cheerfulness, these come before all morality; they are the
perfect duties_...."

I remember now (as one remembers little things at such times) that,
when first I heard of his going to Samoa, there came into my head
(Heaven knows why) a trivial, almost ludicrous passage from his
favorite, Sir Thomas Browne: a passage beginning "He was fruitlessly
put in hope of advantage by change of Air, and imbibing the pure
Aerial Nitre of those Parts; and therefore, being so far spent, he
quickly found Sardinia in Tivoli, and the most healthful air of little
effect, where Death had set her Broad Arrow...." A statelier sentence
of the same author occurs to me now--

"To live indeed, is to be again ourselves, which being not only a
hope, but an evidence in noble believers, it is all one to lie in St.
Innocent's Churchyard, as in the sands of Egypt. Ready to be anything
in the ecstacy of being ever, and as content with six foot as the
_moles_ of Adrianus."

This one lies, we are told, on a mountain-top, overlooking the
Pacific. At first it seemed so much easier to distrust a News Agency
than to accept Stevenson's loss. "O captain, my captain!" ... One
needs not be an excellent writer to feel that writing will be
thankless work, now that Stevenson is gone. But the papers by this
time leave no room for doubt. "A grave was dug on the summit of Mount
Vaea, 1,300 feet above the sea. The coffin was carried up the hill by
Samoans with great difficulty, a track having to be cut through the
thick bush which covers the side of the hill from the base to the
peak." For the good of man, his father and grandfather planted the
high sea-lights upon the Inchcape and the Tyree Coast. He, the last of