A FEW weeks after his death, the mail from Samoa, brought to Stevenson's friends, myself among the number, a precious, if pathetic, memorial of the master.It is in the form of "A Letter to Mr Stevenson's Friends," by his stepson, Mr Lloyd Osbourne, and bears the motto from Walt Whitman, "I have been waiting for you these many years.Give me your hand and welcome." Mr Osbourne gives a full account of the last hours.
"He wrote hard all that morning of the last day; his half-finished book, HERMISTON, he judged the best he had ever written, and the sense of successful effort made him buoyant and happy as nothing else could.In the afternoon the mail fell to be answered - not business correspondence, for this was left till later - but replies to the long, kindly letters of distant friends received but two days since, and still bright in memory.At sunset he came downstairs; rallied his wife about the forebodings she could not shake off; talked of a lecturing tour to America that he was eager to make, 'as he was now so well'; and played a game of cards with her to drive away her melancholy.He said he was hungry; begged her assistance to help him make a salad for the evening meal; and, to enhance the little feast he brought up a bottle of old Burgundy from the cellar.He was helping his wife on the verandah, and gaily talking, when suddenly he put both hands to his head and cried out, 'What's that?' Then he asked quickly, 'Do I look strange?' Even as he did so he fell on his knees beside her.He was helped into the great hall, between his wife and his body-
servant, Sosimo, losing consciousness instantly as he lay back in the armchair that had once been his grandfather's.Little time was lost in bringing the doctors - Anderson of the man-of-war, and his friend, Dr Funk.They looked at him and shook their heads; they laboured strenuously, and left nothing undone.But he had passed the bounds of human skill.He had grown so well and strong, that his wasted lungs were unable to bear the stress of returning health."
Then 'tis told how the Rev.Mr Clarke came and prayed by him; and how, soon after, the chiefs were summoned, and came, bringing their fine mats, which, laid on the body, almost hid the Union jack in which it had been wrapped.One of the old Mataafa chiefs, who had been in prison, and who had been one of those who worked on the ****** of the "Road of the Loving Heart" (the road of gratitude which the chiefs had made up to Mr Stevenson's house as a mark of their appreciation of his efforts on their behalf), came and crouched beside the body and said:
"I am only a poor Samoan, and ignorant.Others are rich, and can give Tusitala (6) the parting presents of rich, fine mats; I am poor, and can give nothing this last day he receives his friends.
Yet I am not afraid to come and look the last time in my friend's face, never to see him more till we meet with God.Behold!
Tusitala is dead; Mataafa is also dead.These two great friends have been taken by God.When Mataafa was taken, who was our support but Tusitala? We were in prison, and he cared for us.We were sick, and he made us well.We were hungry, and he fed us.
The day was no longer than his kindness.You are great people, and full of love.Yet who among you is so great as Tusitala? What is your love to his love? Our clan was Mataafa's clan, for whom I speak this day; therein was Tusitala also.We mourn them both."
A select company of Samoans would not be deterred, and watched by the body all night, chanting songs, with bits of Catholic prayers;
and in the morning the work began of clearing a path through the wood on the hill to the spot on the crown where Mr Stevenson had expressed a wish to be buried.The following prayer, which Mr Stevenson had written and read aloud to his family only the night before, was read by Mr Clarke in the service:
"We beseech thee, Lord, to behold us with favour, folk of many families and nations, gathered together in the peace of this roof;
weak men and women, subsisting under the covert of Thy patience.
Be patient still; suffer us yet a while longer - with our broken purposes of good, with our idle endeavours against evil - suffer us a while longer to endure, and (if it may be) help us to do better.
Bless to us our extraordinary mercies; if the day come when these must be taken, have us play the man under affliction.Be with our friends; be with ourselves.Go with each of us to rest: if any awake, temper to them the dark hours of watching; and when the day returns to us, our Sun and Comforter, call us up with morning faces and with morning hearts - eager to labour - eager to be happy, if happiness shall be our portion; and if the day be marked for sorrow, strong to endure it.
"We thank Thee and praise Thee, and in the words of Him to whom this day is sacred, close our oblations."
Mr Bazzet M.Haggard, H.B.M., Land-Commissioner, tells, by way of reminiscence, the story of "The Road of Good Heart," how it came to be built, and of the great feast Mr Stevenson gave at the close of the work, at which, in the course of his speech, he said:
"You are all aware in some degree of what has happened.You know those chiefs to have been prisoners; you perhaps know that during the term of their confinement I had it in my power to do them certain favours.One thing some of you cannot know, that they were immediately repaid by answering attentions.They were liberated by the new Administration....As soon as they were free men -
