In a perpetual pursuit of health, the writer and his hostages to
fortune rambled from the snows of Switzerland to the vineyards of
France, and finally settled for three years at Bournemouth.
Stevenson's undermined health grew worse; but he laboured on at his
work, from his sick bed. Some summers he spent in Scotland, and at
Braemar wrote Treasure Island: then Jekyll and Hyde brought him
notoriety. He was anxious to return to his Alma Mater, and be there
a Professor of History. A house in the cup-like dell of Colinton,
where every twig had a chorister, would have sheltered him from the
purgatorial climate; and the College, like the Courts, allowed long
vacations, spring and summer, to journey off to bask in the South.
But this plan, like the barge one, came to naught, for he was not
elected. The tales of tropic islands in the South Seas--"beautiful
places green for ever, perfect climate, perfect shapes of men and
women with red flowers in their hair and nothing to do but study
oratory and etiquette, sit in the sun and pick up the fruits as they
fall,"--remained in his tenacious memory.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52