A FRIEND OF STEVENSON.

Evening Post, Volume LXXII, Issue 66, 15 September 1906, Page 11

A FRIEND OF STEVENSON.

In the Century Magazine for July there is an article by Julia Scott Vrooman, on an early friend of R. L. Stevenson — viz., Jules Simoneau, a restaurantkeeper in the quaint old Pacific capital, Monterey, California. Simoneau still lives, a Stevenson worshipper, and when the writer visited him, "he got down hie books, an entire e-et Stevenson had sent him, each volume bearing on the flyleaf a typical inscription and his autograph, Simoneau's own name often linked with the author's, as in this — "Cc qu'il y en a de me 3 ouvrages! Je ne trpuvo plus rien a giffoncr. N'oubliez pas Robert Louis Stevenson. II n'oubli-era pa>3 Jules Simoneau." (Here are all my works. I find nothing more to scribble. Do no forget Robert Louis Stevenson. He will not forget , Jules Simoneau.) In the "Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and illr. Hyde," we found this: — "But the case of Robert Louis Stevenson and Jules Simoneau — if tho one forget the t other — would be a stranger still ! Robert' Louis Stevenson." In another we read, "Vive Jules Simoneau >et le tempa jadis!" In another, "Quo nous avons passe be bonnes soirees, mon brave Simoneau. Sois tranquille, je ne les oublierai pas." ("Long live Jules Simoneau and tho good old days." " What good evenings we have pissed together, my brave Simoneau. Me tranquil ; I will not forget them.") In still another, "If there ever was a man who was a good man to me, it was Jules , SimoneatJ." This language was exactly the note which Henley ascribed to Stevenson in his sonnet — " Valiant in velvet, _ bhtiio in rasrgsd luck." Miss (or Mrs.) Vrootnan goes on to repeat -Simoneau's account of how he found Stevenson — "Why,'' he said, "he found me. He camo to me at once. . All Bohemia camo to me." Then he told us how one morning, with the little company of regulars and irregulars, there had appeared at his restaurant a pale young man, sick in body, sick at heart,

with no friends, no name, no prospects, whose only recommendation was his need. Many such he welcomed in those days, glad for the breath of tho outside world they brought with them, little heedful .of the bills they often left unpaid. Not forgetful to entertain strangers, more than once he had beeii rewarded with the "angel unawares." In Stevenson's case, however, I think he was never entirely unaware, since when we asked him his first impression of Stevenson, he answered with a smile that seemed to lipht up all the years that were gone — "It was just love at first sight; that was all!" When we spoke of the debt of gratitude the world owed him for having come to Stevenson' 6 rescue, he said quite simply—" It was only what I should have wanted done for me. He was worth saving." KIPLING'S DISCOVERER. Mr. E. Kay Robinson, the editor of "Tho Country-side," widely known by his paragraphs headed "The Country Day by Day" in the Daily Mail, is a journalist of distinction, and among the good things to his credit, according to Harold Begbie, not the least was t)ho discovery of ftudyard Kipling. When. Mr. Robinson went out to India to edit the ■Civil and Military Gazette at Lahore, he was told by those tto whose authority he succeeded that there was a. youngster in the office named Kiphng who was always wanting to publish verses in the paper, and who required to be kept in his place. Mr. Bobinson listened to their advice, and proceeded to take over his duties. His one English assistant was Rudyard Kipling — a very small, very untidy, and, very mouseylooking young man, with exceedingly bright eyes shining watchfully behind round spectacles, and' with a somewhat annoying habit of topping with his finger-tips on vables, chairs, and desks. He appeared to be a quiet enough creature, and if by chance his slovenly appearanco and his mustard-coloured clothes shocked the discriminating eye of his new editor — why, Mr. Robinson did not say so. Instead, the chief studied his assistant's work. Some of it was poor — the merest journalese — some of it was rankly bad — from the point of view of good taste — and some of it was startlingly, wonderfully, splendidly original. Mr. Robinson "began ta ktudy his assistant with interest!. Here in India, working on a paper which was then far from flourishing, ho discovered a. journalist who had the power to make the fortunes of a London newspaper. Ho encouraged Mr. Kipling to write more and more ballads, and, further, pointed out to him how the merest! hackwork and padding of the paper might be made bright and entertaining if the youngster would only treat it from his own point of view, and not struggle to copy ithe ancient conventions of journalism. The first result of this sagacity was a sudden change in the fortunes of the Civil and Military Gazette. TO was so full of funny things, so aSve with human interest, so bright, so quick, so fresh, so sparkling, that psople began to talk about it, to quote it, and tb declare at clubs and dinnertables that it was the best paper in India.. But Mr. Robinson was not selfish, and, realising that the genins of Rudyard Kipling d'cservedi a wider- fi'ld, he urged his assistant to go tfo London and write ballads for the Empire. Long beforo peop'e.in England had heard the name of Rudyard Kipling, and before people in Lahore had grasped the power of this personality, Kay Robinson, wag writing to him on his holidays, , prophesying that if he yvcnl to England he would live to write tho ballads of the Empire. Kipling resisted: the idea for a long time. He wrote to Kay Robinson, telling his chwf that India had his heart, that her myriad peoples were his brothers j and sisters, andi that tftie very smells of the bazaar were pleasant in his nostrils. But presently he gird«d up his loins and went to London ; the prophecy of Kay Robinson was fulfilled, and the dedication of "Life's Handicap" to "E.K.R." was the bftllad-maker's acknowledgment of his chief's friendship 'and shrewd counsel. And now Kay Robinson is a man of middle age, with a house in Norfolk within sound of the sea, and ia acknowledged, as one of the very best of living writers on natural history. Ho « something more than this. He is, I think, one of the best journalists yinv in England. He is a man who never uses an unnecessary word, • who never says h 'thing unless if) is worth saying, and one whose mind is so curiously stored with information that at a moment's notice he could write an informing article on almost every topic of European and Asiatic interest?. Ono of his early adventures in journalism deserves to be recorded, since it gave birth to a column that is now famous in the world of newspapers. Mr. Robinson was engaged to write for the Globe little topical paragraphs concerning politicians, authors, people in society, and so on — suitable for lazy readers. Over him was a sub-editor with somewhat solemn views of the responsibilities of journalism. Kay Robinson, who is a humorist of a rather mordant order, soon found the solemnities of this work irksome, and one morning fired in to the printter a. number of jests and quips on tho gossip of the day. With trembling hands his chief ran with the S roofs to Sir George Armstrong, the ten editor. "Look what this young fellow is doing?" he exclaimed. "He's making jokes ! He's tlreatirtg the whole thing as a jest !" Sir George Armstrong read the paragraphs, and being in a festive mood, grinned and chuckled. "Print them," he said ; "they'll cheer people up !" Printed they were, and 1 from that moment the "By the Way" column of Uke Globe has had a vogue of its own. Mr. Robinson, . if ho had willed it, might have been ono of the most influential of modern journalists. He is a friend of Lord Roberts, has conferred on several occasions with Lord Lansdowne, and is known by many Empire-builders ns a man who speaks with authority. But of far more interest 1.0 him than the shuffling of tho diplomatic pack is the foid of a beetle's wing or the shimmer on tho back of a lizard. He is too keen a jester oven to make a serious politician, and too much in love with Nature ever to take much account of history.

Mr. Carnegio (says a contemporary) had a novel and, wo hope, agreeable experience during a recent tour in j Canada and Ohio. At Konyon College j he was privileged to listen to tho sine;- j ing of a ballad (printed in oxtenso in the New York Critic) in which tho chief features of his career and character j wore touched off in nn affectionately j humorous spirit. Tho initial stago was thus simply hymned ; — So diligent iv lad, I fear, Will not he occn agnin. Ho laboured fourteen linura a day And rend the oilier ten. But when Ills money all was spent, j Says he, "So poor I Keel, ! Tiiore'o nothhie else for me to do Dut mnko a little oteel." And tho approhonsions and consequent ] resolution of ■ the successful millionaire) were sung of in this quantily effective strain: — Ho did not want tho charge to (tand On the eternal docket j Tli at A. Cnrncgie had expired | With money In I) is pocket. I Suya he: "To Irecp from «uoh a fate I'll alter my char-ac-tcr— I'll leave olt making steel, and be Henceforth a benefactor. Tho seventh and concluding verso ms tenderly laudatory pi "our Andrew,."