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 It has been often asserted that unscrupulous optimism is an endearing trait, that the world loves it even when forced to discountenance it, and that "radiant" people are personally and perennially attractive. Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson said something of this sort, and his authority is invoked by sentimentalists who compile calendars, and birthday books, and texts to encumber our walls. They fail to distinguish the finely tempered spirit which carried Mr. Stevenson over the stony places of life, and which was beautiful beyond measure (the stones being many and hard), from the inconsequent cheerfulness which says that stones are soft. We cannot separate an author from his work, and nowhere in Stevenson's books does he guarantee anything more optimistic than courage. The triumph of evil in "Thrawn Janet," the hopelessness of escape from heredity in "Olalla," the shut door in "Markheim," the stern 114