaide left
for America, to return to school, she was given a letter to
any future instructors saying that she had been under
his tuition in French, with equal advantage to both
master and pupil.

Mr Stevenson had many sides, all intense, and not
the least of these was his religion. He decided that it
would be a good example to many of the renegade
whites who flocked to the South Seas, for us all to
take classes in Sunday School. So he, my sisters and
I started in as Sunday School teachers. My own
struggles with a row of open-mouthed little half-castes
and wriggling brown children were excessively painful,
and Tusitala fared little better. One day he confessed
himself talked out and looked for a response but, for
once, even he failed. Finally, being very tired, a bright
idea struck him and he said 'I will give sixpence to the
first boy who asks me a question about the lesson.'
Stolid silence. Desperately he went on and raised the
offer to a shilling. He rose to half-a-crown, when one
little youngster raised his hand and in trembling tones
inquired 'Who made God?' He said it was worth the
half-crown, but ended his career as a missionary.

Quite a different twist of his brain was the love of
dramatic detective stories and murder accounts in the
newspapers. He liked to figure out the possibilities of
innocence or guilt, and weigh the evidence in his own
mind.

I remember listening once for three hours while he
questioned my father eagerly about every detail of the
Lizzie Borden murder, which occurred in Rhode Island
and created a great sensation, and the mystery of which
was never solved.

In describing my own impressions of Tusitala I doubt
if I can add much to those already published by his

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

275

myriads of friends and admirers. The most poignant
memory to me is his eyes, which seemed to blaze in
intensity, or twinkle with fun, and to see everything.
Nothing escaped that kindly gaze. His remarkable and
unceasing cheeriness, and his intense sympathy, were
his most prominent characteristics; added, of course,
to his vital interest in everything in life and in every-
body with whom he came in contact. He never im-
pressed me as being an invalid. I never heard him
cough. I never heard him refer to his health, although
I have seen Mrs Stevenson frequently move him out of
a draught, or put an extra coat over his shoulders, or
make him lie down for a few minutes' nap.

On one occasion I was listening, which seems, in these
reminiscences, to have been the principal rôle I played,
while some local scandal was being discussed. It was in
whispers, for my benefit, but I gathered that a woman
had some kind of shocking tragedy in her life. I
expected a chorus of condemnation, but I distinctly
remember being startled, as by something quite novel,
when Tusitala exclaimed 'Poor thing, poor thing! I
am so sorry for her. I wonder if we could do some-
thing for her.' It was a lesson which I have tried
never to forget.

We had a second birthday celebration together on
the 13th of November, 1894, a duplicate of the first with
a papalagi (white people's) dinner in the evening. My
sister Marjorie was ill with fever, and Mrs Stevenson
came down to help nurse her, and advised taking her to
a colder climate. So we made hurried plans to go to
New Zealand. The night before we sailed, (and as it
turned out three days before his death), Tusitala rode
down on horseback to say goodbye to us. Every
incident in that day is as vivid in my mind as the events
of yesterday. He had on a new riding habit, corduroy
breeches, a brown velvet coat such as he always wore,
and a fresh white cap. As he walked up the drive our
cockatoo was sitting on the rail of the porch, and

R.L.S.

r

276

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

shouted 'Hello, Cocky!' He instantly exclaimed, 'Now, how did that bird know exactly how I felt in my new suit?'

We sat and talked on the veranda, and I had never seen him more brilliant, more fascinating, and more lovable. My father asked him to stay to dinner: he agreed and spent the whole evening. He told us that for the first time in his life he found writing uphill work; that he had had great difficulty in not being depressed about it, but it sometimes seemed to him that he had done nothing, in spite of all his great dreams. 'After all,' he said 'a few tales for boys is about the sum of my achievement.' This mood was not habitual with him. In fact, it was the only glimpse I ever had of anything of this kind, and must have been, I suppose, a preliminary warning of the end that was to come so soon.

We did not hear of his death for over a month, as there was no cable to Samoa in those days. I broke down and wept bitterly in public when I heard the news. And I wish I could do justice to the great legacy he left me, not only the birthday which has proved a source of so many varied advantages, but also the great good fortune of having been admitted to close friendship and intimacy with this most wonderful man.

A FEW RECOLLECTIONS OF R. L. STEVENSON
AND HIS FAMILY IN SAMOA.

JUDGE E. W. GURR.

CHIEF JUSTICE HENRY C. IDE, who was appointed by the then Three Great Powers—The United States, Great Britain and Germany—to be Chief Justice of Samoa, had invited the Stevensons and the Gurrs to dinner. His residence stood on rising ground which sloped down to the road at Motootua, a suburb

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

277

of Apia. It was then one of the most conspicuous
dwelling places in that vicinity and had been built
by a good American, David Stout Parker, especially
for the home of the first American Chief Justice of
Samoa, and it was Parker's boast that the first
American Chief Justice occupied his property. Mr
and Mrs Stevenson with Mrs Strong (Teuila) had
ridden from Vailima in the early part of the evening
and were the first guests to arrive and to get settled
down. After dark, at about half past seven o'clock,
E. W. Gurr, who was then Natives' Attorney, his
wife, Fanua, and his sister alighted from their buggy
and began to ascend the pathway leading to the Ides'
Residence. When nearing the house two figures were
reflected on the window blind of the reception room.
One figure was undoubtedly that of the Chief Justice,
the other was that of a person standing and appearing
to 'be laying down the law' and punctuating sentences
with the arm and index finger. It looked like that
of a woman and I said to Fanua 'I wonder who that
can be, it looks like Mrs Bell.' Fanua replied, 'Yes,
it does look like Mrs Bell and what can her trouble
be to cause her to appear before the Chief Justice
at night time and just as he is about to dine?' Now,
Mrs Bell was a very respectable school teacher, who,
with her husband, had been many years in Samoa
conducting an English School, but both were notori-
ous for voluminous language and occasional grievances.
Upon reaching the house and being ushered into the
reception we naturally looked around to ascertain if
Mrs Bell were in the room but the only occupants
were Mr Stevenson and the Chief Justice. We con-
cluded that the figure reflected on the curtain was
not that of Mrs Bell but that of Mr R. L. Stevenson.
Fanua immediately opened out, 'Oh Tusitala, on
coming up the road we thought we saw Mrs Bell
talking to the Chief Justice, but it was you.' This
remark caused some surprise for there was no similarity

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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

between the two persons, but what will a silhouette on
a window curtain do? Mrs Stevenson and Mrs Strong
then entered the room and they were informed that
Fanua had been pleased to confer on Tusitala a new
name, that of Mrs Bell. This caused much merriment
and laughter and became the stock jest of the evening.
Mr Stevenson retaliated by calling Fanua Mr Bell,
and these names were afterwards frequently referred
to especially when either of them wanted to chaff the
other.

Fanua was also styled on many other occasions by
Mr Stevenson as 'Le Aitu' which designates a visitor
from the spirit world, and Fanua in reply would address
him by a title assumed by himself when asked if Fanua
be an 'Aitu' what then can Mr Stevenson be? Mr
Stevenson replied 'A Plain Human Being.'

Both Robert Louis Stevenson and Fanua Eleitino
Gurr were great friends from the time of their first
meeting till his death, and even unto the time of her
death in December 1917 she frequently spoke most
lovingly of Mr Stevenson and all the members of his
talented family. She was a frequent guest of Vailima.
Sometimes for several months at a stretch Fanua and
her husband were favored guests of the family and
occupied Tusitala's Library. For the gracious and
homely bearing of Mrs Margaret Stevenson, mother
of Robert Louis Stevenson, Fanua expressed great
admiration and would frequently remark during her
lifetime that Mrs Margaret Stevenson had a disposi-
tion which immediately attracted all Samoans who
met her. She was courteous and loving and these
spread a magnetic influence towards all near her.
Fanua received lessons in English from the mother,
together with Austin Strong prior to his departure
to New Zealand to school, and there is no doubt
that her observations of Mrs Margaret Stevenson's
character and attitude had a great deal to do with
shaping the future conduct of Fanua. Both deplored

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

279

scandal and it was common repute that up to the
time of her death Fanua had never been known to
say a bad word of any other person. Of the practi-
cability of Mrs Robert Louis Stevenson Fanua learned
much and she admired the great devotion of Aolele,
the wife, to Tusitala.

On the occasion of Fanua's marriage in December
1890 Mr R. L. Stevenson was a guest at the wedding
breakfast and he delivered a happy speech. There
were also present at this event the British Consul,
now Sir Thomas Berry Cusack-Smith, Harold Marsh
Sewall, the American Consul-General, and Lieut.
John Parker U.S.N., afterwards Governor of American
Samoa.

Teuila (Mrs Strong) and Fanua Eleitino Gurr
were bosom friends and when Mrs Gurr's daughter
was born the whole Stevenson family showed great
interest and Mr Stevenson insisted that he should
have the right of giving the child a name and it
was agreed that her first name should be 'Teuila.'

It was of the home life of the Stevenson family
in Samoa that Fanua was wont to talk about with
her friends of later years. Like as the chief of
a clan in Scotland Mr Robert Louis Stevenson as
Tusitala was the 'Matai' or head of his Samoan clan
or family. His treatment of the Samoans employed
by him was equivalent of the treatment of a Samoan
Matai to his followers, and then in addition to his
family of employees there were chiefs and chieftain-
esses included in the family also. Taking in all, Mr
Stevenson had quite a large gathering of followers
who revered him and extended to him the respect
shown to the highest chiefs. Courteousness to all,
even to the humblest employee, was Tusitala's attitude.
Disputes sometimes happened amongst the Samoans
of the household which Lloyd Osbourne and Teuila
generally dealt with but occasionally a reference would
be made to Tusitala as the 'Matai' and his judgments

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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

were always considered fair and readily accepted by
the obstinate disputants.

Tusitala, by his usual conduct, not only showed a
moral example to the Samoans associated with him,
but he even set an example of work by tackling
certain physical work himself. On one occasion Fanua
had been busy during the day helping the family plant
cocoa beans. This was a most interesting and inspiring
scene. Tusitala and Fanua were packing the small
plaited baskets with good brown rich mould brought
in by the 'boys', and these were passed on to Aolele
(Mrs R. L. Stevenson) who took up the delicate seeds
and after covering them with ashes to help resist the
insect raid she would carefully put the seed in the
basket of earth with the right side uppermost. Aolele
would not allow even Tusitala to handle the seeds and
insisted that she alone could do this properly. Then
as the work was progressing hot cocoa, with a bounti-
ful supply of milk and sugar, was handed round to
everyone employed in order that they may have an
idea of the nutritious beverage that can be made from
the fruits of the seeds they were engaged in planting.

The gathering of the family after dusk—when the
lamps are lit, as expressed by the Samoans—was one
of the pleasures of the Vailima household which
delighted Fanua. Tusitala would have something to
say to them concerning the events of the day and if
a mail steamer should have arrived then he would
pass on news he had read which was always eagerly
sought for by the Samoans. One of the leaders of
the Samoans would then suggest time for 'lotu' and
a hymn would be sung and then a short prayer. The
working members would then depart and the inner
circle of the Stevenson family would then indulge in
conversation or games until the time for retiring
arrived.

I believe that Fanua played against Tusitala in his
last game of tennis. I had arrived at Vailima from

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281

my office in Apia just before dusk of one of the days when we were stopping at Vailima. Tusitala had been playing rather more vigorously than usual in order to extinguish the 'Aitu.' The game was drawing to a close when Mr Stevenson was compelled to cease playing owing to a hemorrhage starting. Mrs Stevenson then insisted that he should not play tennis any more, and I believe this was his last game, a few months before his death.

VAILIMA MEMORIES, 1892-94.

SIR GRAHAM BALFOUR.

A generation has passed since the death of Stevenson: nearly all the survivors who knew him intimately are old or elderly people. If any further records of him in his habit as he lived are to be snatched from oblivion, there are but few years left, and the Club has done well to focus the lights of memory upon such points of reminiscence as may be worth preserving. Diverse as Stevenson was, there are two main aspects of him which here claim our attention: we may regard him as the writer with varied style and vivid pen or as the personality in which charm and spirit were so attractively blended.

But of the writer there is less need to speak: the written letter is handed down, though its continued life must depend upon its capacity to meet new needs and to take on new meanings. If an author can achieve this, he will appeal to the next and succeeding generations without adventitious help. There is here question only of the slender figure of charm and geniality, at sight of whom all eyes brightened and all hearts leaped and all tongues were loosened. If no personal memories were recorded, Tusitala would leave behind him in the darkening distance only the fading image and the voice so soon becoming inaudible.

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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

Nothing less than a multiplicity of reminiscences can enable our successors to form any definite conception of what he was like or to understand why in his lifetime he appealed to so many of those who came in contact with him.

It was only in the three last years of his life that I knew my cousin, but during that time I had the great good fortune to spend in all more than twelve months in his household and to see Samoa and its people in the light of his experience and interpretation.

In the *Life* I have set down as definitely as possible such characteristic words and actions of Stevenson as I could remember, and the details of his personal appearance and mode of life. There is now little left for me to glean, but perhaps at this distance of time I may speak more freely of recollections and relations personal to myself, however trivial they may be. Among some notes which I wrote for Sir Sidney Colvin in 1895 I find the following paragraph. 'I never actually met Louis until I arrived in Samoa in August 1892. I will not say merely that we were good friends at once: you know how attractive his talk, how irresistible his manner, if his sympathies were engaged or his interest excited. We had common ground in kin and tastes, and in studies both voluntary and compulsory. In a few weeks or even days there seemed to be established between us that complete understanding that rarely comes except from long friendship and old association. It was never put into words, and no record of it exists: it seemed simply to be taken for granted.' The externals of that free and unconventional life appealed to me as by nature. To take the first small incident: I found Louis and the family going barefoot about the house and in the woods of Vailima, and the first afternoon I fell readily into the practice. This reassured them at once, and increased, if possible, the warmth of my welcome: no doubt it had its share in leading to Louis' complimentary explanation: 'He's the same kind