'Now, God's holy name be praised for it, he is, I verily believe, in his

very soul, taught by the Spirit to see and desire to do his duty. I feel

more confidence about him than I have done about anyone who has come

into my hands originally in a state of complete heathenism. It is

not that his knowledge only is accurate and clearly grasped, but the

humility, the loving spirit, the (apparent) personal appropriation of

the blessing of having been brought to know the love of God and the

redemption wrought for him by the death of Christ; this is what, as I

look upon his clear truthful eyes, makes me feel so full of thankfulness

and praise.

'"But Tagalana, if I should die, you used to say that without my help

you should perhaps fall back again: is that true?"

'"No, no; I did not feel it then as I do now in my heart. I can't tell

how it came there, only I know He can never die, and will always be with

me. You know you said you were only like a sign-post, to point out the

way that leads to Him, and I see that we ought to follow you, but to go

altogether to Him."

'I can't tell you, my dearest Father, what makes up the sum of my

reasons for thinking that God is in His mercy bringing this dear boy to

be the first-fruits of Mota unto the Christ, but I think that there is

an inward teaching going on now in his heart, which gives me sure hope,

for I know it is not my doing.

'All you all say about Mota is most true: I never thought otherwise

really, but I wrote down my emotions and impulses rather than my

deliberate thoughts, that my letter written under such strange

circumstances might become as a record of the effect produced day by day

upon us by outward circumstances.

'What some of you say about self-possession on one's going about among

the people being marvellous, is just what of course appears to me

commonplace. Of course it is wrong to risk one's life, but to carry

one's life in one's hand is what other soldiers besides those of the

Cross do habitually; and no one, as I think, would willingly hurt a hair

of my head in Melanesia, or that part of it where I am at all known.

'How I think of those islands! How I see those bright coral and sandy

beaches, strips of burning sunshine fringing the masses of forest rising

into ridges of hills, covered with a dense mat of vegetation. Hundreds

of people are crowding upon them, naked, armed, with wild uncouth

cries and gestures; I cannot talk to them but by signs. But they are my

children now! May God enable me to do my duty to them!

'I have now as I write a deepening sense of what the change must be that

has passed upon me. Again I go by God's blessing for seven months to

Melanesia. All that our experience has taught us we try to remember:

food, medicine, articles of trade and barter.

'But what may be the result? Who can tell? You know it is not of myself

that I am thinking. If God of His great mercy lead me in His way, to me

there is little worth living for but the going onward with His blessed

work, though I like my talks with the dear Bishop and the Judge. But

others are committed to me--Mr. Pritt and Mr. Kerr go with me. Shall I

find dear old Wadrokala and Harper alive, and if alive, well?

'And yet, thank God, we go on day by day, so happy, so hopeful!

'I see two sermons by the Bishop of Oxford, "God's Revelation Man's

Trial," please send them. They bear, I conclude, on the controversy

of the day. I need not tell you that I find a very great interest in

reading these books, or rather at present in talking now and then, when

we meet, with the Judge on the subject of which those books treat. The

books I have not read. But I know no refreshment so great as the reading

any books which deal with these questions thoughtfully. I hope you don't

think it wrong and dangerous for me to do so; pray tell me. I don't

believe that I am wrong in doing it, yet it may be that I read them

as an intellectual treat, and prefer them to thoughtful books on other

subjects, because they deal with a study which I am a little more

conversant with than with history, science, &c.

'Besides, I do see that we have, many of us, very vague notions of the

meaning of terms which we use, and I see that I must be prepared (I

speak for myself) to expect that a clergyman may not with impunity use a

language wanting in definiteness and precision. It is possible that

men do too passively receive hereditary and conventional opinions

which never have a living reality to them. But this, you know, I do not

confound with the humble submission to authoritative teaching, given

upon authority, to supersede the necessity of every person investigating

for himself the primary grounds of his religious convictions.'

It is worth noting how the Bishop submits his reading to his father's

approval, as when he was a young boy. Alas! no more such letters of

comfort and counsel would be exchanged. This one could hardly have been

received by that much-loved father.

Preparations for the voyage were going on; but the 'Dunedin,' the only

vessel to be procured, at best a carthorse to a racer compared with the

'Southern Cross,' was far from being in a satisfactory state, as appears

in a note of 3rd of May to the Bishop of Wellington:--

'Here we are still. The only vessel that I could make any arrangement

about not yet returned, and known to be in such a state that the pumps

were going every two hours. I have not chartered her, but only agreed

with the owner a month ago nearly that I would take her at a certain sum

per day, subject to divers conditions about being caulked (which is all

she wants, I have ascertained), being provided with spare sails, spars,

chronometer, boat, &c., and all agreement to be off unless by a certain

day (already past) she was in a state satisfactory to Mr. Kerr. But

there is, I fear, none other, and I am in a difficulty.'

Of the same day is a letter to the Rev. Stephen Hawtrey:--

'Taurarua, Auckland: May 6, 1861.

'My dear Mr. Hawtrey,--I was highly pleased to receive a note from you.

Though I never doubt of the hearty sympathy and co-operation of all Eton

friends (how could you do so with such an annual subscription list?),

yet it is very pleasant and more than pleasant to be reminded by word or

by letter that prayers and wishes are being offered up for Melanesia by

many good men throughout the world.

'I should like to send a special appeal for a Mission Vessel by the next

mail. We cannot get on without one. Vessels built for freight are to the

"Southern Cross" as a cart-horse to a thoroughbred steed, and we must

have some vessel which can do the work quickly among the multitude of

the isles, and many other reasons there are which we seamen only perhaps

can judge fully, which make it quite essential to the carrying on this

peculiar Mission that we should have a vessel of a peculiar kind.

'Tagalana, from Mota (Sugar Loaf Island), in the Banks Archipelago, is,

I think, likely by God's great mercy to become the first-fruits of that

cluster of islands unto Christ. He is here for the third time; and I

have infinite comfort in seeing the earnestness of his character, and

the deep sense of what he was, and what he is going to be, so truly

realised.

'He is now so unlike what still his people are, so bright and open in

manner, and all who see him say, "What is come to the lad, his manner

and very appearance so changed!" "Clothed," thank God, he is, "and in

his right mind," soon to sit, if not already seated, at the feet

of Christ. You may, if you think fit, let your thoughts centre more

especially in him. He, of all who have come into my hands absolutely

stark naked and savage, gives now the greatest ground for hope and

thanksgiving. I shall (D.V.) think of all your dear friends assembled in

your church and house on St. Barnabas Day. May God bless and reward you

all for your work of charity to Melanesia!

'Very sincerely yours,

'J. C. PATTESON, Missionary Bishop.

'P.S.--I hope to baptize that dear boy Tagalana on his own island in the

course of the winter. I should wish to make the service as impressive

as possible, in the presence of as many islanders as I can bring to the

spot, under the shadow of a mighty banyan tree, and above the sparkling

waves of the great Pacific.'

The 'Dunedin' was patched up into sailing with the new Bishop for his

cathedral--the banyan tree of Mota.

It carried him away to his work, away from all knowledge of the blow

that was preparing for him at home, and thinking of the delight that was

in store for his family in a visit from Mrs. Selwyn, who, immediately

after his Consecration, had returned home to spend a year in England on

business.

Sir John Patteson's happiness in his son's work and worth were far

greater than those of the actual worker, having none of the drawbacks

that consciousness of weakness must necessarily excite. The joy this

gave his heart may, without exaggeration, he deliberately said to have

been full compensation for the loss of the presence so nobly sacrificed.

On January 22 he had written to the Bishop of New Zealand:--

'You write most kindly touching him, dear fellow, and truly I am to be

envied, qui natum haberem tali ingenio praeditum. Not for a moment have

I repented of giving my sanction to his going out to New Zealand; and I

fully believe that God will prosper his work. I did not contemplate his

becoming a Bishop, nor is that the circumstance which gives me the great

satisfaction I feel. It is his devotion to so good a work, and that he

should have been found adequate to its performance; whether as a Bishop

or as a Priest is not of itself of so much importance.

'Perhaps he may have been consecrated before I am writing this, though I

am puzzled as to the time....

'May God bless with the fullest success the labours of both of you in

your high and Christian works!'

There had for more than a year been cause of anxiety for Sir John's

health, but it was not the disease that had then threatened which

occasioned the following calm-hearted letter to be written to his son:--

'Feniton Court: March 22, 1861.

'My own dearest Coley,--I promised always to tell you the truth

respecting myself, and will do so. About a month ago, on my rising from

reading prayers, the girls and the Dawlish party who were here exclaimed

that my voice was broken, at which I laughed. Whitby was in London, but

his partner happened to call, and looking at my throat found it relaxed,

and recommended a mustard poultice on the front. When we came to put it

on, we discovered that the glands of the throat were much swelled and

in hard knots. Whitby returned in two days, and was much alarmed. He

declared that it was serious, and nothing but iodine could check it.

I had been unable to take iodine under Watson some years ago, as it

affected my head tremendously, so he applied it outwardly by painting;

this painting did not reduce them, and he strongly pressed my having

London advice, for he said that if not reduced and the swellings

increased internally, they would press on the windpipe and choke me: it

was somewhat a surgical matter. So on Tuesday the 12th inst. we went

to London, and I consulted Paget. He entirely agreed with Whitby, and

thought it very serious, and ordered iodine internally at all hazards. I

took it, and by God's mercy it agreed with me. Paget wished to talk over

the case with Watson, and they met on the 16th, Saturday. They quite

agreed, and did not conceal from me that if iodine did not reduce the

swellings, and they should increase internally, the result must be

fatal. How soon, or in what particular manner, they could not tell; it

might even become cancerous. They did not wish me to stay in town,

but thought I was better here, and Paget, knowing Whitby, has perfect

confidence in his watching, and will correspond with him, if necessary.

At present there is no reduction of the swellings. The iodine has

certainly lessened the pains in my limbs, but does not seem, so to

speak, to determine to the throat, but it may be there has been hardly

time to say that it will not. My own impression is, that it will not,

and that it is highly improbable that I shall last very long. I mean

that I shall not see 1862, nor perhaps the summer or autumn of this

year. I cannot tell why, but this near prospect of death has not given

me any severe shock, as perhaps it ought to have done. It brings more

than ever to my mind serious recollection of the sins of my youth, and

the shortcomings of my after life in thousands of instances. I have

never been a hardened sinner, but years ago, if I did what was sin, it

smote me, and I tried to repent; yet there has always been in me a want

of fervid love to God, and to my blessed Redeemer for His unspeakable

love in suffering for my sins; but it has been cold--that may have been

the natural constitution of the man, I cannot tell--but I never have

placed my hopes of forgiveness and of blessedness hereafter in

anything but in His merits, and most undeserved goodness in offering me

salvation, if I have not thrown it away. But what shall I say? As the

time approaches, it may please Him in His mercy to give me a warmer

heart, and a more vivid perception of all that He has done for me. If I

were to say that I am not a sinner, the truth would not be in me; and

if I am washed in His blood and cleansed, it is not by any efforts or

merits of my own, but by His unlimited mercy and goodness. Pray for me,

that when the time comes I may not for any fears of death fall from Him.

You know that as far as regards this world and its enjoyments, save the

love of my dear good children, they have sate but lightly upon me for

some time; but it is not because we have nothing that we are unwilling

to leave, therefore we are prepared for that which is to come. Perhaps

it may please God to give me still a short time that I may try more

strenuously to prepare myself. We shall never meet again in this world.

Oh! may Almighty God in His infinite mercy grant us to meet again in His

kingdom, through the merits of our blessed Redeemer....

'Oh! my dearest Coley, what comfort I have had in you--what delightful

conversations we have had together, and how thankful we ought to be to

our gracious God for allowing it to be so: and still not less thankful

for the blessings of being watched and comforted and soothed by the dear

girls, and by that dear and good Jem. All so good in their various ways,

and I so little worthy of them...of Francis. That will indeed, humanly

speaking, be a terrible loss to his family, for they want his fatherly

care, and will do so for years. Not so with me; and as I am in my

seventy-second year, it cannot be said that I am cut off prematurely:

but on the contrary, fall like a fruit or a sheaf at its proper

ripeness. Oh! that it may be so spiritually indeed.'

Another letter followed the next month:--

'Feniton Court: April 24, 1861.

'My own dearest Coley,--How many more letters you may receive from me,

God only knows, but, as I think, not many. The iodine fails altogether,

and has produced no effect on the swellings in my throat; on the

contrary, they steadily increase, though not rapidly. Doubtless they

will have their own course, and in some way or other deliver my soul

from the burden of the flesh. Oh! may it by God's mercy be the soul of a

faithful man! Faith and love I think I have, and have long had: but I

am not so sure that I have really repented for my past sins, or only

abandoned them when circumstances had removed almost the temptation

to commit them. Yet I do trust that my repentance has generally been

sincere, and though I may have fallen again, that I may by God's grace

have risen again. I have no assurance that I have fought the good fight

like St. Paul, and that henceforth there is laid up a crown of gold;

yet I have a full and firm hope that I am not beyond the pale of God's

mercy, and that I may have hold of the righteousness of Christ, and may

be partaker of that happiness which he has purchased for His own, by His

atoning blood. No other hope have I; and in all humility I from my heart

feel that any apparent good that I may have done has been His work in me

and not my own. May it please Him that you and I, my dear son, may

meet hereafter, together with all those blessed ones, who have already

departed this life in His faith and fear, in His kingdom above.

'My head aches occasionally, and is not so clear as it used to be....

The next mail will bring us more definite news, if indeed I am not

myself removed before then.... I am afraid that you discern by what I

have written that I am become stupid, and though I could never write

decently, yet you will see that continued dull pain in the head, and

other pains in various parts, have made me altogether heavy and stupid.

I have had the kindest letters and messages from various quarters when

it became known, as it is always very soon, that my health was in a

precarious state: one particularly from the Bishop of Lichfield (all

companions in Old Court, King's, you know) which is very consoling. He

says, If not for such as you, for whom did Christ die? I will not go

on in such strains, for it is of no use. Only do not despair of me, my

beloved Son, and believe me always,

'Your loving Father,

'J. PATTESON.'

'Feniton Court: May 25, 1861.

'O my own dearest Coley,--Almighty God be thanked that He has preserved

my life to hear from you and others of your actual consecration as a

Missionary Bishop of the Holy Catholic Church: and may He enable you

by His grace and the powerful assistance of His Spirit to bring to

His faith and fear very many who have not known Him, and to keep and

preserve in it many others who already profess and call themselves

Christians.

'I was too ill to be present at the whole service on Sunday, but I

attended the Holy Sacrament, and hope to do so to-morrow. We have with

us our dear Sarah Selwyn, who came on Thursday: she came in the most

kind and affectionate spirit, the first visit that she could make, that

she might if possible see me: "I will go and see him before he dies."

What delight this has been to me you may easily imagine, and what talk,

and what anecdotes we have had about you and all your circle; for though

your letters have all along let us in wonderfully into your daily life,

yet there were many things to be filled up, which we have now seen more

clearly and more perfectly recollect as long as our lives are spared.

'What at present intensely fills our hearts and minds is all that took

place on St. Matthias Day, and the day or two before and after. Passages

and circumstances there were, which it is almost wonderful that you all

could respectively bear, some affecting one the more and some the other;

but the absorbing feeling that a great work was then done, and the

ardent trust and prayer that it might turn out to the glory of God, and

the good of mankind, supported every one, I have no doubt. It was

about one of those days that I was first informed of the nature of

the complaint which had just been discovered, and which is bringing me

gradually to the grave.

'Trinity Sunday.--I am just returned from receiving the Holy Sacrament.

You will do so the same in a few hours, and they may well be joined

together, and probably the last that you and I shall receive together

in this world. My time is probably very short. Dear Sarah will hereafter

tell you more particulars of these few days. Dear Joan and Fanny are

watching me continually; it is hard work for them continually and most

uncertain, but in my mind it cannot be very long. Jem is here helping

them continually, but his wife's mother is grievously ill at a

relation's in Gloucestershire, and I will not have him withdrawn from

her. I hope that next week she may be removed to Jem's new cottage, next

Hyde Park, and then they, Joan and Fanny will watch me, and Jem on a

telegraph notice may come to me. If I dare express a hope, it is that

this state of things may not last long. But I have no desire to express

any hope at all; the matter is in the hands of a good God, who will

order all things as is best.... I would write more, but I am under the

serious impression that I shall be dead before this letter reaches you.

'May our Almighty God, three Persons, blessed for evermore, grant that

we may meet hereafter in a blessed eternity!'

One more letter was written:--

'Feniton Court, Honiton: June 12, 1861.

'Oh! my dearest Right Reverend well-beloved Son, how I thank God that it

has pleased Him to save my life until I heard of the actual fact of your

being ordained and consecrated, as I have said more than once since I

heard of it. May it please Him to prolong your life very many years, and

to enable you to fulfil all those purposes for which you have been

now consecrated, and that you may see the fruit of your labour of love

before He calls you to His rest in Heaven. But if not, may you have laid

such foundations for the spread of God's Word throughout the countries

committed to your charge, that when it pleases God to summon you hence,

you may have a perfect consciousness of having devoted all your time and

labour, and so far as you are concerned have advanced all the works as

fastly and as securely as it seemed fit to your great Assister, the Holy

Spirit, that they should be advanced. Only conceive that an old Judge of

seventy-two, cast out of his own work by infirmity, should yet live to

have a son in the Holy Office of Bishop, all men rejoicing around

him; and so indeed they do rejoice around me, mingling their loving

expressions at my illness and approaching death....

'I shall endeavour to write at intervals between this and July mail. It

tries me to write much at a time.

'Your loving Father,

'J. PATTESON.'

The calm of these letters was the pervading spirit of Feniton. With

perfect cheerfulness did the aged Judge await the summons, aware that he

carried the 'sentence of death within himself,' and that the manner

of his summons would probably be in itself sudden--namely, one of the

choking fits that increased in frequency. He lived on with his children

and relations round him, spending his time in his usual manner, so

far as his strength permitted--bright, kind, sunny as ever, and not

withdrawing his interest from the cares and pleasures of others, but

glad to talk more deeply, though still peacefully, of his condition and

his hopes. One thing only troubled him. Once he said, and with tears in

his eyes, to his beloved brother-in-law, Sir John Coleridge: 'Woe unto

you when all men shall speak well of you,' adding to this effect, 'Alas!

That this has been my lot without my deserts. It pains me now!'

But as this popularity had come of no self-seeking nor attempt to win

applause, it was a grief that was soon dispelled. Perhaps if there

was one strong wish, it was to hear of his son's actually having been

received into the order of Bishops, and that gratification was granted

to him. The letters with the record of consecration arrived in time

to be his Whitsuntide joy--joy that he still participated in the

congregation, for though not able to be at church for the whole service,

he still was always present at the celebration of the Holy Communion.

On the day the letters came there was great peace, and a kind of

awful joy on all the household. For many weeks past, Sir John had not

attempted to read family prayers, but on this evening he desired his

daughters to let him do so. Where in the prayer for missionaries he

had always mentioned, 'the absent member of this family,' he added in a

clear tone, 'especially for John Coleridge Patteson, Missionary Bishop.'

That was the father's one note of triumph, the last time he ever led the

household prayers. In a day or two Mrs. Selwyn came to him, and he wrote

the following to the Bishop of New Zealand:--

'Feniton Court: May 24, 1861.

'My very dear Friend,--Here I am, and I have with me your dear and good

wife, who arrived yesterday. She looks well, and I trust is so. She has

arranged her visits so as to come to me as soon as possible. "I will go

and see him before he die," and I feel sensibly the kindness of it. What

a mercy is it that my life should have been preserved to receive from

my dear son Coley and from you by letter the account of his having been

consecrated by you as Bishop of the true Catholic Church. There were

[accounts?] of that most impressive service, which, had I been present,

would have, I fear, sent me to the floor; and you and Coley must have

had difficulty in holding up at those feeling statements of your having

received him at my old hands. When you so received him, it was known

I was satisfied that his heart was really fixed on this missionary

work--that he felt a call to it. I believe, you know, and I am sure God

knows, that I had not the most distant notion in my mind that it would

lead to his becoming a Bishop, nor do I now rejoice in the result,

simply on account of the honour of the office; but because my confidence

in the honesty and sincerity of his then feelings has been justified,

and that it has pleased God to endow him with such abundant graces.

May it please God that you should continue together in your respective

governments in His Church many years, and that we may all meet together

in his kingdom above!

'When I parted with him I did not expect to see his face on earth, yet

perhaps I hardly expected that our separation would be so soon, though

I am in my seventy-second year. But in February I discovered these

swellings in my throat; which, humanly speaking, could only be cured by

iodine. Iodine has failed, and other attempts at a cure fail also; and

it is only a question of time when the soul will be delivered from the

burthen of the flesh. So indeed it is with all human beings; but it is

one thing to know this as a general proposition, and another to know

that the particular minister of death has hold of you, and that you are

really only living from day to day.

'For all your many kindnesses to all of us and to my son, I thank you

from the very bottom of my soul, and pray that we may meet hereafter,

through the merits, and for the sake of our blessed Mediator and

Redeemer Jesus Christ our Lord, that as we have striven on earth to be

followers of Him and His glory, so we may be partakers of it in Heaven.

'Your loving Friend,

'J. PATTESON.'

The July mail was without a letter from the father. The end had come

in the early morning of June 28, 1861, with a briefer, less painful

struggle than had been thought probable, and the great, sound, wise,

tender heart had ceased to beat.

There is no need to dwell on the spontaneous honours that all of those

who had ever been connected with him paid to the good old Judge, when he

was laid beside his much-loved wife in Feniton churchyard. Bishop Sumner

of Winchester, the friend of his boyhood, read the funeral service.

'His works do follow him:' and we turn to that work of his son's in

which assuredly he had his part, since one word of his would have turned

aside the course that had brought such blessing on both, had he not

accepted the summons, even as Zebedee, when he was left by the lake

side, while his sons became fishers of men.

Unknowing of the tidings in reserve for him, the Bishop was on his

voyage, following the usual course; hearing at Anaiteum that a frightful

mortality had prevailed in many of these southern islands. Measles had

been imported by a trader, and had, in many cases, brought on dysentery,

and had swept away a third of Mr. Geddie's Anaiteum flock. Mr. Gordon's

letters had spoken of it as equally fatal in Erromango, and there were

reports of the same, as well as of famine and war, in Nengone.

'God will give me men in His time; for could I be cut up into five

pieces already I would be living at Nengone, Lifu, Mai, Mota, and

Bauro!' was the comment on this visit; and this need of men inspired a

letter to his uncle Edward, on a day dear to the Etonian heart:--

'Schooner "Dunedin," 60 tons.

'In sight of Erromango, New Hebrides: June 4, 1861.

'My dear Tutor,--Naturally I think of Eton and of you especially to-day.

I hope you have as fine a day coming on for the cricket-match and for

Surley as I have here. Thermometer 81°; Tanna and Erromango, with

their rugged hilly outlines, breaking the line of the bright sparkling

horizon.

'I managed to charter the vessel for the voyage just in time to escape

cold weather in New Zealand. She is slow, but sound; the captain a

teetotaller, and crew respectable in all ways. So the voyage, though

lengthy, is pleasant.

'I have some six or seven classes to take, for they speak as many more

languages; and I get a little time for reading and writing, but not

much.

'I need not tell you how heavily this new responsibility presses on me,

as I see the islands opening, and at present feel how very difficult it

must be to obtain men to occupy this opening--

'True, we have not to contend with subtle and highly-elaborated systems

of false religion. It is the ignorantia purae negationis, comparatively

speaking, in some of the islands; yet, generally, there is a settled

system of some kind observed among them, and in the Banks Islands, an

extraordinarily developed religion, which enters into every detail of

social and domestic life, and is mixed up with the daily life of every

person in the archipelago.

'I think, therefore, that men are needed who have what I may call strong

religious common sense to adapt Christianity to the wants of the various

nations that live in Melanesia, without compromising any truth of

doctrine or principle of conduct--men who can see, in the midst of the

errors and superstitions of a people, whatever fragment of truth or

symptom of a yearning after something better may exist among them, and

make that the point d'appui, upon which they may build up the structure

of Christian teaching. Men, moreover, of industry they must be, for it

is useless to talk of "picking up languages." Of course, in a few days a

man may learn to talk superficially and inaccurately on a few subjects;

but to teach Christianity, a man must know the language well, and this

is learnt only by hard work.

'Then, again, unless a man can dispense with what we ordinarily call

comfort or luxuries to a great extent, and knock about anywhere in

Melanesian huts, he can hardly do much work in this Mission. The climate

is so warm that, to my mind, it quite supplies the place of the houses,

clothing, and food of old days, yet a man cannot accommodate himself to

it all at once. I don't say that it came naturally to me five years ago,

as it does now, when I feel at home anywhere, and cease to think it

odd to do things which, I suppose, you would think very extraordinary

indeed.

'But most of all--for this makes all easy--men are wanted who really do

desire in their hearts to live for God and the world to come, and who

have really sought to sit very loosely to this world. The enjoyment, and

the happiness, and the peace all come, and that abundantly; but there is

a condition, and the first rub is a hard one, and lasts a good while.

'Naturally buoyant spirits, the gift of a merry heart, are a great help;

for oftentimes a man may have to spend months without any white man

within hundreds of miles, and it is very depressing to live alone in the

midst of heathenism. But there must be many many fellows pulling up to

Surley to-night who may be well able to pull together with one on the

Pacific--young fellows whose enthusiasm is not mere excitement of

animal spirits, and whose pluck and courage are given them to stand the

roughnesses (such as they are) of a missionary life. For, dear Uncle,

if you ever talk to any old pupil of yours about the work, don't let him

suppose that it is consistent with ease and absence of anxiety and work.

When on shore at Kohimarama, we live very cosily, as I think. Some might

say we have no society, very simple fare, &c.; I don't think any man

would really find it so. But in the islands, I don't wish to conceal

from anyone that, measured by the rule of the English gentleman's

household, there is a great difference. Why should it, however, be

measured by this standard? I can truly say that we have hitherto always

had what is necessary for health, and what does one need more? though I

like more as much as anyone.

'How you will wonder at the news of my consecration, and, indeed, well

you may! I would, indeed, that there were a dozen men out here under

whom I was working, if only they were such men as the Primate would have

chosen to the work.

'But it is done now, and I know I must not shrink from it. Never did I

need the love and prayers of my dear relations and friends as I do now.

Already difficulties are rising up around me, and I am so little fit to

be a leader of work like this. Don't forget, dear Tutor, your old pupil,

who used to copy the dear Bishop's letters in your study from Anaiteum,

Erromango, &c.; and little thought that he would write from these

islands to you, himself the Missionary Bishop.

'With kind love to all,

'Your loving old Pupil and Nephew,

'J. C. PATTESON, Missionary Bishop.'

This thoughtful and beautiful letter was written in sight of Erromango,

a sandal-wood station, whence a trader might be found to take charge of

it. The ink was scarcely dry before the full cost of carrying the Gospel

among the heathen was brought before the writer. Not only houses and

brethren must be given up, but the 'yea and his own life also' was now

to be exemplified almost before his eyes.

The Erromaugo Mission, like that of Anaiteum, came from the Scottish

Kirk. Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, as has been seen, had been visited on every

voyage of the 'Southern Cross' during their three years' residence

there, and there was a warm regard between them and the Bishop. It was

then a great shock to hear a Nengone man call out from a sandal-wood

vessel, lying in Dillon's Bay, that they had both been killed!

It was but too true. The Erromango people had been little inclined to

listen to Mr. Gordon's warnings, and he, a young and eager man, had told

them that to persevere in their murders and idolatries would bring a

judgment upon them. When therefore the scourge of sickness came, as at

Anaiteum, they connected him with it; and it was plain from his diary

that he had for some months known his life to be in danger, but he had

gone about them fearlessly, like a brave man, doing his best for the

sick.

On May 20 he was in a little wood, putting up a house instead of

one that had been blown down by a hurricane, and he had sent his few

faithful pupils to get grass for the thatch. Nine natives from a village

about three hours' walk distant came to the house where his wife

was, and asked for him. She said he was in the little wood. They went

thither, and while eight hid themselves in the bush, one went forward

and asked for some calico. Mr. Gordon took a bit of charcoal and wrote

on a bit of wood directions to his wife to give the bearer some cotton,

but the man insisted that he must come himself to give out some medicine

for a sick man. Mr. Gordon complied, walking in front as far as the

place where lay the ambush, when the man struck him with a tomahawk on

the spine, and he fell, with a loud scream, while the others leaping out

fell upon him with blows that must have destroyed life at once, yelling

and screaming over him. Another went up to the house. Mrs. Gordon had

come out, asking what the shouts meant. 'Look there!' he said, and as

she turned her head, he struck her between the shoulders, and killed her

as soon as she had fallen.

Another native had in the meantime rushed down the hill to the

sandal-wood station half a mile off on the beach, and the trader, arming

his natives, came up too late to do more than prevent the murderers from

carrying off the bodies or destroying the house. The husband and wife

were buried in the same grave; the natives fenced it round; and now,

on June 7, eighteen days after, Bishop Patteson read the Burial

Service over it, with many solemn and anxious thoughts respecting the

population, now reduced to 2,500, and in a very wild condition.

At Mai the Bishop spent two hours the next day, and brought away one old

scholar and one new one.

At Tariko, where he had been three years before with the Primate, the

Episcopal hat brought the greeting 'Bishop,' as the people no doubt

thought the wearer identical. Of Ambrym there is a characteristic

sentence: 'As we left the little rock pool where I had jumped ashore,

leaving, for prudence sake, the rest behind me in the boat, one man

raised his bow and drew it, then unbent it, then bent it again, but

apparently others were dissuading him from letting fly the arrow. The

boat was not ten yards off, I don't know why he did so; but we must try

to effect more frequent landings.'

On June 12 Mota was reached, and the next morning the Mission party

landed, warmly welcomed by the inhabitants. The house was found safely

standing and nearly weather-proof.

'June 13th.--This morning I put up the framework for another small

house, where I shall put Wadrokala, his child-wife, and many of our

boxes. We had to carry up the timber first from the beach, and it was

rather hot work, as also the carpentering, as I chose a place for the

house where no falling bread-fruit or branches of trees would hurt it,

and the sun was so hot that it almost burnt my hand when I took up a

handful of nails that had been lying for ten minutes in the sun. So our

picnic life begins again, and that favourably. I feel the enjoyment of

the glorious view and climate, and my dear lads, Tagalana and Parenga,

from Bauro, are with me, the rest in Port Patteson, &c., coming over

in the vessel to-morrow, which I shall then discharge. I see that the

people are very friendly; they all speak of your bread-fruit tree, your

property. The house had not been entered, a keg of nails inside it not

touched.

'Tagalana's father is dead. His first words to me were, "Oh that the

Word of God had come in old times to Mota, I should not then cry so much

about him. Yes, it is true, I know, I must be thankful it is come now,

and I must remember that, and try to help others who may die too before

they believe it."

'"Yes, I am quite your child now! Yes, one Father for us all in Heaven.

You my father here! Yes, I stop always with you, unless you send me

away. They ask me with whom I shall live now; I say with the Bishop."

'How I was praising and rejoicing in my heart as the dear boy was

speaking: "Yes, I am feeling calm again now. When people die at Mota,

you know they make a great shouting, but soon forget the dead person.

But I am able to be quiet and calm now, as you talk to me about God and

Jesus Christ. Yes, He rose again. Death is not the end. I know you said

it is for those who repent and believe in Christ the Door to enter into

life eternal. How different it all seems then!"

'When you read this you will say, "Thank God that I sent him out to

Melanesia with my blessing on his head. I too may see Tagalana one day

with Him who is the Father of us all."

'One soul won to Christ, as I hope and believe, by His love and power,

and if in any degree by my ministry, to God be the praise!'

The comfort sent home to the sisters with the letter respecting this

voyage is:--

'Mota: June 14, 1861.

'Now, dear Joan, don't any of you think too much about the murder of Mr.

and Mrs. Gordon, as if my life was exposed to the same kind of risk.

'Certainly it is not endangered here. It may be true that at places

where I am not known some sudden outbreak may occur; but humanly

speaking, there are not many places that as yet I am able to visit where

I realise the fact of any danger being run.

'Yet it may happen that some poor fellow, who has a good cause to think

ill of white men, or some mischievous badly disposed man, may let fly a

random arrow or spear some day.

'If so, you will not so very much wonder, nor be so very greatly

grieved. Every clergyman runs at least as great a risk among the

small-pox and fevers of town parishes. Think of Uncle James in the

cholera at Thorverton.'

So with the 'Dunedin' dismissed, Bishop Patteson, Mr. Pritt, Mr.

Kerr, and their pupils recommenced their residence at Mota. The Banks

Islanders returned to their homes; and when the Bishop came to Aroa,

Tagalana's native place, three weeks lately the little fellow received

him affectionately, cooked yams, fetched mats, and was not ashamed

before his own people to kneel down, and join audibly in hymn and

prayer. The people begged for Wadrokala or some other teacher to be

placed among them. The Journal continues:--

'On Friday, at 8.30, I started, not quite knowing whither I should go,

but soon saw that I could fetch round the south end of Vanua Lava, which

was well. The sea, when it comes through the passage between Mota and

Valua, is heavy, but the boat had great way on her, sailing very fast,

so that I could steer her well, and we did not take very long crossing

to the small reef islands. I passed between Pakea and Vanua Lava (Dudley

Passage), and then we had unexpectedly a very heavy sea, a strong tide

up. I did not like it, but, thank God, all went well. One very heavy sea

in particular I noticed, which broke some twenty yards ahead, and about

the same distance astern of us, while the exact part of it which came

down upon us was only a black wall of water, over which we rode lightly

and dry. I think that it might have swamped us had it broken upon the

boat. My boat is an open four-oared one, 26 feet long, and about five

wide, strong but light. She sails admirably with a common lug sail.

I had one made last summer, very large, with two reefs, so that I can

reduce it to as small a sail as I please. By 4 or 5 P.M. I neared Aruas,

in the bay on the west side of Vanua Lava; the same crowd as usual on

the beach, but I did not haul the boat up. I had a grapnel, and dropped

it some fifty yards from the beach.

'Somehow I did not much like the manner of some of the people; they did

not at night come into the Ogamal, or men's common eating and sleeping

house, as before, and I overheard some few remarks which I did not quite

like--something about the unusual sickness being connected with this

new teaching--I could not be quite sure, as I do not know the dialect

of Aruas. There were, however, several who were very friendly, and the

great majority were at least quiet, and left us to ourselves. The

next morning I started at about eight, buying two small pigs for two

hatchets, and yams and taro and dried bread-fruit for fish-hooks. I

gave one young man a piece of iron for his attention to us. As we pulled

away, one elderly man drew his bow, and the women and children ran off

into the bush, here, as everywhere almost in these islands, growing

quite thickly some twenty yards above high-water mark. The man did

not let fly his arrow: I cannot tell why this small demonstration took

place.'

When an arrow was pointed at him, it was Bishop Patteson's custom to

look the archer full in the face with his bright smile, and in many

more cases than are here hinted at, that look of cheery confidence and

good-will made the weapon drop.

After a few more visits to the coasts of this archipelago the boat

returned to Mota, where Mr. Pritt and Mr. Kerr had kept school every

day, besides getting the station into excellent order and beauty. Their

presence at the head-quarters left the Bishop free to circulate in the

villages, sleeping in the Ogamals, where he could collect the men. They

always seemed pleased and interested, and their pugnacious habits

were decidedly diminishing, though their superstitious practices and

observances were by no means dropped.

The Diary, on July 24, thus speaks of the way of life; which, however,

was again telling on the health of the party:--

'I am so accustomed to sleeping about anywhere that I take little or no

account of thirty, forty, fifty naked fellows, lying, sitting, sleeping

round me. Someone brings me a native mat, someone else a bit of yam; a

third brings a cocoa-nut; so I get my supper, put down the mat (like a

very thin door-mat) on the earth, roll up my coat for a pillow, and make

a very good night of it. I have had deafness in my right ear again for

some days; no pain with it, but it is inconvenient.

'Several of our lads have had attacks of fever and ague; Wadrokala and

his child of a wife, Bum, a Bauro boy, &c. The island is not at all

unhealthy, but natives cannot be taught caution. I, thank God, am in

robust health, very weather-beaten. I think my Bishop's dress would look

quite out of keeping with such a face and pair of hands!

'There is much as usual in such cases to encourage and to humble us.

Some few people seem to be in earnest. The great majority do their best

to make me think they are listening. Meanwhile, much goes on in the

island as of old.

'Sunday, July 28th, 11.45 A.M.--I have much anxiety just now. At this

moment Wadrokala is in an ague fit, five or six others of my party kept

going by quinine and port wine, and one or other sickening almost daily.

Henry Hrahuena, of Lifu, I think dying, from what I know not--I think

inflammation of the brain, induced possibly by exposure to the sun,

though I have not seen him so exposed, and it is a thing I am very

careful about with them. I do what I can in following the directions of

medical books, but it is so hard to get a word from a native to explain

symptoms, &c.; besides, my ear is now, like last year, really painful;

and for two nights I have had little sleep, and feel stupid, and getting

a worn-out feeling. With all this, I am conscious that it is but a

temporary depression, a day or two may bring out the bright colours

again. Henry may recover by God's mercy, the boys become hearty again;

my ear get right. At present I feel that I must rub on as I can, from

hour to hour.

'If I find from experience that natives of Melanesia, taken to a

different island, however fertile, dry, and apparently healthy, do seem

to be affected by it, I must modify my plans, try as soon as possible

to have more winter schools, and, what is of more consequence, I must

reconsider the whole question of native teachers. If a great amount

of sickness is to be the result of gathering scholars around me at an

island, I could do, perhaps, more single-handed, in health, and with

no one to look after, than with twenty fellows of whom half are causing

continual anxiety on the score of health. Now were I alone, I should

be as brisk as a bee, but I feel weighed down somewhat with the anxiety

about all these fellows about me.

'I must balance considerations, and think it out. It requires great

attention. It is at times like these that I experience some trials.

Usually my life is, as you know, singularly free from them.

'July 31st.--Henry died on Sunday about 4 A.M. Wadrokala is better.

The boys are all better. I have had much real pain and weariness from

sleepless nights, owing to the small tumour in my ear. What a sheet of

paper for you to read! And yet it is not so sad either. The boys were

patient and good; Wadrokala takes his ague attacks like a man; and about

Henry I had great comfort.

'He was about eighteen or nineteen, as I suppose, the son of the great

enchanter in Lifu in old times--the hereditary high priest of Lifu

indeed. He was a simple-minded, gentle, good fellow, not one probably

who would have been able to take a distinct line as a teacher, yet

he might have done good service with a good teacher. We found that

afternoon a slate on which he had written down some thoughts when first

taken ill, showing that he felt that he was sick unto death. Very full

of comfort were his written as well as his spoken words.'

On August 1, while the Bauro scholars were writing answers to questions

on the Lord's Prayer, a party of men and women arrived, headed by a

man with a native scarf over his shoulders. They had come to be taught,

bringing provisions with them, and eating them, men and women together,

a memorable infringement of one of the most unvarying customs of the

Banks inhabitants; and from the conversation with them and with others,

Bishop Patteson found that the work of breaking down had been attained,

that of building up had to be begun. They must learn that leaving off

heathen practices was not the same thing as adopting the religion of

Christ, and the kind of work which external influences had cut short in

Lifu had to be begun with them.

'Soon, I think, the great difficulty must be met in Mota of teaching the

Christian's social and domestic life to people disposed to give up

much of their old practices. This is the point at which I suppose most

Missions have broken down. It is a great blessing indeed to reach it,

but the building up of converts is the harder work. Here, for example,

a population of 1,500 people; at present they know all that is necessary

for the cultivation of yams, &c., they build houses sufficient for the

purpose of their present life, they are giving up fighting, losing-faith

in their old charms and contrivances for compassing the death of their

enemies; they will very likely soon be at peace throughout the whole

island. Well, then, they will be very idle, talk infinite scandal,

indulge in any amount of gluttony; professing to believe our religion,

their whole life will contradict that profession, unless their whole

social and domestic life be changed, and a new character infused into

them. It would be a great mistake to suppose that the English aspect

of the Christian's social life is necessarily adapted to such races

as these. The Oriental tendencies of their minds, the wholly different

circumstances of their lives, climate, absence of all poverty or

dependence upon others, &c., will prevent them from ever becoming a

little English community; but not, I trust, their becoming a Christian

community. But how shall I try to teach them to become industrious,

persevering, honest, tidy, clean, careful with children, and all the

rest of it? What a different thing from just going about and teaching

them the first principles of Christianity! The second stage of a Mission

is the really difficult one.'

A few days after the foregoing observations were written, H.M.S.

'Cordelia,' a war steamer, entered Port Patteson, and Captain Hume

himself came across by boat to Mota, to communicate to Bishop Patteson

his instructions to offer him a cruise in the vessel, render him any

assistance in his power in the Solomon Islands, and return him to

any island he might desire. Letters from the Primate assumed that the

proposal should be accepted; it was an opportunity of taking home the

Bauro and Grera boys; moreover there was a quarrel between English and

natives to be enquired into at Ysabel Island, where the Bishop could be

useful as interpreter; and, as he could leave his two friends to carry

on the school at Mota, he went on board, and very good it was for him,

in the depressed state of health brought on by rude bed and board, to be

the guest on board a Queen's ship and under good medical care.

For the 'Cordelia' had brought out the letters which gave the first

intimation of his father's state; and without the privacy, and freedom

from toil and responsibility, he could hardly have borne up under the

blow. The first day was bad enough: 'a long busy day on shore with just

one letter read, and the dull heavy sensation of an agony that was to

come, as soon as I could be alone to think.' Arrangements had to be

made; and there was not one solitary moment till 9 P.M. in the cabin

when this loving and beloved son could shut himself in, kneel down, and

recover composure to open the two letters in his father's hand.

He wrote it all--his whole heart--as of old to the father who had ever

shared his inmost thoughts:--

'It may be that as I write, your blessed spirit, at rest in Paradise,

may know me more truly than ever you did on earth; and yet the sorrow

of knowing how bitter it is within may never be permitted to ruffle your

everlasting peace.

'I may never see you on earth. All thought of such a joy is gone. I

did really cling to it (I see it now) when most I thought I was quite

content to wait for the hope of the great meeting. I will try to

remember and to do what you say about all business matters.

'I will pray God to make me more desirous and more able to follow the

holy example you leave behind. Oh that the peace of God may be given to

me also when I come to die; though how may I dare to hope for such an

end, so full of faith and love and the patient waiting for Christ!

'I must go on with my work. This very morning I was anxious, passing

shoal water with the captain and master beside me, and appealing to me

as pilot. I must try to be of some use in the ship. I must try to turn

to good account among the islands this great opportunity. Probably

elasticity of mind will come again now for very pain of body. Oh! how

much more sorrow and heavy weight on my heart! I am quite worn out and

weary. It seems as if the light were taken from me, as if it was no

longer possible to work away so cheerily when I no longer have you to

write to about it all, no longer your approval to seek, your notice to

obtain.

'I must go on writing to you, my own dearest Father, even as I go on

praying for you. It is a great comfort to me, though I feel that in all

human probability you are to be thought of now as one of the blessed

drawn wholly within the veil. Oh! that we may all dwell together

hereafter for His blessed sake who died for us. Now more than ever your

loving and dutiful Son,' &c.

Such another letter was written to his sister Fanny; but it is dated

four days later, when he was better in health, and was somewhat

recovered from the first shock; besides which, he felt his office of

comforter when writing to her. So the letter is more cheerful, and is

a good deal taken up with the endeavour to assure the sisters of

his acquiescence in whatever scheme of life they might adopt, and

willingness that, if it were thought advisable, Feniton Court should

be sold. 'This is all cold and heartless,' he says, 'but I must try and

make my view pretty clear.' Towards the end occurs the following:--

'Last night, my slight feverish attack over, my ears comfortable, with

the feeling of health and ease returning, I lay awake, thought of dear

Uncle Frank, and then for a long time of dear Mamma. How plainly I saw

her face, and dear dear Uncle James, and I wondered whether dear dear

Father was already among them in Paradise. It is not often that I can

fasten down my mind to think continuously upon those blessed ones; I am

too tired, or too busy; and this climate, you know, is enervating.

But last night I was very happy, and seemed to be very near them. The

Evening Lesson set me off, 1 John iii. How wonderful it is! But all the

evening I had been reading my book of Prayers and Meditations. Do

you know, Fan, at times the thought comes upon me with a force almost

overpowering, that I am a Bishop; and that I must not shrink from

believing that I am called to a special work. I don't think that I dwell

morbidly on this, but it is an awful thought. And then I feel just

the same as of old, and don't reach out more, or aim more earnestly at

amendment of life and strive after fresh degrees of enlightenment and

holiness. But probably I have to learn the lesson, which it may be only

sickness will teach me, of patient waiting, that God will accomplish His

own work in His own time.'

Some of this is almost too sacred for publication, and yet it is well

that it should be seen how realising the Communion of Saints blessed

the solitary man who had given up home. The next letter is to Sir J. T.

Coleridge:--

'H.M.S. "Cordelia," September 11, 1861.

'My dearest Uncle,--It is now nearly five weeks since I learnt from

my letters of March and April, brought to me by this ship, the very

precarious state of my dear Father.

'He has never missed a mail since we have been parted, never once; and

he wrote as he always did both in March and April. I had read a letter

from the good Primate first; because I had to make up my mind whether I

could, as I was desired, take a cruise in this vessel; and in his letter

I heard of my dear Father's state. With what reverence I opened his

letters! With what short earnest prayers to God that I might have

strength supplied and resignation I had kept them till the last. All day

at Mota I had been too busy to read any but the Primate's letters. I

had many matters to arrange...and it was not until night that I could

quietly read my letters in the captain's cabin. My dear Father's words

seem to come to me like a voice from another world. I think from what

he says, and what they all say, that already he has departed to be with

Christ.

'I think of him and my dear mother, and those dear uncles James and

Frank, so specially dear to me, and others gone before. I think of all

that he has been to me, and yet how can I be unhappy? The great shock to

me was long overpast: it is easy for me to dwell on his gain rather

than my loss; yet how I shall miss his wise loving letters and all the

unrestrained delights of our correspondence.

'It is not with me as with those dear sisters, or with old Jem. Theirs

is the privilege of witnessing the beauty and holiness of his life to

the end; and theirs the sorrow of learning to live without him. Yet

I feel that the greatest perhaps of all the pleasures of this life is

gone. How I did delight in writing to him and seeking his approval

of what I was about! How I read and re-read his letters, entering so

entirely into my feelings, understanding me so well in my life, so

strangely different from what it used to be.

'Well, it should make me feel more than ever that I have but one thing

to live for--the good, if so it may please God, of these Melanesian

islands.

'I cannot say, for you will like to know my feelings, that I felt

so overwhelmed with this news as not to be able to go about my usual

business. Yet the rest on board the vessel has been very grateful to me.

The quiet cheerfulness and briskness will all come again, as I think;

and yet I think too that I shall be an older and more thoughtful man by

reason of this.

'There has been reported a row at Ysabel Island, one of the Solomon

group, eighteen months ago. This vessel, a screw steamer, ten guns and a

large pivot gun, came to enquire, with orders from the Commodore of the

station to call at Mota and see me, and request me to go with the vessel

if I could find time to do so; adding that the vessel was to take me to

any island which I might wish to be returned to. Now I have long wished

to indoctrinate captains of men-of-war with our notions of the right

way to settle disputes between natives and traders. Secondly, I had a

passage free with my Solomon Islanders, and consequently all October and

half November I may devote to working up carefully (D.V.) the Banks and

New Hebrides group without being under the necessity of going down to

the Solomon Islands. Thirdly, I had an opportunity of going further

to the westward than I had ever been before, and of seeing new ground.

Fourthly, the Primate, I found, assumed that I should go. So here I

am, in great clover, of course: the change from Mota to man-of-war life

being amusing enough. Barring some illness, slight attacks of fever, I

have enjoyed myself very much. The seeing Ysabel Island is a real gain.

I had time to acquire some 200 words and phrases of the language, which

signify to me a great deal more. The language is a very remarkable one,

very Polynesian; yet in some respects distinguished from the Polynesian,

and most closely related to Melanesian dialects.

'I need not enter into all this. It is my business, you know, to work

at such things, and a word or two often tells me now a good deal of the

secrets of a language--the prominent forms, affixes, &c., &c.; the way

in which it is linked on to other dialects by peculiar terminations, the

law by which the transposition of vowels and consonants is governed in

general. All these things soon come out, so I am very sanguine

about soon, if I live, seeing my way in preparing the way for future

missionaries in the far West.

'But I must not forget that I have some islands to visit in the next

month or two where the people are very wild, so that I of all people

have least reason to speculate about what I may hope to do a year hence.

'The real anxiety is in the making up my own mind whether or not I ought

to lower the boat in such a sea way; whether or not I ought to swim

ashore among these fellows crowded there on the narrow beach, &c.

'When my mind is made up, it is not so difficult then. But, humanly

speaking, there are but few islands now where I realise the fact of

there being any risk; at very many I land with confidence. Yet I could

enumerate, I dare say, five-and-twenty which we have not visited at

all, or not regularly; and where I must be careful, as also in visiting

different parts of islands already known to us in part. Poor poor

people, who can see them and not desire to make known to them the words

of life? I may never forget the Bishop's words in the Consecration

Service:--"Your office is in the highest sense to preach the Gospel to

the poor;" and then his eye glanced over the row of Melanesians sitting

near me.

'How strange that I can write all this, when one heavy sense of trouble

is hanging vaguely over me. And yet you will be thankful that I can

think, as I trust, heartily of my work, and that my interest is in no

way lessened. It ought to be increased. Yet I scarce realise the fact of

being a Bishop, though again it does not seem unnatural. I can't explain

what I mean. I suppose the fact that I knew for so long before that it

must come some day if I lived, makes the difference now.

'I don't think, however, that your words will come true of my appearing

in shovel hat, &c., at Heath's Court some fine day. It is very

improbable that I shall ever see the northern hemisphere, unless I see

it in the longitude of New Guinea.

'I must try to send a few island shells to M----, B----, and Co.; those

little ones must not grow up, and I am sure that you all do not suffer

them to grow up, without knowing something about "old cousin Coley"

tumbling about in a little ship (albeit at present in a war steamer) at

the other end of the world. Seriously, dear Uncle, as they grow older,

it may be some help for them to hear of these poor Melanesians, and of

our personal intercourse with them, so to speak.

'I have but little hope of hearing, if I return safe to New Zealand at

the end of November, that this disastrous war is over. I fear that

the original error has been overlaid by more recent events, forgotten

amongst them. The Maori must suffer, the country must suffer. Confession

of a fault in an individual is wrong in a State; indeed, the rights of

the case are, and perhaps must be, unknown to people at a distance. We

have no difficulty here in exposing the fallacies and duplicities of the

authors of the war, but we can't expect (and I see that it must be so)

people in England to understand the many details. To begin with, a man

must know, and that well, Maori customs, their national feeling, &c. It

is all known to One above, and that is our only hope now. May He grant

us peace and wisdom for the time to come!

'I have been reading Helps again this voyage, a worthy book, and

specially interesting to me. How much there is I shall be glad to read

about. What an age it is! America, how is that to end? India, China,

Japan, Africa! I have Jowett's books and "Essays and Reviews." How much

I should like to talk with you and John, in an evening at Heath's Court,

about all that such books reveal of Intellectualism at home. One does

feel that there is conventionalism and unreality in the hereditary

passive acceptance of much that people think they believe. But how on

Jowett's system can we have positive teaching at all? Can the thing

denoted by "entering into the mind of Christ or St. Paul" be substituted

for teaching the Catechism?

'Not so, writes my dear Father in the depth of his humility and

simplicity, writing to me what a father could scarcely say to a son!

But our peculiar circumstances have brought this blessing to me, that I

think he has often so "reamed out" his heart to me in the warmth of his

love to a son he was never again to see in the body, that I know him

better even than I should have done had I remained at home.

'So wonderful was my dearest Father's calmness when he wrote on the 24th

of April, that if he was alive to write again in May, I think it not

impossible that he may allude to these matters. If so, what golden words

to be treasured up by me! I have all his letters. You will see, or have

seen him laid by my dear Mother's side. They dwell together now with Him

in Paradise.

'Good-bye, my dearest Uncle. Should God spare your life, my letters will

be more frequent to you now.

'My kindest love to Aunt.

'Your affectionate and grateful Nephew,

'J. C. PATTESON, Missionary Bishop.'

There is little more record of this voyage. There was less heart and

spirit than usual for the regular journalizing letter; but the five

weeks' voyage had been most beneficial in restoring health and energy,

and it had one very important effect upon the Mission, for it was here

that Lieutenant Capel Tilly, R.N., became so interested in the Mission

and its head, as to undertake the charge of the future 'Southern Cross.'

The 'Cordelia' was about to return to England, where, after she was

paid off, Mr. Tilly would watch over the building of the new vessel on a

slightly larger scale than the first, would bring her out to Kohimarama,

and act as her captain.

So great a boon as his assistance did much to cheer and encourage the

Bishop, who was quite well again when he landed at Mota on September 17,

and found Mr. Pritt convalescent after a touch of ague, and Mr. Kerr so

ill as to be glad to avail himself of Captain Hume's kind offer to take

him back to Auckland in the 'Cordelia.'

Probably all were acclimatised by this time, for we hear of no more

illness before the 'Sea Breeze,' with Mr. Dudley, came, on the 10th of

October, to take the party off.

He says:--'The Bishop and Mr. Pritt both looked pale and worn. There

were, however, signs in the island of a great advance in the state of

things of the previous year. An admirable schoolroom had been built;

and in the open space cleared in front of it, every evening some hundred

people would gather, the older ones chatting, the younger ones being

initiated in the mysteries of leap-frog, wrestling, and other English

games, until prayer time, when all stood in a circle, singing a Mota

hymn, and the Bishop prayed with and for them.

'That voyage was not a long one. We did not go to the Solomon Islands

and the groups to the north, but we worked back through the New

Hebrides, carefully visiting them.'

Mr. Dudley had brought letters that filled the Bishop's heart to

overflowing, and still it was to his father that he wrote: 'It seems

as if you had lived to see us all, as it were, fixed in our several

positions, and could now "depart in peace, according to His word."'

The agony and bitterness seem to have been met and struggled through,

as it were, in those first days on board the 'Cordelia.' In this second

letter there is infinite peace and thankfulness; and so there still was,

when, at Norfolk Island, the tidings of the good old man's death met

him, as described in the ensuing letter:--

'"Sea Breeze," one hundred miles south-east of Norfolk Island: 8 A.M.

'My dearest Sisters,--Joy and grief were strangely mingled together

while I was on shore in Norfolk Island, from 6 P.M. Saturday to 8 P.M.

Sunday (yesterday).

'I was sitting with Mr. Nobbs (Benjamin Dudley the only other person

present) when he said, "We have seen in our papers from Sydney the news

of the death of your revered Father." He concluded that I must have

known of it.

'How wonderful it seems to me that it did not come as a great shock. I

showed by my face (naturally) that I had not known before that God had

taken him unto Himself, but I could answer quite calmly, "I thank God.

Do not be distressed at telling me suddenly, as you see you have done

inadvertently. I knew he could not live long. We all knew that he was

only waiting for Christ."

'And, dear dear John and Fan, how merciful God has been! The last part

of his letter to me, of date June 25, only three days before his

call came, so that I know (and praise God for it) that he was spared

protracted suffering. Shall I desire or wish to be more sorry than I am?

Shall I try to make myself grieve, and feel unhappy? Oh, no; it is of

God's great mercy that I still feel happy and thankful, for I cannot

doubt the depth of my love to him who has indeed been, and that more

than ever of late, the one to whom I clung in the world.

'I could be quiet at night, sleeping in Mr. Nobbs's house, and yet I

could not at once compose myself to think it all over, as I desired to

do. And then I had much to do, and here was the joy mingling with the

sorrow.

'For the Norfolk Island people have come to see how wise was the

Primate's original plan, and now they much desire to connect themselves

more closely with the Mission.

'Mr. and Mrs. Nobbs desire their son Edwin, who was two years at the

Governor's at Sydney, and is now eighteen and a half years old, to be

given wholly to us.... So said Simon Young of his boy Fisher, and so did

three others. All spoke simply, and without excitement, but with deep

feeling. I thought it right to say that they should remain at Norfolk

Island at present, that we all might prove them whether they were indeed

bent upon this work, that we might be able to trust that God had indeed

called them. To the lads I said, "This is a disappointment, I know, but

it is good for you to have to bear trials. You must take time to count

the cost. It is no light thing to be called to the work of a teacher

among the heathen. In giving up your present wish to go immediately,

you are obeying your parents and others older than yourselves, and your

cheerful obedience to them is the best evidence that you wish to act

upon a sense of duty, and not only from impulse; but don't think I wish

to discourage you. I thank Him who has put the good desire into your

hearts. Prove yourselves now by special prayer and meditation."

'Then came the happy, blessed service, the whole population present,

every confirmed person communicating, my voice trembling at the Fifth

Commandment and the end of the Prayer for the Church Militant, my heart

very full and thankful. I preached to them extempore, as one can preach

to no other congregation, from the lesson, "JESUS gone to be the guest

of a man that is a sinner," the consequences that would result in us

from His vouchsafing to tabernacle among us, and, as displayed in the

Parable of the Pounds, the use of God's gifts of health, influence,

means; then, specifying the use of God's highest gifts of children to be

trained to His glory, quoting 1 Samuel i. 27, 28, "lent to the Lord," I

spoke with an earnestness that felt strange to me at the time.

'Simon Young said afterwards: "My wife could not consent months ago

to Fisher's going away, but she has told me now that she consents. She

can't withhold him with the thought of holy Hannah in her mind." And I

felt as if I might apply (though not in the first sense) the prophecy

"Instead of thy fathers, thou shalt have children."

'To add to all, Mr. Nobbs said: "I have quite altered my mind about the

Melanesian school, I quite see that I was mistaken;" and the people are

considering how to connect themselves closely with us.

'You may imagine, dear Joan, that joy and grief made a strange, yet not

unhappy tumult in my mind. I came away at 3 P.M. (the wind being very

fair) hoping to revisit them, and, by the Bishop of Tasmania's desire,

hold a confirmation in six months' time. How I am longing to hear the

last record of the three days intervening between June 25 and 28, you

may well imagine.... Already, thank God, four months have passed, and

you are recovering from the great shock. Yours is a far harder trial

than mine. May God comfort and bless us all, and bring us to dwell with

our dear parents in heaven, for our blessed Lord's sake.

'Your very loving Brother,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

And this most touching account from within is supplemented by the

following, by Mr. Dudley, from without:--

'He took it [the tidings of his father's death] quite calmly. Evidently

it had been long expected and prepared for. He was even cheerful in his

quiet grave way. In the evening there was singing got up for him by some

of the Norfolk Islanders, in one of the large rooms of the old barracks.

He enjoyed it; and after it had gone on some time, he thanked them in a

few touching words that went home, I am sure, to the hearts of many of

them, and then we all knelt down, and he prayed extempore. I wish I had

kept the words of that prayer! Everyone was affected, knowing what was

then occupying his mind, but we were still more so next morning, at

the service in church. His voice had that peculiarly low and sweet tone

which always came into it when he was in great anxiety or sorrow, but

his appeal to the congregation was inspiring to the last degree. It was

the Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity, and the subject he took was from

the second lesson, the Parable of the Pounds, in St. Luke xix., and so

pointed out the difficulties between the reception of a talent and the

use of it. He showed that the fact of people's children growing up

as wild and careless as heathen was no proof that no grace had been

bestowed upon them; on the contrary, in the baptized it was there, but

it had never been developed; and then came the emphatic assertion,

"The best way of employing our gifts of whatever kind--children, means,

position--is by lending them to the Lord for His service, and then a

double blessing will be returned for that we give. Hannah giving her

child to the Lord, did she repent of it afterwards, think you, when she

saw him serving the Lord, the one upright man of the house of Israel?"'

No doubt these words were founded on those heartfelt assurances which

stirred his very soul within him that his own father had never for

a moment regretted or mourned over the gift unto the Lord, which had

indeed been costly, but had been returned, 'good measure, pressed

together, and flowing over,' in blessing! can I grieve and sorrow about

my dear dear Father's blessed end?' are the words in a letter to myself

written on the 19th. It further contained thanks for a photograph of

Hursley Church spire and Vicarage, which had been taken one summer

afternoon, at the desire of Dr. Moberly (the present Bishop of

Salisbury), and of which I had begged a copy for him. 'I shall like the

photograph of Hursley Vicarage and Church, the lawn and group upon

it. But most shall I like to think that Mr. Keble, and I dare say Dr.

Moberly too, pray for me and this Mission. I need the prayers of

all good people indeed.' I quote this sentence because it led to a

correspondence with both Mr. Keble and Dr. Moberly, which was equally

prized by the holy and humble men of heart who wrote and received the

letters:--

'St. Andrew's, Kohimarama: November 20, 1861.

'Thank you, my dearest Sophy, for your loving letters, and all your love

and devotion to him.

'I fear I do not write to those two dear sisters of mine as they and you

all expect and wish. I long to pour it all out; I get great relief in

talking, as at Taurarua I can talk to the dear Judge and Lady Martin.

She met me with a warm loving kiss that was intended to be as home-like

as possible, and for a minute I could not speak, and then said

falteringly, "It has been all one great mercy to the end. I have heard

at Norfolk Island." But I feel it still pent up to a great extent, and

yet I have a great sense of relief. I fancy I almost hear sometimes

the laboured breathing, the sudden stop--the "thanks be to God, he has

entered into his rest."

'What his letters are, I cannot even fully say to another, perhaps never

fully realise myself.

'As I write, the tears come, for it needs but a little to bring them

now, though I suppose the world without thinks that I "bear up," and go

on bravely.

'But when any little word or thought touches the feelings, the sensitive

rather than the intellectual part of me, then I break down.

'And yet it seems to bring thoughts and hopes into more definite shape.

How I read that magnificent last chapter of Isaiah last Sunday. I seemed

to feel my whole heart glowing with wonder, and exultation, and praise.

The world invisible may well be a reality to us, whose dear ones there

outnumber now those still in the flesh. Jem's most beautiful, most

intensely affecting letter, with all his thoughtfulness about the grave,

&c., fairly upset me. I let the Judge and Lady Martin read some parts of

it, and they returned it, saying it had quite overcome them. Now all

day I feel really as much as at those moments, only the special

circumstances give more expression at one time than at another to the

inward state of mind.

'How I treasure up many many of his words and actions!

'What a history in these words: "All times of the day are alike to me

now; getting near, I trust, the time when it will be all day."

'Those are the things that break me down. I see his dear face, and hear

him slowly and calmly saying such words of patient trust and faith, and

it is too much. Oh! that I might live as the son of such parents ought

to live!

'And then I turn to the practical duties again, and get lost in the

unceasing languages and all the rest of it.

'Now enough--but I write what comes uppermost.

'Your loving Cousin,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

Very soon after the return, on the 6th December, 1861, an Ordination

was held at St. Paul's, Auckland, when the Primate ordained two Maori

deacons, and Bishop Patteson, the Rev. Benjamin Dudley.

Sir William and Lady Martin spent part of this summer in the little

cottage at Kohimarama where the sailing master of the late 'Southern

Cross' had lived: and again we have to thank her for a picture of life

at St. Andrew's. She says:--

'The new settlement was then thought to be healthy, and he and his boys

alike rejoiced in the warmth of the sheltered bay, after the keenness

of the air at St. John's on higher ground. The place looked very pretty.

The green fields and hawthorn hedges and the sleek cattle reminded one

of England. As a strong contrast, there was the white shelly beach and

yellow sands. Here the boys sunned themselves in play hours, or fished

on the rocks, or cooked their fish at drift-wood fires. On calm days one

or two would skim across the blue water in their tiny canoes. One great

charm of the place was the freedom and naturalness of the whole party.

There was no attempt to force an overstrained piety on these wild

fellows, who showed their sincerity by coming with the Bishop. By

five in the morning all were astir, and jokes and laughter and shrill

unaccountable cries would rouse us up, and go on all day, save when

school and chapel came to sober them.

'The Bishop had not lost his Eton tastes, and only liked to see them

play games, and the little fat merry-faced lads were always on the

look-out for a bit of fun with him. One evening a tea-drinking was given

in the hall in honour of us. The Mota boys sung in twilight the story of

the first arrival of the Mission vessel and of their wonder at it. The

air, with a monotonous, not unpleasing refrain, reminded us of some old

French Canadian ditties. I remember well the excitement when the Bishop

sent up a fire balloon. It sailed slowly towards the sea, and down

rushed the whole Melanesian party, shrieking with delight after it. Our

dear friend's own quarters were very tiny, and a great contrast to

his large airy room at St. John's. He occupied a corner house in the

quadrangle, to be close to the boys. Neither bedroom nor sitting-room

was more than ten feet square. Everything was orderly, as was his wont.

Photographs of the faces and places he loved best hung on the walls.

Just by the door was his standing desk, with folios and lexicons. A

table, covered with books and papers in divers languages, and a chair or

two, completed his stock of furniture. The door stood open all day long

in fine weather, and the Bishop was seldom alone. One or other of

the boys would steal quietly in and sit down. They did not need to be

amused, nor did they interrupt his work. They were quite content to be

near him, and to get now and then a kind word or a pleasant smile. It

was the habitual gentle sympathy and friendliness on his part that won

the confidence of the wild timid people who had been brought up in an

element of mistrust, and which enabled them after a while to come and

open their hearts to him.

'How vividly the whole scene comes back to me as I write! The Bishop's

calm thoughtful face, the dusky lads, the white-shelled square in front,

relieved by a mass of bright geraniums or gay creepers, the little

bed-room with its camp bed, and medicine bottles and good books, and,

too often, in spite of our loving remonstrances, an invalid shivering

with ague, or influenza, in possession. We knew that this involved

broken nights for him, and a soft board and a rug for a couch. He was

overtasking his powers during those years. He was at work generally from

five A.M. to eleven P.M., and this in a close atmosphere; for both the

schoolroom and his own house were ill-ventilated. He would not spare

time enough either for regular exercise. He had a horse and enjoyed

riding, but he grudged the time except when he had to come up to town on

business or to take Sunday services for the English in the country. It

was very natural, as he had all a student's taste for quiet study, yet

could only indulge it by cutting off his own hours for relaxation. He

was constantly called off during the day to attend to practical work,

teaching in school, prescribing for and waiting on the sick, weighing

out medicines, keeping the farm accounts, besides the night classes in

several languages.

'He was really never so happy as among his boys or his books. He had no

liking for general society, though his natural courteousness made him

shrink from seeming ungracious. He did thoroughly enjoy a real talk with

one or two friends at a time, but even this he denied himself.'

Fanny Patteson had spent several days at Hursley in the course of the

winter, and the Vicar and Mrs. Keble had greatly delighted in hearing

her brother's letters. The following letter from Mr. Keble was written,

as will be perceived, immediately after hearing the account of the

baptism of the dying child at Mota:--

'Hursley, February 19, 1862.

'My dear Bishop Patteson,--I seat myself down on a low chair between

the pictures of your uncle and your Metropolitan, and that by command of

your sister, who is on a footstool in the corner opposite, I to send two

words, she 200, or, for aught I know, 2,000, to greet you on the other

side of the world. We have the more right, as your kind sisters have

kept us well up to your Missionary doings from time to time, and we seem

to be very often with you on board or in your islands (I say we, for

my dear wife is more than half of me, as you may well suppose, in such

sympathies), and it seems to me that, perhaps, in the present state

of your island or sea-work you may have more time than by-and-by for

thinking of one and another; anyhow we trust that that may happen which

we ask for every evening--that we may be vouchsafed a part in the holy

prayers which have been that day offered to the Throne of Grace, in

Melanesia or elsewhere. I don't know whether I am right, but I fancy you

at times something between a Hermit and a Missionary. God grant you a

double blessing! and as you are a Bishop besides, you will breathe us a

blessing in return for this, such as it is. Fanny's visit has been, as

you know it would be, most charming and genial to us old folks (not that

my wife ought to be so spoken of), and I shall always think it so kind

of her to have spared us the time when she had so much to do and so

short a time to do it in; but she seems like one going about with a bag

of what Bishop Selwyn calls "hope-seed," and sowing it in everyplace;

yet when one comes to look close at it, it all consists of memories,

chiefly you know of whom. I only wish I could rightly and truly treasure

up all she has kindly told us of your dear Father; but it must be a

special grace to remember and really understand such things. It will be

a most peculiar satisfaction, now that we have had her with us in this

way, to think of you all three together, should God's Providence allow

the meeting of which we understand there is a hope. The last thing she

has told us of is the baptism on St. Barnabas' Day--"the first fruits

of Mota unto Christ." What a thought--what a subject for prayer and

thanksgiving! God grant it may prove to you more than we can ask or

think.

'Ever yours, my dear Bishop,

'J. K.

'Don't trouble yourself to write, but think of us.'

Of course there was no obeying this postscript, and the immediate reply

was:--

'My dear dear Mr. Keble,--Few things have ever given me more real

pleasure than the receipt of your letter by this mail. I never doubted

your interest in New Zealand and Melanesia, and your affection for me

for my dear Father's sake. I felt quite sure that prayers were being

offered up for us in many places, and where more frequently than at

Hursley? Even as on this day, five years ago, when I touched the reef

at Guadalcanar, in the presence of three hundred armed and naked men, (I

heard afterwards) prayers were being uttered in the dead of your night

by my dear old governess, Miss Neill, that God would have me in His

safe keeping. But it is most pleasant, most helpful to me, to read your

letter, and to feel that I have a kind of right now to write to you, as

I hope I may do while I live fully and freely.

'I do not say a word concerning the idea some of you in England seem to

take of my life here. It is very humbling to me, as it ought to be, to

read such a letter from you. How different it is really!

'If my dear sisters do come out to me for a while, which, after their

letters by this February mail, seems less impossible than before, they

will soon see what I mean: a missionary's life does not procure him any

immunity from temptations, nor from falling into them; though, thanks be

to God, it has indeed its rich and abundant blessings. It is a blessed

thing to draw a little fellow, only six months ago a wild little savage,

down upon one's knee, and hear his first confession of his past life,

and his shy hesitating account of the words he uses when he prays to his

newly-found God and Saviour. These are rare moments, but they do occur;

and, if they don't, why the duty is to work all the same.

'The intelligence of some of these lads and young men really surprises

me. Some with me now, last October were utterly wild, never had worn

a stitch of clothing, were familiar with every kind of vice. They

now write an account of a Scripture print, or answer my MS. questions

without copy, of course, fairly and legibly in their books, and read

their own language--only quite lately reduced to writing--with ease.

What an encouragement! And this applies to, I think, the great majority

of these islanders.

'One child, I suppose some thirteen or fourteen years of age, I baptized

on Christmas Day. Three days afterwards I married her to a young man who

had been for some years with us. They are both natives of Nengone, one

of the Loyalty Isles. I administered the Holy Eucharist to her last

Saturday, and she is dying peacefully of consumption. What a

blessed thing! This little one, fresh from Baptism, with all Church

ministrations round her, passing gently away to her eternal rest. She

looks at me with her soft dark eyes, and fondles my hand, and says she

is not unhappy. She has, I verily believe, the secret of real happiness

in her heart.

'I must write more when at sea. I have very little time here.

'I hope by God's blessing to make a long round among my many islands

this winter; some, I know, must be approached with great caution. Your

prayers will be offered for me and those with me, I know, and am greatly

comforted by the knowledge of it.

'Fanny tells me what you have said to her about supplying any deficit

in the money required for our vessel. I feel as if this ought not in one

sense to come upon you, but how can I venture to speak to you on such

matters? You know all that I think and feel about it. Send me more your

blessing. I feel cares and anxieties now. My kind love to Mrs. Keble.

'J. C. PATTESON, Missionary Bishop.'

Two more notes followed in quick succession to Hursley Vicarage, almost

entirely upon the matter of the new 'Southern Cross,' which was being

built under Mr. Tilly's eye. The two Bishops were scrupulous about

letting Mr. Keble give more than a fair proportion towards the vessel,

which was not to cost more than £3,000, though more roomy than her

lamented predecessor. Meantime the 'Sea Breeze' was 'again to serve for

the winter voyage:--

'St. Barnabas Day, Auckland: 1862.

'My dear Sisters,--Think of my being ashore, and in a Christian land on

this day. So it is. We sail (D.V.) in six days, as it may be this day

week. The Melanesians are very good and pretty well in health, but we

are all anxious to be in warm climates. I think that most matters are

settled. Primate and I have finished our accounts. Think of his wise

stewardship! The endowment in land and money, and no debts contracted! I

hope that I leave nothing behind me to cause difficulty, should anything

happen. The Primate and Sir William Martin are my executors; Melanesia,

as you would expect, my heir. I may have forgotten many items, personal

reminiscences. Ask for anything, should anything happen. I see no reason

to anticipate it, humanly speaking, but it is always well to think

of such things. I am just going to the little Taurarua chapel to our

Melanesian Commemoration service with Holy Communion.

'Oh! if it should please God to grant us a meeting here!

'Great blessings have been given me this summer in seeing the progress

made by the scholars, so great as to make me feel sober-minded and

almost fearful, but that is wrong and faithless perhaps, and yet surely

the trials must come some day.

'God bless you all, and keep you all safe from all harm.

'Your loving Brother,

'J. C. PATTESON, Bishop.'

'Friday, June 27th, 2 P.M.--How you are thinking of all that took place

that last night on earth. He was taking his departure for a long voyage,

rather he was entering into the haven where he would be! May God give

us grace to follow his holy example, his patient endurance of his many

trials, the greatest his constant trial of deafness.

'I think if the weather be fair, that we shall go off to-morrow. Oh! if

we do meet, and spend, it may be, Christmas together.

28th, 3 P.M.--The first anniversary of our dear Father's death. How you

are all recalling what took place then! How full of thankfulness for his

gain, far outweighing the sorrow for our loss! And yet how you must

feel it, more than I do, and yet I feel it deeply: but the little fond

memories of the last months, and above all the looks and spoken words

of love, I can't altogether enter into them. His letters are all that

letters can be, more than any other letters can be, but they are not

the same thing in all ways. The Primate has left us to hurry down the

sailing master of the "Sea Breeze." It was a very rough morning, but is

calm now, boats passing and repassing between the shore and the schooner

at anchor off Kohimarama.'

The habit of writing journals was not at once resumed by Bishop Patteson

when his father was not there to read them; and the chance of seeing his

sisters, no doubt, made him write less fully to them, since they might

be on the voyage when the letters arrived in England. Thus the fullest

record of the early part of the voyage is in a report which he drew up

and printed in the form of a letter to the Rev. J. Keble:--

'We chartered the "Sea Breeze" schooner in June last for four months:

she is a vessel of seventy tons register, a little larger than the old

"Southern Cross," and as well suited for our purpose as a vessel can be

which is built to carry passengers in the ordinary way. No voyage can of

course equal in importance those early expeditions of the Primate, when

he sailed in his little schooner among seas unknown, to islands never

before visited, or visited only by the sandal-wood traders. But I never

recollect myself so remarkable a voyage as this last. I do not mean that

any new method was adopted in visiting islands, or communicating with

the natives. God gave to the Bishop of New Zealand wisdom to see and

carry out from the first the plan, which more and more approves itself

as the best and only feasible plan, for our peculiar work. But all

through this voyage, both in revisiting islands well known to us, and in

recommencing the work in other islands, where, amidst the multitude

of the Primate's engagements, it had been impossible to keep up our

acquaintance with the people, and in opening the way in islands now

visited for the first time, from the beginning to the end, it pleased

God to prosper us beyond all our utmost hopes. I was not only able to

land on many places where, as far as I know, no white man had set foot

before, but to go inland, to inspect the houses, canoes, &c., in crowded

villages (as at Santa Cruz), or to sit for two hours alone amidst a

throng of people (as at Pentecost Island), or to walk two and a half

miles inland (as at Tariko or Aspee). From no less than eight islands

have we for the first time received, young people for our school here,

and fifty-one Melanesian men, women, and young lads are now with

us, gathered from twenty-four islands, exclusive of the islands so

long-known to us of the Loyalty Group. When you remember that at Santa

Cruz, e.g., we had never landed before, and that this voyage I was

permitted to go ashore at seven different places in one day, during

which I saw about 1,200 men: that in all these islands the inhabitants

are, to look at, wild, naked, armed with spears and clubs, or bows and

poisoned arrows; that every man's hand (as, alas! we find only too

soon when we live among them) is against his neighbour, and scenes of

violence and bloodshed amongst themselves of frequent occurrence; and

that throughout this voyage (during which I landed between seventy and

eighty times) not one hand was lifted up against me, not one sign

of ill-will exhibited; you will see why I speak and think with real

amazement and thankfulness of a voyage accompanied with results so

wholly unexpected. I say results, for the effecting a safe landing on

an island, and much more the receiving a native lad from it, is, in

this sense, a result, that the great step has been made of commencing an

acquaintance with the people. If I live to make another voyage, I shall

no longer go ashore there as a stranger. I know the names of some of the

men; I can by signs remind them of some little present made, some little

occurrence which took place; we have already something in common, and as

far as they know me at all, they know me as a friend. Then some lad

is given up to us, the language learned, and a real hold on the island

obtained.

'The most distant point we reached was the large island Ysabel, in the

Solomon Archipelago. From this island a lad has come away with us, and

we have also a native boy from an island not many miles distant from

Ysabel, called Anudha, but marked in the charts (though not correctly)

as Florida.

'It would weary you if I wrote of all the numerous adventures and

strange scenes which in such a voyage we of course experience. I will

give you, if I can, an idea of what took place at some few islands, to

illustrate the general character of the voyage.

'One of the New Hebrides Islands, near the middle of the group, was

discovered by Cook, and by him called "Three Hills." The central part of

it, where we have long-had an acquaintance with the natives, is called

by them "Mai." Some six years ago we landed there, and two young men

came away with us, and spent the summer in New Zealand. Their names were

Petere and Laure; the former was a local chief of some consequence. We

took a peculiar interest in this island, finding that a portion of

the population consists of a tribe speaking a dialect of the great

Polynesian language of which another dialect is spoken in New Zealand.

Every year we have had scholars from Mai, several of whom can read and

write. We have landed there times without number, slept ashore three or

four times, and are well known of course to the inhabitants.

'The other day I landed as usual among a crowd of old acquaintances,

painted and armed, but of that I thought nothing. Knowing them to be

so friendly to us, instead of landing alone, I took two or three of

our party to walk inland with me; and off we started, Mr. Dudley and

Wadrokala being left sitting in the boat, which was, as usual, a short

distance from the beach. We had walked about half a mile before I

noticed something unusual in the manner of the people, and I overheard

them talking in a way that made me suspect that something had happened

which they did not want me to know. Petere had not made his appearance,

though in general the first to greet us, and on my making enquiries for

him, I was told that he was not well. Not long afterwards I overheard

a man say that Petere was dead, and taking again some opportunity that

offered itself for asking about him, was told that he was dead, that he

had died of dysentery. I was grieved to hear this, because I liked

him personally and had expected help from him when the time came for

commencing a Mission station on the island. The distance from the beach

to the village where Petere lived is about one and a half mile, and

a large party had assembled before we reached it. There was a great

lamentation and crying on our arrival, during which I sat down on a

large log of a tree. Then came a pause, and I spoke to the people,

telling them how sorry I was to hear of Petere's death. There was

something strange still about their manner, which I could not quite make

out; and one of our party, who was not used to the kind of thing, did

not like the looks of the people and the clubs and spears. At last one

of them, an old scholar of ours, came forward and said, "The men here do

not wish to deceive you; they know that you loved Petere, and they will

not hide the truth; Petere was killed by a man in a ship, a white man,

who shot him in the forehead." Of course I made minute enquiries as to

the ship, the number of masts, how many people they saw, whether there

was anything remarkable about the appearance of any person on board, &c.

The men standing round us were a good deal excited, but the same story

was told by them all.

'After a while I walked back to the beach, no indication having been

made of unfriendliness, but I had not gone more than a quarter of a

mile when three men rushed past me from behind, and ran on to the beach.

Meanwhile Mr. Dudley and Wadrokala in the boat were rather uneasy at

the manner of the people standing near them on the reef; and they too

suspected that something unusual had occurred. Presently they saw these

three men rush out of the bush on to the beach and distribute "kava"

(leaves of the pepper plant) among the people, who at once changed their

manner, became quite friendly and soon dispersed. It was quite evident

that a discussion had taken place on shore as to the treatment we were

to receive; and these men on the beach were awaiting the result of the

discussion, prepared to act accordingly. There was scarcely any danger

in our case of their deciding to injure us, because they knew us well;

but had we been strangers we should have been killed of course; their

practice being, naturally enough, to revenge the death of a countryman

on the arrival of the next man who comes from what they suppose to be

their enemies' country.

'This story may show you that caution is necessary long after the time

that a real friendship has commenced and been carried on. We never can

tell what may have taken place during the intervals of our visits. I

returned to the village, with Mr. Kerr and Mr. Dudley and slept ashore,

thinking it right to restore mutual confidence at once; and there was

not the slightest risk in doing so.

'Now let me tell you about an island called Ambrym, lying to the

south of Aurora and Pentecost, the two northernmost islands of the New

Hebrides group.

'Ambrym is a grand island, with a fine active volcano, so active on this

last occasion of our visiting it, that we were covered and half-blinded

by the ashes; the deck was thickly covered with them, and the sea

for miles strewed with floating cinders. We have repeatedly landed in

different parts of the island, but this time we visited an entirely new

place. There was a considerable surf on the beach, and I did not like

the boat to go near the shore, partly on that account, but chiefly

because our rule is not to let the boat approach too near the beach lest

it should be hauled up on shore by the people and our retreat to the

schooner cut off. So I beckoned to some men in a canoe (for I could not

speak a word of the language), who paddled up to us, and took me ashore.