--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Adams, John Q. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 12 number: 9 published: 1909-07 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'John Q. Adams, "A Glimpse at Stevenson’s Last Resting Place," *Improvement Era* 12, no. 9 (July 1909): 724–726.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1209unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1209unse start_page: 724 end_page: 726 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1909-07) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1209unse publication_year: 1909 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1909, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # A Glimpse at Stevenson’s Last Resting Place A GLIMPSE AT STEVENSON'S LAST RESTING PLACE. BY ELDER JOHN Q. ADAMS, OF THE SAMOAN MISSION, CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS. Just back of the picturesque little German seaport of Apia a road strikes mountainward. Its fine, smooth, hard surface is maintained by coral fragments carted from the kea-shore. Follow- ing its winding contour at a gradual ascent, we saunter along, en- countering at fre'queirt intervals neat, pretentious dwellings of well-to-do foreigners, situated on commanding sites and surrounded by a profusion of tropical verdure. Luxuriant foliage lines both Photo by A. J. Tattersall The Residence of the late Robert Louis StevensoD, Vailima. A GLIMPSE AT STEVENSON'S LAST RESTING PLACE. 725 sides of the way, consisting mainly of varieties of cocoanuts, ban- anas, oranges, pineapples, lemons, bread-fruit and ferns, flowers, and plants of striking growth and color. To Complete the scene, in frequent evidence are the peculiar native houses with their dusky occupants. Within perhaps a couple of miles all human life is left behind, the landscape begins to take on a more virgin, close-to-nature aspect, and just as the "forest primeval" commences to loom up, we come suddenly upon a spacious building, set in a veritable frame of tropical vegetation. The native word Vailima proclaims Photo by A. J. Tattersall The Grave of Robert Louis Stevenson. at once the home of the author. Notwithstanding its well kept as we appearance, a lonely, deserted air pervades throughout, 'stamping-ground" stand and gaze at and then walk about the old ' of the departed great one. The house is now in good condition, being the residence of the present governor of Samoa. A large, extensive pavilion- roomy, two-story, frame building it is, with an like court at the rear, used once, no doubt, for dancing, receiving, means of etc. Concrete yards and walks provide a convenient keeping dry in the frequent heavy rains. To the back is a good stable and chicken-run, the latter containing a number of orange and bread-fruit trees. Adjoining it is an enclosure in which browse three rather shy deer. After viewing all this, as there is no one present to give us further information, we pass out at the rear of the grounds, by an enormous cluster of bamboo, over a brook that tumbles mur- mur ingly down its bed of lava rock, and we are at the foot of a towering mountain. Now begins the famous "Winding Trail," leading directly up the steep, volanic slope. A clearing of perhaps ten feet in width has been cut through the dense forest, and the trail doubles from side to side of this in order to obtain the easiest ascent possible, and yet it is precipitous enough that, despite our utmost, one or the other of us is continually falling down. Wet with perspiration and gasping for breath, we surmount the last obstacle, and there before us is a mass of concrete, the object of of our quest. Just a word of description. Resting on the ground is a layer or platform of concrete perhaps 10x16x1 feet on which is a cube of half these dimensions in length and width, with a height of three feet and a roof-shaped top. Plain, simple, unadorned it is, with but a bronze plate on either side. On the one we make out an inscription in English, own epitaph, written by him when his he realized that his remaining moments were few and fleeting. Thus the words pathetically run: Under the broad and starry sky Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I lay me down with a will. This be the verse you 'grave for me: "Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill!" On the reverse side in the native tongue is a verse or so from the Bible (Ruthl: 16-17). It is all in keeping with his own request. In his last resting place is his life- wish fulfiled — seclusion, solitude, peace. Here the sea breeze is soughing softly through the forest, and strange tropical birds are. chattering musically overhead; in the heavy down- pour of tropical rain or the fierce glare of tropical sun — unaware