'At Aruas, the small island close to Valua, from which dear Sosaman

came, it was just the same; rather different at the west side of

Vanua Lava, where they did not behave so well, and where (as I heard

afterwards) there had been some talk of shooting me; but nothing

occurred while I was on shore with them to alarm me.

'At Ambrym I landed with Talsil (Joval, from the same place, had died),

a great crowd, all friendly, walked into the village and sat down,

speechifying by the principal man, a presentation to me of a small pig;

but such confidence that this man came back with me on board, where I

gave him presents. I much wished to land at Taman's place, but could not

do so, though I tried twice, without causing great delay.

'I could have brought away any number of scholars from almost any of

these islands, probably from all. I have great reason to regret not

having revisited Ambrym and other islands, but I think that a year

hence, if alive, I may feel that it is better as it is.

'These Norfolk Islanders, four of them, I take as my children, for I

can't fairly charge them (except Edwin Nobbs) to the Mission, and I wish

to give Norfolk Island some help, as it is really, though not by letters

patent, part of my charge. Edwin Nobbs is a thoroughly good fellow, and

Fisher Young is coming on very well.

'Now, my dearest Joan, good-bye. My hats will come no doubt in good

time, my present chapeau is very seedy, very limp and crooked and

battered; as near green as black almost--a very good advertisement

of the poverty of the Mission. But if I go about picking up gold

in Australia, I shall come out in silk cassock and all the

paraphernalia--very episcopal indeed!

'Your loving Brother,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

Herewith was a letter for Dr. Moberly:--

'St. Andrew's College, Kohimarama: August 29, 1863. 'My dear Dr.

Moberly,--Thank you for a very kind and most interesting letter written

in May. I know that you can with difficulty find time to write at all,

and thank you all the more. If you knew the real value to us of such

letters as you have now sent, containing your impressions and opinions

of things in general, men, books, &c., you would be well rewarded for

your trouble, I assure you. To myself, I must say to you, such letters

are invaluable; they are a real help to me, not only in that they supply

information from a very good authority on many questions which I much

desire to understand, but even more because I rise up or kneel down

after reading them, and think to myself, "how little such men who so

think of me really know me; how different I ought to be," and then it is

another help to me to try and become by God's grace less unlike what you

take me to be. Indeed, you must forgive me for writing thus freely. I

live very much alone as far as persons of the same language, modes of

thought, &c., are concerned. I see but little (strange as it may seem to

you) even of my dear Primate. We are by land four or five miles apart,

and meet perhaps once or twice a month for a few minutes to transact

some necessary business. His time is, of course, fully occupied; and

I never leave this place, very seldom even this little quadrangle, and

when other work does not need immediate attention (a state of things at

which I have not arrived as yet), there are always a dozen new languages

to be taken up, translations to be made, &c. So that when I read

a letter which is full of just such matters as I think much of, I

naturally long to talk on paper freely with the writer. Were I in

England, I know scarcely any place to which I would go sooner than

Winchester, Hursley, Otterbourne, and then I should doubtless talk as

now I write freely. All that you write of the state of mind generally in

England on religious questions is most deeply interesting. What a matter

of thankfulness that you can say, "With all the sins and shortcomings

that are amongst us, there is an unmistakeable spreading of devotion and

the wish to serve God rightly on the part of very many."

'Then, the Church preferments have lately been good; Bishop Ellicott,

one of your four coadjutors in the revision of the A. V., especially.

I know some part of his Commentary, and am very glad to find that you

speak so very highly of it. What a contrast to be sure between such work

as his and Jowett's and Stanley's! Jowett actually avows a return to

the old exploded theory of the inaccurate use of language in the

Greek Testament. This must make men distrust him sooner or later as an

interpreter of Scripture. I thank you heartily for your offer of sending

me Bishop Ellicott's Commentary, but I hardly like you to send me so

valuable a gift. What if you substitute for it a copy of what you have

written yourself, not less valuable to me, and less expensive to you? I

hardly like to write to ask favours of such people as Bishop Ellicott;

I mean I have no right to do so; yet I almost thought of asking him to

send a copy of his Commentaries to us for our library. I have ventured

to write to Dean Trench: and I am pretty sure that Mr. Keble will send

me his "Life of Bishop Wilson." But pray act as you wish. I am very

grateful to you for thinking of it at all; and all such books whether

yours or his will be used and valued, I can undertake to say. My good

friend Kidding knows that I was, alas! no scholar at Eton or Oxford. I

have sought to remedy this in some measure as far as the Greek Testament

is concerned, and there are some excellent books which help one much;

yet I can never make myself a good scholar, I fear; one among many

penalties I pay for want of real industry in old days.

'Miss Yonge will hear from my sisters, and you from her, I have no

doubt, my very scanty account of a very uninteresting voyage. I see

everywhere signs of a change really extraordinary in the last few years.

I can tell no stories of sudden conversions, striking effects, &c. But

I know that in twenty, thirty, perhaps forty places, where a year or two

ago no white man could land without some little uncertainty as to his

reception, I can feel confident now of meeting with friends; I can walk

inland--a thing never dreamt of in old days, sleep ashore, put myself

entirely into their hands, and meet with a return of the confidence on

their part. We have, too, more dialects, talk or find interpreters in

more places; our object in coming to them is more generally known--and

in Mota, and two or three other small islands of the Banks group, there

is almost a system of instruction at work. The last voyage was a failure

in that I could not visit many islands, nor revisit some that I longed

to land at for the second or third time. But I don't anticipate any

difficulty in reestablishing (D. V.) all the old familiarity before

long. No doubt it is all, humanly speaking, hazardous where so much

seems to depend upon the personal acquaintance with the people.

'By-and-by I hope to have some young man of character and ability enough

to allow of his being regarded as my probable successor, who may always

go with me--not stop on any one island--but learn the kind of work I

have to do; then, when I no longer can do the work, it will be taken up

by a man already known to the various islanders.

'I have not touched on many points in your letter. Again, thank you for

it: it is very kind of you to write. I must send a line to Dr. Eidding.

'I am, my dear Dr. Moberly,

'Yours very truly,

'J. C. PATTESON, Bishop.'

The next of the closely written sheets that every mail carried was

chiefly occupied with the Maori war and apostasy, on which this is not

the place to enter, until the point where more personal reflections

begin.

'How all this makes me ponder about my own special work I need not say.

There is not the complication of an English colony, it is true; that

makes a great difference.

'My own feeling is that one should teach positive truth, the plain

message of Christianity, not attacking prejudices. Conviction as it

finds its way into the heart by the truth recommending itself will do

the work of casting out the old habits. I do not mean to say that the

devil is not in a special way at work to deceive people to follow lying

delusions. But all error is a perversion of truth; it has its existence

negatively only, as being a negation of truth. But God is truth, and

therefore Truth is ----. Now this is practically to be put, it seems to

me, in this way. Error exists in the mind of man, whom God has created,

as a perversion of truth; his faculties are constructed to apprehend

and rest satisfied with truth. But his faculties are corrupted, and

the devil supplies a false caricature of truth, and deceives him to

apprehend and rest satisfied with a lie. But inasmuch as his nature,

though damaged, is not wholly ruined by the Fall, therefore it is still

not only possible for him to recognise positive truth when presented

to him, but he will never rest satisfied with anything else--he will be

restless and uneasy till he has found it.

'It is because I feel that it is more natural to man to follow truth

than error ("natural" being understood to mean correspondent to the

true nature) that I believe the right thing is to address oneself to

the principle in a man which can and will recognise truth. Truth

when recognised expels error. But why attack error without positively

inculcating truth? I hope it does not bore you for me to write all this.

But I wish you to learn all that may explain my way of dealing with

these questions.'

The next day, October 25, a headache gives the Bishop a reason for

indulging himself, while waiting for his pupils, in calling up and

setting down a realisation of his sisters' new home at St. Mary Church,

where for the time he seems to go and live with them, so vividly does he

represent the place to himself. His first return to his own affairs is

a vision that once more shows his unappeased craving for all appliances

'for glory and for beauty' in the worship of God.

'I may some day have a connection with Mary Church marbles. Sometimes

I have a vision--but I must live twenty years to see more than a

vision--of a small but exceedingly beautiful Gothic chapel, rich inside

with marbles and stained glass and carved stalls and encaustic tiles and

brass screen work. I have a feeling that a certain use of really good

ornaments may be desirable, and being on a very small scale it might be

possible to make a very perfect thing some day. There is no notion of my

indulging such a thought. It may come some day, and most probably long

after I am dead and gone. It would be very foolish to spend money upon

more necessary things than a beautiful chapel at present, when in fact

I barely pay my way at all. And yet a really noble church is a wonderful

instrument of education, if we think only of the lower way of regarding

it. Well, you have a grand church, and it is pleasant to think of dear

dear Father having laid the stone, and of Cousin George. What would

he say now to Convocation and Synods, and the rapid progress of the

organisation of the Church?

'I think that what you say, Fan, about my overvaluing the world's

opinion is very true. Self-consciousness and a very foolish sinful

vanity always have been and are great sources of trial to me. How often

I have longed for that simplicity and truthfulness of character that

we saw so beautifully exemplified in our dear Father! How often I think

that it is very good for me that I am so wanting in all personal gifts!

I should be intolerable! I tell you this, not to foster such feelings by

talking of them, but because we wish to know and be known to each

other as we are. It is a very easy thing to be a popular preacher here,

perhaps anywhere. You know that I never write a really good sermon, but

I carry off platitudes with a sort of earnest delivery, tolerably clear

voice, and with all the prestige of being a self-devoted Missionary

Bishop. Bless their hearts! if they could see me sipping a delicious

cup of coffee, with some delightful book by my side, and some of my lads

sitting with me, all of them really loving one, and glad to do anything

for one!

'A less self-conscious person could do what I can hardly do without

danger. I see my name in a book or paper, and then comes at once a

struggle against some craving after praise. I think I know the fault,

but I don't say I struggle against it as I ought to do. It is very hard,

therefore, for me to write naturally about work in which I am myself

engaged. But I feel that a truthful account of what we see and hear

ought to be given, and yet I never speak about the Mission without

feeling that I have somehow conveyed a false impression.'

Again there was a time of sickness. The weather alternated between keen

cutting winds and stifling heat; and there was much illness among the

colonists, as well as a recurrence of the dreadful disease of the former

year among the scholars of St. Andrew's, though less severe, and one

boy died after fourteen days' sickness, while two pulled through with

difficulty. In the midst came the Ember Week, when Mr. Palmer was

ordained Deacon; and then the Bishop collapsed under ague, and spent the

morning of Christmas Day in bed, but was able to get up and move into

chapel for the celebration, and afterwards to go into hall and see the

scholars eat their Christmas dinner.

In the letter he wrote in the latter part of the day, he confessed that

'he felt older and less springy;' though, as he added, there was

good reason for it in the heavy strain that there had been upon him

throughout the year, though his native, scholars were all that he could

desire.

A few days' holiday and change at the Primate's brought back spirits and

strength; but the question whether under any circumstances New Zealand

would be a safe residence for the great body of Melanesian scholars

was becoming doubtful, and it seemed well to consider of some other

locality. Besides, it was felt to be due to the supporters of the

Mission in Australia to tell them personally how great had been the

progress made since 1855; and, accordingly, on one of the first days of

February, Bishop Patteson embarked in a mail steamer for Sydney, but

he was obliged to leave six of his lads in a very anxious state with

a recurrence of dysentery. However, the Governor, Sir George Grey, had

lent his place on the island of Kawau, thirty miles north of Auckland,

to the party, so that there was good hope that change would restore the

sick.

'Fancy me,' says the Journal of February 6, 'on board a screw steamer,

252 feet long, with the best double cabin on board for my own single

use, the manager of the company being anxious to show me every

attention, eating away at all sorts of made dishes, puddings, &c., and

lounging about just as I please on soft red velvet sofas and cushions.'

The rest and good living were the restorative he needed; and, in spite

of anxiety about the patients at home, he enjoyed and profited by it.

On February 6, Sydney was reached, but the Bishop sailed on at once for

his farthest point. At Melbourne, on the 11th, he quaintly declares,

after describing his kind reception: 'I feel at present a stranger among

strangers; no new thing to me, especially if they are black, and begin

by offering me cocoa-nut instead of bread and butter. This place

looks too large for comfort--like a section of London, busy, bustling,

money-making. There are warm hearts somewhere amid the great stores and

banks and shops, I dare say. But you know it feels a little strange,

and especially as I think it not unlikely that a regular hearty Church

feeling may not be the rule of the place. Still I am less shy than I

was, and with real gentlemen feel no difficulty in discussing points on

which we differ.

It is the vulgar uneducated fellow that beats me. The Melanesians, laugh

as you may at it, are naturally gentlemanly and courteous and well-bred.

I never saw a "gent" in Melanesia, though not a few downright savages. I

vastly prefer the savage.'

Melbourne was, however, to be taken on the return; and he went on to

Adelaide, where Bishop Short and the clergy met him at the port, and he

was welcomed most heartily. The Diocesan Synod assembled to greet him,

and presented an address; and there were daily services and meetings,

when great interest was excited, and tangibly proved by the raising of

about £250. He was perfectly astonished at the beauty and fertility

of the place, and the exceeding luxuriance of the fruit. One bunch

of grapes had been known to weigh fourteen pounds. As to the style of

living with all ordinary English comforts and attendance, he says:--'I

feel almost like a fish out of water, and yet I can't help enjoying it.

One very easily resumes old luxurious habits, and yet the thought of

my dear boys, sick as I fear some must be, helps to keep me in a sober

state of mind.'

On St. Matthew's Day he assisted at an Ordination: and on the 27th

returned to Melbourne for three weeks, and thence to Sydney. His time

was so taken up that his letters are far more scanty and hurried than

usual.

'I have been running no little risk of being spoilt, and I don't say

that I have come off uninjured. In Melbourne I was told by the Dean (the

Bishop is in England) and by Judge Pohlman (an excellent good man)

that they remembered no occasion during the twenty-two years of sojourn

(before Melbourne was more than a village) when so much interest had

been shown in Christian work, especially Mission work. This is a thing

to be very thankful for. I felt it my duty to speak strongly to them on

their own duties, first to Aborigines, secondly to Chinese (of whom some

40,000 live in Victoria), thirdly to Melanesians. I did not aim only at

getting money for Melanesia; I took much higher ground than that. But

the absence of the ordinary nonsense about startling conversions, rapid

results, &c., and the matter-of-fact unsentimental way of stating the

facts of heathenism, and the way to act upon it, did, no doubt, produce

a very remarkable effect.

'I need not tell you that I did pray for strength to make good use

of such unexpected and very unusual opportunities. Crowded meetings,

nothing before like it in Melbourne or the provinces. I did not feel

nervous, much to my surprise; I really wonder at it, I had dreaded it

much.

'It was a sight to see St. George's Hall crowded, children sitting on

the floor, platform, anywhere, and very many adults (about 500) besides.

Now you know my old vanity. Thank God, I don't think it followed me very

much here. There was a strong sense of a grand opportunity, and the need

of grace to use it.'

The enthusiasm at Victoria resulted in 350 pounds, and pledges of future

assistance; and at Sydney there was the like grand meeting, the like

address, and hearty response; and the Churches of Australia pledged

themselves to bear the annual expenses of the voyages of the 'Southern

Cross.' A number of young clerks and officials, too, united in an

arrangement by which she could be insured, high as was the needful rate.

The preaching and speeches produced an immense feeling, and the after

review of the expedition is thus recorded:--

'As for my sermons in Australia, I found to my surprise that every

minute was so occupied that I could not make time to write; and as for

doing so in New Zealand before I started, why, I systematized and put

into the printer's hands, in about four months, grammars, &c., more or

less complete, of seventeen languages, working up eight or ten more in

MS.!

'I had to preach extempore for the most part: I did not at all like it,

but what could I do? Sermons and speeches followed like hail--at least

one, sometimes two on week-days, and three on Sundays. I preached on

such points as I had often talked out with the Primate and Sir William,

and illustrated principles by an occasional statement of facts drawn

from missionary experience.

'Now, old Fan, as you know, the misery of self-consciousness and conceit

clings to me. I can't, as dear old father could, tell you what actually

occurred without doing myself harm in the telling of it.

'It pleased God to make me able to say all through what I think it was

good for people to hear. All meetings and services (with a few, very few

exceptions, from heavy rains, &c.) were crowded. I could not in a few

minutes speak with any degree of completeness on subjects which for

years had occupied my thoughts: I was generally about an hour and

a half, occasionally longer--I tried to be shorter. But people were

attentive and interested all through. At Melbourne, it was said that

1,500 children (at a meeting for them) were present, and 500 adults,

including many of the most educated people. All, children included, were

as still as mice for an hour and a half, except occasional cheers.

'But generally there was little excitement. I did not, as you can

suppose, take the sensation line; spoke very rapidly, for I had no time

to spare--but clearly and quietly, sometimes gravely, sometimes with

exceeding earnestness, and exposed sophistries and fallacies and errors

about the incapacity of the black races, &c. There were times when I

lost all sense of nervousness and self, and only wished that 10,000

people had been present, for I felt that I was speaking out, face to

face, plain simple words of truth.

'The effect at the time was no doubt very remarkable. The Dean of

Melbourne, e.g., said publicly that no such earnestness in religious,

matters had ever been exhibited there. The plan of Mission work was

simple, practicable, commended itself to hard-headed men of business.

Many came to hear who had been disgusted with the usual sentimentalism

and twaddle, the absence of knowledge of human nature, the amount of

conventional prejudice, &c. They were induced to come by friends who

represented that this was something quite different, and these men

went away convinced in many cases, seconding resolutions and paying

subscriptions.

'I said what was true, that I was the mouthpiece of the Bishop of New

Zealand; that I could speak freely of the plan of the Mission, for it

was not my plan, &c. How I was carried through it all, I can't say. I

was unusually well, looked and felt bright, and really after a while

enjoyed it, though I was always glad when my share in the speechifying

was over. Yet I did feel it a blessing, and a privilege, to stand up

there and speak out; and I did speak out, and told them their plain

duties, not appealing to feelings, but aiming at convincing the

judgment. I told 1,500 people in church at Sydney, "I speak as to wise

men, judge ye what I say." Do you know, Fan, I almost feel that if I

live a few years I ought to write a book, unless I can get the Primate

to do it? So much that is self-evident to us, I now see to be quite

unknown to many good educated men. I don't mean a silly book, but a very

simple statement of general principles of Christian work, showing the

mode that must be adopted in dealing with men as partakers of a

common nature, coupled with the many modifications and adaptations to

circumstances which equally require special gifts of discernment and

wisdom from on high. Then occasional narratives, by way of illustration,

to clench the statement of principles, might be introduced; but I can't

write, what I might write if I chose, folios of mere events without

deducing from them some maxims for Christian practice.'

The impression produced was deep and lasting at all the Australian

capitals, including Brisbane.

A plan was even set on foot for transferring a part of the Melanesian

school to a little island not far from the coast of Queensland, in a

much warmer climate than Kohimarama, where it was thought Australian

natives might be gathered in.

Here is the description of the place, written a day or two after the

return to New Zealand:--

'St. Andrew's: April 27, 1864.

'My dear Cousin,--I returned on the 24th from Australia. I visited the

dioceses of Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane. Everywhere I met

with great encouragement; and indeed, I thank God that (as I had hoped)

the special work of the Mission became the means of exciting

unusual interest in the work of the Church generally. It was a great

opportunity, a great privilege in the crowded meetings to tell people

face to face their duties, to stand up as the apologist of the despised

Australian black, and the Chinese gold-digger, and the Melanesian

islander.

'All the Primate had taught me--what heathenism is, how to deal with

it, the simple truisms about the "common sin, common redemption," the

capacity latent in every man, because he is a man, and not a fallen

angel nor a brute beast, the many conventional errors on Mission

(rather) ministerial work--many, many things I spoke of very fully and

frequently. I felt it was a great responsibility. How strange that I

forgot all my nervous dread, and only wished there could be thousands

more present, for I knew that I was speaking words of truth, of hope,

and love; and God did mercifully bless much that He enabled, me to say,

and men's hearts were struck within them, though, indeed, I made no

effort to excite them.

'Much may result from it. We may have a branch school on the S.W.

of Curtis Island, on the east coast of Queensland, healthy, watered,

wooded, with anchorage, about 25° S. latitude, a fair wind to and from

some of the islands; to which place I could rapidly carry away sick

persons.

'There I could convey two hundred or more scholars, in the same time

required to bring sixty to New Zealand; there yams can be grown; there

it may be God's will that a work may be commenced at length among the

remnant that is left of the Australian blacks. The latter consideration

is very strongly urged upon me by the united voice of the Australian

Churches, by none more strongly than by the Bishop of Sydney. I dare to

hope that the communion of the Australian and New Zealand Churches will

be much strengthened by the Mission as a link. What blessings, what

mercies!

'This will not involve an abandonment of St Andrew's, but the work must

expand. I think Australia will supply near 1,000 pounds a year, perhaps

more before long.

'To teach me that all is in His hands, we have again had a visitation

from dysentery. It has been very prevalent everywhere, no medical men

remember such a season. We have lost from consumption two, and from

dysentery six this year; in fourteen months not less than fourteen: more

than in all the other years put together. Marvellous to relate, all our

old baptized and confirmed scholars are spared to us. Good-bye, and God

ever bless and keep you.

'Your affectionate cousin,

'J. C. PATTESON, Bishop.'

One of these deaths was that of Kareambat, the little New Caledonian

confided to the Bishop of New Zealand by poor Basset. He had been

christened on the previous Epiphany.

No doubt this grief on coming home increased the effect of this year of

trial. Indeed even on the voyage there had been this admission, 'Somehow

I don't feel right with all this holiday; I have worked really very

hard, but "change of work is the best holiday." I don't feel springy. I

am not so young as I was, that's the truth of it, and this life is not

likely to be a long one. Yet when used up for this work, absence of

continual anxiety and more opportunity of relaxation may carry a man on

without his being wholly useless!'

The Maori war was a constant grief and anxiety to all the friends on

shore, and there was thus evidently much less elasticity left to meet

the great shock that was preparing for the voyagers in the expedition of

1864. Mr. Codrington was not of the party, having been obliged to go to

England to decide whether it was possible to give himself wholly to the

Mission; and the staff therefore consisted of Mr. Pritt, Mr. Kerr, and

Mr. Palmer, with Mr. Joseph Atkin, whose journal his family have kindly

put at my disposal.

The endeavour was to start after the Ascension Day Communion, but things

were not forward enough. May was not, however, very far advanced before

the 'Southern Cross' was at sea.

On May 17, Norfolk Island was visited, and Edwin Nobbs and Fisher Young

had what proved to be their last sight, of their home and friends. The

plan was to go on to Nengone and Erromango, take up the stores sent to

the latter place from Sydney, drop the two clergymen at Mota, and after

a stay there, go to the New Hebrides, and then take up the party, and if

possible leave them to make experiment of Curtis Island, while going to

those Santa Cruz islands for which he always seems to have had such a

yearning.

'I feel as usual,' he finishes the letter sent from Norfolk Island,

'that no one can tell what may be the issue of such voyages. I pray and

trust that God will mercifully reveal to me "what I ought to do, and

give me grace and power to fulfil the same."

'I have now been for some time out of the way of this kind of work, but

I hope that all may be safely ordered for us. It is all in His hands;

and you all feel, as I try to do, that there should be no cause for

anxiety or trouble.

'Yet there are moments when one has such an overwhelming sense of one's

sins and negligences provoking God to chastise one. I know that His

merciful intention towards men must be accomplished, and on the whole

I rest thankfully in that, and feel that He will not suffer my utter

unworthiness to hinder His work of love and goodness.'

At Mota, Mr. Atkin's journal shows to what work a real helper needed to

be trained:--

'The Mission-house had lost its roof in a gale of wind. The epidemic

that was raging last year did not seem to have continued long after with

such violence; some more of the people were dead, but not very many.

We took off all the Mota boys, and things that were wanted in three

boat-loads, the last time leaving the Bishop. There was, fortunately,

very little surf, and we got nothing wet, but as the tide was high, we

had to carry the things over the coral reefs with the water a little

above our knees.

'About an hour later we dropped anchor at Vanua Lava. On Saturday

morning I went ashore with the boat, and got water for washing and sand

for scrubbing decks, and several tons of taro and yams discharged on

board the vessel. Then made another trip, left all the boys on shore

for a holiday, and took off twelve or fourteen cwt. of yams, taro, and

cocoa-nuts. After dinner and washing up, went to fetch boys back. Where

we bought the yams there was such a surf breaking that we could not haul

the boat on the beach, and we had to wade and carry them out. After we

got on board, we had a bathe. Two of the Solomon Islanders distinguished

themselves by jumping off the fore-yard, and diving under the ship.

Mr. Tilly and the mates had been stowing, and the rest of us had been

getting yams all day, and if our friends could have seen us then,

haggard-looking and dirty, singing choruses to nigger melodies, how

shocked they would have been!

'Next Thursday went across to Mota, took the Bishop on board, and sailed

south as fast as possible.

'Sunday morning we were at the entrance of the passage between Ambrym

and Mallicolo, without a breath of wind. We had service at 10 A.M.; and

in the afternoon, psalms and hymns and chants in the cabin, the Bishop

doing most of the singing.

'June 6th.--On Monday morning we landed at the old place at Tariko. We

began to buy some yams. The Bishop and William Pasvorang went ashore,

and the rest of us stayed in the boat, keeping her afloat and off

the reefs. Unfortunately the place where we landed was neutral ground

between two tribes, who both brought yams to the place to sell. One

party said another was getting too many hatchets, and two or three drew

off and began shooting at the others. One man stood behind the Bishop,

a few feet from him, and fired away in the crowd with a will. The

consternation and alarm of both parties were very ludicrous. Some of

each set were standing round the boat, armed with bows and arrows, but

they were so frightened that they never seemed to think of using them,

but ran off as hard as they could scamper to the shallow water, looking

over their shoulders to see if the enemies' arrows were after them. One

arrow was fired at the Bishop from the shore, and one hit the boat just

as we pushed off.

'The Bishop himself says of this fray:--"I was in the middle, one man

only remained by me, crouching under the lee of the branch of the tree,

and shooting away from thence within a yard of me. I did not like to

leave the steel-yard, and I had to detach it from the rope with which

it was tied to the tree, and the basket too was half full of yams and

heavy, so that it was some time before I got away, and walked down the

beach, and waded to the boat, shooting going on all round at the time;

no one shooting at me, yet as they shot on both sides of me at each

other, I was thankful to get well out of it. I thought of him who

preserves from 'the arrow that flieth by day,' as He has so mercifully

preserved so many of us from 'the sickness.'" Now don't go and let this

little affair be printed.'

At Parama there was a friendly landing. At Sopevi Mr. Atkin says: 'We

could not find the landing place where the Bishop two years ago found

several people. We saw three or four on the shore. They were just the

same colour as the dust from the volcano. What a wretched state they

must be in! If they go to the neighbouring-isles they will be killed as

enemies, and if they stay at home they are constantly suffocated by

the ashes, which seemed to have fallen lately to the depth of more than

afoot.'

At Mallicolo a landing place was found, and an acquaintance begun

by means of gifts of calico. At Leper's Island St. Barnabas Day was

celebrated by bringing off two boys, but here again was peril. The

Bishop writes:--

'The people, though constantly fighting, and cannibals and the rest of

it, are to me very attractive, light-coloured, and some very handsome.

As I sat on the beach with a crowd about me, most of them suddenly

jumped up and ran off. Turning my head I saw a man (from the boat they

saw two men) a few yards from me, corning to me with club uplifted. I

remained sitting, and held out a few fish-hooks to him, but one or two

men jumped up and seizing him by the waist forced him off. After a few

minutes (lest they should think I was suspicious of them), I went back

to the boat. I found out from the two young men who went away with

me from another place, just what I expected to hear, viz. that a poor

fellow called Moliteum was shot dead two months ago by a trader for

stealing a bit of calico. The wonder was, not that they wanted to avenge

the death of their kinsman, but that the others should have prevented

it. How could they possibly know that I was not one of the wicked

set? Yet they did discriminate; and here again, always by the merciful

Providence of God, the plan of going among the people unarmed and

unsuspiciously has been seen to disarm their mistrust and to make them

regard me as a friend.'

Curtis Island was inspected, but there was no possibility of leaving a

party to make experiment on it; and then the 'Southern Cross' sailed for

the Santa Cruz cluster, that group whose Spanish name was so remarkable

a foreboding of what they were destined to become to that small party

of Christian explorers. Young Atkin made no entry in his diary of those

days, and could never bear to speak of them; and yet, from that time

forward, his mind was fully made up to cast in his lot with the Mission.

It was on August 15 that the first disaster at these islands took

place. Not till the 27th could the Bishop--on his sister Fanny's

birthday--begin a letter to her, cheering himself most touchingly with

the thought of the peace at home, and then he broke off half way, and

could not continue for some days:--

'My dearest Fan,--You remember the old happy anniversaries of your

birthday--the Feniton party--the assembly of relations--the regular

year's festivity.

'No doubt this anniversary brings as much true happiness, the assurance

of a more abiding joy, the consciousness of deeper and truer sympathy.

You are, I hope, to pass the day cheerfully and brightly with perhaps

---- and ---- about you.... Anyhow, I shall think of you as possibly all

together, the remnant of the old family gathering, on a calm autumn day,

with lovely South Devon scenery around you.

'The day comes to me in the midst of one of the deepest sorrows I have

ever known--perhaps I have never felt such sorrow...perhaps I have

never been so mercifully supported under it. It is a good and profitable

sorrow I trust for me: it has made so much in me reveal itself as

hollow, worldly, selfish, vainglorious. It has, I hope, helped to

strip away the veil, and may be by God's blessing the beginning of more

earnest life-long repentance and preparation for death.

'On August 15 I was at Santa Cruz. You know that I had a very remarkable

day there three years ago. I felt very anxious to renew acquaintance

with the people, who are very numerous and strong.

'I went off in the boat with Atkin (twenty), Pearce (twenty-three or

twenty-four years old), Edwin Nobbs, Fisher Young, and Hunt Christian,

the last three Norfolk Islanders. Atkin, Edwin and Fisher have been with

me for two or three years--all young fellows of great promise, Fisher

perhaps the dearest of all to me, about eighteen, and oh! so good, so

thoroughly truthful, conscientious, and unselfish!

'I landed at two places among many people, and after a while came back

as usual to the boat. All seemed pleasant and hopeful. At the third

place I landed amidst a great crowd, waded over the broad reef

(partially uncovered at low water), went into a house, sat down for some

time, then returned among a great crowd to the boat and got into it. I

had some difficulty in detaching the hands of some men swimming in the

water.

'Well, when the boat was about fifteen yards from the reef, on

which crowds were standing, they began (why I know not) to shoot at

us.--(Another letter adds) 300 or 400 people on the reef, and five or

six canoes being round us, they began to shoot at us.--I had not shipped

the rudder, so I held it up, hoping it might shield off any arrows that

came straight, the boat being end on, and the stern, having been backed

into the reef, was nearest to them.

'When I looked round after a minute, providentially indeed, for the

boat was being pulled right into a small bay on the reef, and would have

grounded, I saw Pearce lying between the thwarts, with the long shaft

of an arrow in his chest, Edwin Nobbs with an arrow as it seemed in his

left eye, many arrows flying close to us from many quarters. Suddenly

Fisher Young, pulling the stroke oar, gave a faint scream; he was shot

through the left wrist. Not a word was spoken, only my "Pull! port

oars, pull on steadily." Once dear Edwin, with the fragment of the

arrow sticking in his cheek, and the blood streaming down, called out,

thinking even then more of me than of himself, "Look out, sir! close to

you!" But indeed, on all sides they were close to us!

'How we any of us escaped I can't tell; Fisher and Edward pulled on,

Atkin had taken Pearce's oar, Hunt pulled the fourth oar. By God's mercy

no one else was hit, but the canoes chased us to the schooner. In about

twenty minutes we were on board, the people in the canoes round the

vessel seeing the wounded paddled off as hard as they could, expecting

of course that we should take vengeance on them. But I don't at all

think that they were cognisant of the attack on shore.'

Several letters were written about this adventure; but I have thought

it better to put them together, every word being Bishop Patteson's own,

because such a scene is better realised thus than by reading several

descriptions for the most part identical. What a scene it is! The

palm-clad island, the reef and sea full of the blacks, the storm of long

arrows through the air, the four youths pulling bravely and steadily,

and their Bishop standing over them, trying to ward off the blows with

the rudder, and gazing with the deep eyes and steadfast smile that had

caused many a weapon to fall harmless!

Pearce, it should be observed, was a volunteer for the Mission then on a

trial-trip.

There was an even more trying time to come on board. The Bishop

continues:--

'I drew out the arrow from Pearce's chest: a slanting wound not going

in very deep, running under the skin, yet of apparently almost fatal

character to an ignorant person like myself; Five inches were actually

inside him. The arrow struck him almost in the centre of the chest and

in the direction of the right breast. There was no effusion of blood,

he breathed with great difficulty, groaning and making a kind of hollow

sound, was perfectly composed, gave me directions and messages in case

of his death. I put on a poultice and bandage, and leaving him in charge

of some one, went to Fisher. The wrist was shot through, but the upper

part of the arrow broken off and deep down; bleeding profuse, of which

I was glad; I cut deeply, though fearing much to cut an artery, but I

could not extract the wooden arrow-head. At length getting a firm hold

of the projecting point of the arrow on the lower side of his wrist,

I pulled it through: it came out clean. The pain was very great, he

trembled and shivered: we gave him brandy, and he recovered. I poulticed

the wound and went to Edwin. Atkin had got out the splinter from his

wound; the arrow went in near the eye and came out by the cheek-bone:

it was well syringed, and the flow of blood had been copious from the

first. The arrows were not bone-headed, and not poisoned, but I well

knew that lock-jaw was to be dreaded. Edwin's was not much more than

a flesh wound. Fisher's being in the wrist, frightened me more: their

patience and quiet composure and calm resignation were indeed a strength

and comfort to us all.

'This was on Monday, August 15. All seemed doing well for a day or two,

I kept on poultices, gave light nourishing food, &c. But on Saturday

morning Fisher said to me, "I can't make out what makes my jaws feel so

stiff."

'Then my heart sank down within me, and I prayed earnestly, earnestly

to God. I talked to the dear dear lad of his danger, night and day we

prayed and read. A dear guileless spirit indeed. I never saw in so young

a person such a thorough conscientiousness as for two years I witnessed

in his daily life, and I had long not only loved but respected him.

'We had calm weather and could not get on. By Saturday the jaws were

tight-locked. Then more intense grew the pain, the agony, the whole body

rigid like a bar of iron! Oh! how I blessed God who carried me through

that day and night. How good he was in his very agonies, in his fearful

spasms, thanking God, praying, pressing my hand when I prayed and

comforted him with holy words of Scripture. None but a well-disciplined,

humble, simple Christian could so have borne his sufferings: the habit

of obedience and faith and patience; the childlike unhesitating trust in

God's love and fatherly care, supported him now. He never for a moment

lost his hold upon God. What a lesson it was! it calmed us all. It

almost awed me to see in so young a lad so great an instance of God's

infinite power, so great a work of good perfected in one young enough to

have been confirmed by me.

'At 1 A.M. (Monday) I moved from his side to my couch, only three yards

off. Of course we were all (I need not say) in the after cabin. He said

faintly, "Kiss me. I am very glad that I was doing my duty. Tell my

father that I was in the path of duty, and he will be so glad. Poor

Santa Cruz people!" Ah! my dear boy, you will do more for their

conversion by your death than ever we shall by our lives. And as I lay

down almost convulsed with sobs, though not audible, he said (so Mr.

Tilly afterwards told me), "Poor Bishop!" How full his heart was of love

and peace, and thoughts of heaven. "Oh! what love," he said. The last

night when I left him for an hour or two at 1 A.M. only to lie down in

my clothes by his side, he said faintly (his body being then rigid as

a bar of iron), "Kiss me, Bishop." At 4 A.M. he started as if from a

trance; he had been wandering a good deal, but all his words even

then were of things pure and holy. His eyes met mine, and I saw the

consciousness gradually coming back into them. "They never stop singing

there, sir, do they?"--for his thoughts were with the angels in heaven.

Then, after a short time, the last terrible struggle, and then he fell

asleep. And remember, all this in the midst of that most agonizing, it

may be, of all forms of death. At 4 A.M. he was hardly conscious, not

fully conscious: there were same fearful spasms: we fanned him and

bathed his head and occasionally got a drop or two of weak brandy or

wine and water down. Then came the last struggle. Oh! how I thanked God

when his head at length fell back, or rather his whole body, for it was

without joint, on my arm: long drawn sighs with still sadder contraction

of feature succeeded, and while I said the Commendatory Prayer, he

passed away.

'The same day we anchored in Port Patteson, and buried him in a quiet

spot near the place where the Primate and I first landed years ago.

It seems a consecration of the place that the body of that dear child

should be resting there.

'Some six years ago, when Mrs. Selwyn stopped at Norfolk Island she

singled him out as the boy of special promise. For two or three years he

had been with me, and my affection flowed out naturally to him. God had

tried him by the two sicknesses at Kohimarama and at Mota, and by his

whole family returning to Pitcairn. I saw that he had left all for this

work. He had become most useful, and oh! how we shall miss him!

'But about five days after this (August 22) Edwin's jaws began to

stiffen. For nine or ten days there was suspense, so hard to bear. Some

symptoms were not so bad, it did not assume so acute a form. I thought

he ought to be carried through it. He was older, about twenty-one, six

feet high, a strong handsome young man, the pride of Norfolk Island,

the destined helper and successor (had God so willed) of his father, the

present Clergyman. The same faith, the same patience, the same endurance

of suffering.

'On Friday, September 2, I administered the Holy Communion to him

and Pearce. He could scarce swallow the tiniest crumb. He was often

delirious, yet not one word but spoke of things holy and pure, almost

continually in prayer. He was in the place where Fisher had died, the

best part of the cabin for an invalid. Sunday came: he could take no

nourishment, stomach and back in much pain: a succession of violent

spasms at about 10.30 A.M., but his body never became quite rigid. The

death struggle at 1 A.M. September 5, was very terrible. Three of us

could scarcely hold him. Then he sank back on my arm, and his spirit

passed away as I commended his soul to God. Then all motionless. After

some minutes, I said the first prayer in the Burial Service, then

performed the last offices, then had a solemn talk with Pearce, and

knelt down, I know not how long.

'We buried him at sea. All this time we were making very slow progress;

indeed the voyage has been very remarkable in all respects. Pearce

seems to be doing very well, so that I am very hopeful about him. The

temperature now is only 72 degrees, and I imagine that his constitution

is less liable to that particular disease. Yet punctured wounds are

always dangerous on this account.

'Patience and trust in God, the same belief in His goodness and love,

that He orders all things for our good, that this is but a proof of His

merciful dealing with us: such comforts God has graciously not withheld.

I never felt so utterly broken down, when I thought, and think, of the

earthly side of it all; never perhaps so much realised the comfort and

power of His Presence, when I have had grace to dwell upon the heavenly

and abiding side of it. I do with my better part heartily and humbly

thank Him, that He has so early taken these dear ones by a straight

and short path to their everlasting home. I think of them with blessed

saints, our own dear ones, in Paradise, and in the midst of my tears I

bless and praise God.

'But, dear Fan, Fisher most of all supplied to me the absence of earthly

relations and friends. He was my boy: I loved him as I think I never

loved any one else. I don't mean more than you all, but in a different

way: not as one loves another of equal age, but as a parent loves a

child.

'I can hardly think of my little room at Kohimarama without him. I

long for the sight of his dear face, the sound of his voice. It was

my delight to teach him, and he was clever and so thoughtful and

industrious. I know it is good that my affections should be weaned from

all things earthly. I try to be thankful, I think I am thankful really;

time too will do much, God's grace much more. I only wonder how I have

borne it all. "In the multitude of the sorrows that I had in my heart,

Thy comforts have refreshed my soul." Mr. Tilly has been and is full of

sympathy, and is indeed a great aid. He too has a heavy loss in these

two dear ones. And now I must land at Norfolk Island in the face of the

population crowding the little pier. Mr. Nobbs will be there, and the

brothers and sisters of Edwin, and the uncles and aunts of Fisher.

'Yet God will comfort them; they have been called to the high privilege

of being counted worthy to suffer for their Savior's sake. However much

I may reproach myself with want of caution and of prayer for guidance

(and this is a bitter thought), they were in the simple discharge of

their duty. Their intention and wish were to aid in bringing to those

poor people the Gospel of Christ. It has pleased God that in the

execution of this great purpose they should have met with their deaths.

Surely there is matter for comfort here!

'I can't write all this over again.... I have written at some length to

Jem also; put the two letters together, and you will be able to realise

it somewhat.

'This is a joint letter to you and Joan. It was begun on your birthday,

and it has been written with a heavy, dull weight of sorrow on my heart,

yet not unrelieved by the blessed consciousness of being drawn, as I

humbly trust, nearer to our most merciful Father in heaven, if only by

the very impossibility of finding help elsewhere. It has not been a time

without its own peculiar happiness. How much of the Bible seemed endued

with new powers of comfort.... How true it is, that they who seek,

find. "I sought the Lord, and He heard me." The closing chapters of the

Gospels, 2 Corinthians, and how many other parts of the New Testament

were blessings indeed! Jeremy Taylor's "Life of Christ," and "Holy

Living and Dying," Thomas a Kempis, most of all of course the

Prayer-book, and such solemn holy memories of our dear parents and

uncles, such blessed hopes of reunion, death brought so near, the

longing (if only not unprepared) for the life to come: I could not be

unhappy. Yet I could not sustain such a frame of mind long; and then

when I sank to the level of earthly thoughts, then came the weary

heartache, and the daily routine of work was so distasteful, and I felt

sorely tempted to indulge the "luxury of grief." But, thanks be to God,

it is not altogether an unhealthy sorrow, and I can rest in the full

assurance that all this is working out God's purposes of love and mercy

to us all--Melanesians, Pitcairners, and all; and that I needed the

discipline I know full well....

'Your loving Brother,

'J. C. P.'

It was not possible to touch at Norfolk Island, each attempt was baffled

by the winds; and on September 16 the 'Southern Cross' anchored at

Kohimarama, and a sad little note was sent up to the Primate with the

announcement of the deaths and losses.

In spite of the comfort which, as this note said, Patteson felt 'in the

innocence of their lives, and the constancy of their faith' unto the

death, the fate of these two youths, coming at the close of a year

of unusual trial, which, as he had already said, had diminished his

elasticity, had a lasting effect. It seemed to take away his youthful

buoyancy, and marked lines of care on his face that never were effaced.

The first letter after his return begins by showing how full his heart

was of these his children:--

'Kohimarama: Sunday, September 18, 1864.

'My dearest Fan,--I must try to write without again making my whole

letter full of dear Edwin and Fisher. That my heart is full of them you

can well believe.

'These last five weeks have taught me that my reading of the Bible was

perhaps more intellectual and perhaps more theological than devotional,

to a dangerous extent probably; anyhow I craved for it as a revelation

not only of truth, but of comfort and support in heavy sorrow. It may be

that when the sorrow does not press so heavily, the Bible cannot speak

so wonderfully in that particular way of which I am writing, and it is

right to read it theologically also.

'But yet it should always be read with a view to some practical result;

and so often there is not a special, though many general points which

may make our reading at once practical. Then comes the real trial, and

then comes the wondrous power of God's Word to help and strengthen.

'Now it helps me to know where I am, to learn how others manage to see

where they are.

'All that you say about self-consciousness, &c., can't I understand it!

Ah! when I saw the guileless pure spirit of those two dear fellows ever

brightening more and more for now two years. I had respected them as

much as I loved them. I used to think, "Yes, we must become such as

they; we too must seek and pray for the mind of a little child."

'And surely the contemplation of God is the best cure. How admirable

Jeremy Taylor is on those points! Oh that he had not overlaid it all

with such superabundant ornamentation of style and rhetoric. But it is

the manner of the age. Many persons I suppose get over it, perhaps

like it; but I long for the same thoughts, the same tenderness and

truthfulness, and faithful searching words with a clear, simple, not

unimaginative diction. Yet his book is a great heritage.

'Newman has a sermon on Contemplation or Meditation, I forget which; and

my copy is on board. But I do hope that by praying for humility, with

contemplation of God's majesty and love and our Savior's humility and

meekness, some improvement may be mercifully vouchsafed to me.

'To dwell on His humiliation, His patience, that He should seek for

heavenly aids, accept the ministration of an angel strengthening Him,

how full of mystery and awe! and yet written for us! And yet we are

proud and self-justified and vainglorious!

'The Archbishop of York, in "Aids to Faith," on the Death of Christ, has

some most solemn and deep remarks on the Lord's Agony. I don't know that

it could ever be quite consistent with reverence to speak on what is

there suggested. Yet if I could hear Mr. Keble and Dr. Pusey (say)

prayerfully talking together on that great mystery, I should feel that

it might be very profitable. But he must be a very humble man who should

dare to speak on it. Yet read it, Fan, it cannot harm you; it is very

awful, it is fully meant that He was sinless, without spot, undefiled

through all. It makes the mystery of sin, and of what it cost to redeem

our souls, more awful than ever.

'And then, surely to the contemplation of God and the necessary contrast

of our own weakness and misery, we add the thought of our approaching

death, we anticipate the hours, the days, it may be the weeks and

months, even the years of weariness, pain, sleeplessness, thirst,

distaste for food, murmuring thoughts, evil spirits haunting us,

impatient longings after rest for which we are not yet prepared, the

thousand trials, discomforts, sadnesses of sickness--yes, it must come

in some shape; and is it to come as a friend or an enemy to snatch us

from what we love and enjoy, or to open the gates of Paradise?

'I humbly thank God that, while I dare not be sure that I am not

mistaken, and suppose that if ready to go I should be taken, the thought

of death at a distance is the thought of rest and peace, of more blessed

communion with God's saints, holy angels and the Lord. Yet I dare not

feel that if death was close at hand, it might not be far otherwise.

How often the "Christian Year," and all true divinity helps up here! Why

indulge in such speculations? Seek to prepare for death by dying daily.

Oh! that blessed text: Be not distracted, worry not yourselves about the

morrow, for the morrow shall, &c. How it does carry one through the day!

Bear everything as sent from God for your good, by way of chastisement

or of proving you. Pusey's sermon on Patience, Newman's on a Particular

Providence, guarding so wisely against abuse as against neglect of the

doctrine. How much to comfort and guide one! and then, most of all, the

continual use of the Prayer-book. Do you often use the Prayer at the

end of the Evening Service for Charles the Martyr? Leave out from "great

deep...teach us to number"--and substitute "pride" for "splendour."

Leave out "according to... blessed martyr." In the Primate's case, it is

a prayer full of meaning, and it may have a meaning for us all.

'Once more, the love of approbation is right and good, but then it

must be the love of the approbation of God and of good men. Here, as

everywhere, we abuse His gift; and it is a false teaching which bids

us suppress the human instinct which God implanted in us, but a true

leading, which bids us direct and use it to its appointed and legitimate

use. On this general subject, read if you have not read them, and you

can't read them too often, Butler's Sermons; you know, the great

Butler. I think you will easily get an analysis of them, such as Mill's

"Analysis of Pearson on the Creed," which will help you, if you want it.

Analyse them for yourself, if you like, and send me out your analysis

to look at. There is any amount of fundamental teaching there and the

imprimatur of thousands of good men to assure us of it.

'I think, as I have written to Joan, that if I were with you, after the

first few days my chiefest delight would be in reading and talking over

our reading of good books. Edwin and Fisher were beginning to

understand thoughtful books; and how I did delight in reading with them,

interspersing a little Pitcairn remark here and there! Ah! never more!

never more! But they don't want books now. All is clear now: they live

where there is no night, in the Glory of God and of the Lamb, resting

in Paradise, anticipating the full consummation of the Life of the

Resurrection. Thanks be to God, and it may not be long--but I must not

indulge such thoughts.

'I feel better, but at times this sad affliction weighs me down much,

and business of all kinds seems almost to multiply. Yet there are many

many comforts, and kindest sympathy.

'Your loving Brother,

'J. C. P.'

Just at this time heavy sorrow fell upon Bishop Hobhouse of Nelson; and

the little council of friends at Auckland decided that Bishop Patteson

should go at once to do his best to assist and comfort him, and bring

him back to Auckland. There was a quiet time of wholesome rest at

Nelson; and the effects appeared in numerous letters, and in the

thinking out of many matters on paper to his sisters.

'Oh! how I think with such ever-increasing love of dear Fisher and

Edwin! How I praised God for them on All Saints' Day. But I don't expect

to recover spring and elasticity yet awhile. I don't think I shall ever

feel so young again. Really it is curious that the number of white hairs

is notably increased in these few weeks (though it is silly to talk

about it. Don't mention it!), and I feel very tired and indolent. No

wonder I seem to "go softly." But I am unusually happy down in the

depths, only the surface troubled. I hope that it is not fancy only that

makes the shortness and uncertainty of this life a ground of comfort

and joy. Perhaps it is, indeed I think it is, very much a mere cowardly

indolent shirking of work.

'Did I say I thought I might some day write a book? It will be some day

indeed. It seems funny enough to think of such a thing. The fact is, it

is much easier to me to speak than to write. I think I could learn

with a good deal of leisure and trouble to write intelligibly, but not

without it. I am so diffusive and wanting in close condensed habits

of thought. How often I go off in a multitude of words, and really say

nothing worthy to be remembered.

'How I should enjoy, indeed, a day or two at Hursley with Mr. and Mrs.

Keble. A line from him now and then, if he can find time, would be a

great delight to me; but I know that he thinks and prays, and that is

indeed a great happiness.

'Oh, the blessing of such thoughts as All Saints' Day brings!--and now

more dear than ever, every day brings!--"Patriarchs, prophets, apostles,

martyrs, and every spirit made perfect in the faith of Christ," as an

old Liturgy says. And the Collects in the Burial Service! How full, how

simple and soothing, how full of calm, holy, tender, blessed hopes and

anticipations!

'So you think the large Adelaide photograph very sad. I really don't

remember it; I fancy I thought it a very fair likeness. But you know

that I have a heavy lumpy dull look, except when talking--indeed, then

too for aught I know--and this may be mistaken for a sad look when it

is only a dull stupid one. You can't get a nice picture out of an ugly

face, so it's no use trying, but you are not looking for that kind of

thing. You want to see how far the face is any index of the character

and life and work.

I don't think it odd that I should look careworn. I have enough to make

me so! And yet if I were with you now, brightened up by being with you,

you would say, "How well he looks!" And you would think I had any amount

of work in me, as you saw me riding or walking or holding services. And

then I had to a very considerable extent got over that silly shyness,

which was a great trial and drawback to me of old, and sadly prevented

me from enjoying the society of people (at Oxford especially) which

would have done me much good. But without all these bodily defects, I

should have been even more vain, and so I can see the blessing and

mercy now, though how many times I have indulged murmuring rebellious

thoughts!

'Perhaps I shall live ten or twenty years, and look back and say, "I

recollect how in '64 I really almost thought I should not last long."

But don't fancy that I am morbidly cherishing such fancies. Only I like

you all to know me as I am changing in feeling from time to time. There

is quite enough to account for it all.'

A few days later he returned to Auckland, and thence wrote to me a

letter on the pros and cons of a move from New Zealand. The sight of

ships and the town he had ceased to think of great importance, and older

scholars had ceased to care for it, and there was much at that time to

recommend Curtis Island to his mind. The want of bread-fruit was the

chief disadvantage he then saw in it, but he still looked to keeping up

Kohimarama for a good many years to come. I cannot describe how tender

and considerate he was of feelings he thought I might possibly have of

disappointment that St. Andrew's was not a successful experiment as far

as health was concerned, evidently fearing that I had set my hopes on

that individual venture, and that my feelings might be hurt if it had to

be deserted.

The next letters are a good deal occupied with the troubles incident

to the judgment upon 'Essays and Reviews.' He took a view, as has been

seen, such as might be expected of the delicate refining metaphysical

mind, thinking out points for itself, and weighing the possible value

of every word, and differed from those who were in the midst of the

contest, and felt some form of resistance and protest needful. He

was strongly averse to agitation on the subject, and at the same time

grieved to find himself for the first time, to his own knowledge, not

accepting the policy of those whom he so much respected; though the

only difference in his mind from theirs was as to the manner of the

maintenance of the truth, and the immediate danger of error going

uncondemned--a point on which his remote life perhaps hardly enabled him

to judge.

All these long letters and more, which were either in the same tone,

or too domestic to be published, prove the leisure caused by having an

unusually small collection of pupils, and happily all in fair health;

but with Christmas came a new idea, or rather an old one renewed.

Instead of only going to Norfolk Island, on sufferance from the Pitcairn

Committee, and by commission from the Bishop of Tasmania, a regular

request was made, by Sir John Young, the Governor of Australia, that

the Pitcairners might be taken under his supervision, so that, as far

as Government was concerned, the opposition was withdrawn which had

hindered his original establishment there, though still Curtis Island

remained in the ascendency in the schemes of this summer. The ensuing

is a reply to Sir John Coleridge's letter, written after hearing of the

attack at Santa Cruz:--

'Kohimarama: March 3, 1865.

'My dearest Uncle,--Many many thanks for your letter, so full of comfort

and advice. I need not tell you that the last budget of letters revived

again most vividly not only the actual scene at Santa Cruz, but all the

searchings of heart that followed it. I believe that we are all agreed

on the main point. Enough ground has been opened for the present.

Codrington was right in saying that the object of late has been to fill

up gaps. But some of the most hazardous places to visit lie nearest

to the south, e.g. some of the New Hebrides, &c., south of the Banks

Islands. My notion is, that I ought to be content even to pass by

(alas!) some places where I had some hold when I had reason to feel

great distrust of the generally kind intentions of the people (that is

a dark sentence, but you know my meaning). In short, there are very few

places where I can feel, humanly speaking, secure against this kind of

thing. It is always in the power of even one mischievous fellow to do

mischief. And if the feeling of the majority might be in my favour, yet

there being no way of expressing public opinion, no one cares to take

an active part in preventing mischief. It is not worth his while to get

into a squabble and risk his own life.

'But I shall be (D.V.) very cautious. I dare say I was becoming

presumptuous: one among the many faults that are so discernible. It is,

dear Uncle, hard to see a wild heathen party on the beach, and not try

to get at them. It seems so sad to leave them. But I know that I ought

to be prudent, even for my own sake (for I quite suppose that, humanly

speaking, my life is of consequence for a few years more), and I

can hardly bear the thought of bringing the boat's crew, dear good

volunteers, into danger. Young Atkin, the only son of my neighbour,

behaved admirably at Santa Cruz, and is very staunch. But his parents

have but him and one daughter, and I am bound to be careful indeed.

But don't think me careless, if we get into another scrape. There is

scarcely one island where I can fully depend upon immunity from all

risk. There was no need to talk so much about it all before.

'As to Curtis Island, I need not say that I have no wish indeed to take

Australian work in hand. I made it most clear, as I thought, that

the object of a site on Curtis Island was the Melanesian and not the

Australian Mission. I offered only to incorporate Australian blacks, if

proper specimens could be obtained, into our school, regarding in

fact East Australia as another Melanesian island. This would only have

involved the learning a language or two, and might have been of some

use. I did not make any pledge. But I confess that I think some such

plan as this one only feasible one. I don't see that the attempts at

mission work are made on the most hopeful plan. But I have written to

the Brisbane authorities, urging them to appropriate large reserves for

the natives. I tell them that it is useless for them to give me a few

acres and think they are doing a mission work, if they civilize the

native races off their own lands. In short, I almost despair of doing

anything for blacks living on the same land with whites. Even here in

New Zealand, the distrust now shown to us all, to our religion even,

is the result in very great measure of the insolent, covetous behaviour

exhibited by the great majority of the white people to the Maori. Who

stops in Australia to think whether the land which he wants for his

sheep is the hunting ground of native people or not?

'I confess that while I can't bear to despair and leave these poor souls

uncared for, I can't propose any scheme but one, and who will work that?

If, indeed, one or two men could be found to go and live with a tribe,

moving as they move and really identifying himself with their interests!

But where are such men, and where is a tribe not already exasperated by

injurious treatment?

'It was the statement for our mode of action which commended itself so

much to people in Australia, that they urged me to try and do something.

But I answered as I have now written; and when at one meeting in Sydney

I was asked whether I would take Australians into my school, I said,

"Yes, if I can get the genuine wild man, uncontaminated by contact with

the white man." I can't, in justice to our Melanesian scholars, take the

poor wretched black whose intercourse with white men has rendered him a

far more hopeless subject to deal with than the downright ferocious yet

not ungenerous savage. "If," was the answer, "you can get them, I will

pay for them."

'Indeed, dear Uncle, I don't want more but less work on my hands: yet

as I look around, I see (as far as I can judge) so great a want of that

prudence and knowledge and calm foresight that the Primate has shown

so remarkably, that I declare I do think his plan is almost the only

reasonable one for dealing with black races. Alas! you can't put hearty

love for strangers into men's hearts by paying them salaries.

'I think that in two or three years I may, if I live, have some

preparatory branch school at Curtis Island. If it should clearly

succeed, then I think in time the migration from New Zealand might

take place. I do not think two schools in two different countries would

answer. We want the old scholars to help us in working the school; we

can't do without them, and the old scholars can't be trained without

the younger ones, the material on whom their teaching, and training

faculties must be exercised.

'You all know how deeply I feel about dear Mr. Keble!

'Thank God, we have as yet no dysentery. I baptized last week a lad

dying of consumption. There are many blessings, as all clergymen know,

in having death scenes so constantly about one; and the having to do

everything for these dear fellows makes one love them so....

'Your affectionate and dutiful Nephew,

'J. C. P.'

The above sentence refers to the paralytic attack Mr. Keble had on

November 30, 1864. Nevertheless, almost at that very time, he was

writing thus:--

'Penzance: March 7, 1865.

'My dear and more than dear Bishop,--It would be vain for me to write to

you, if I pretended to do more than just express my heart's wish that

I could say something of the doings and sufferings which now for years

past we of course associate with your name, so as to encourage and

support you in your present manifold distress. But (especially for

reasons known only to myself) I must leave that altogether to Him who

helps His own to do and suffer. One thing only I would say, that to us

at our great distance it looks as if the sanguis martyrum were being to

you as the semen Ecclesiae, and you know how such things were hailed in

the time of St. Cyprian. May it please God before long to give you some

visible earnest of this sure blessing! but I suppose that if it tarry,

it may be the greater when it comes. Our troubles as a Church, though of

a different kind, are not small. The great point with me is, lest, if in

our anxiety to keep things together, we should be sinfully conniving

at what is done against the faith, and so bringing a judgment upon

ourselves. I do not for a moment think that by anything which has yet

been done or permitted our being as a Church is compromised (though

things look alarmingly as if it might be before long), but I fear

that her well-being is more and more being damaged by our entire and

conscious surrender of the disciplinary part of our trust, and that if

we are apathetic in such things we may forfeit our charter. There is no

doubt, I fear, that personal unbelief is spreading; but I trust that

a deeper faith is spreading also; it is (at Oxford, e.g.) Pusey and

Moberly, &c., against the Rationalists and other tempters. As to the

question of the Bible being (not only containing) the Word, I had no

scruples in signing that Declaration. One thought which helped me was,

the use made in the New Testament of the Old, which is such as to show

that we are not competent judges as to what passages convey deep moral

or religious meanings or no. Another, that in every instance where

one had the means of ascertaining, so far as I have known, the Bible

difficulty has come right: therefore, it is reasonable to conclude that

so it would be in all the rest, if we knew the right reading and the

right interpretation of the words. And as to what are called the Divine

and Human Elements, I have seemed to help myself with the thought

that the Divine adoption (if so be) of the human words warrants their

truthfulness, as a man's signature makes a letter his own; but whether

this is relevant, I doubt. My wife and I are both on the sick list, and

I must now only add that we never forget you.

'Ever yours,

'J. K.

Nothing has hitherto been said of this term at St. Andrew's: so here is

an extract from a letter to one of the cousinhood, who had proposed

a plan which has since been carried out extensively and with good

effect:--

'The difficulty about scholars appropriated to certain places or

parishes is this: I cannot be sure of the same persons remaining with

me. Some sickness in an island, some panic, some death of a relative,

some war, or some inability on my part from bad weather or accident to

visit an island, may at any time lose me a scholar. Perhaps he may be

the very one that has been appropriated to some one, and what am I to

say then?

'This year we have but thirty-eight Melanesians, we ought to have sixty.

But after dear Edwin and Fisher's wounds, I could not delay, but hurried

southwards, passing by islands with old scholars ready to come away.

This was sad work, but what could I do?

'I will gladly assign, to the best of my power, scholars whom I think

likely to remain with me to various places or persons; but pray make

them understand that their scholar may not always be forthcoming.

Anyhow, their alms would go to the support of some Melanesian, who would

be their scholar as it were for the time being.

'You would perhaps feel interested in knowing that the Gospel of St.

Luke has been printed in the Mota language, to a great extent by our

scholars, and that George Sarawia is printing now the Acts, composing

it, and doing press-work and all. Young Wogale (about thirteen) prints

very fairly, and sent off 250 copies of a prayer, which the Bishop of

Nelson wanted for distribution, of which everything was done by him

entirely. They both began to learn about last November.

'When morning school is over at 10 A.M., all hands, "dons" and all,

are expected to give their time to the Mission till 12.45. Mr. Pritt

is general overlooker (which does not mean doing nothing himself) of

domestic work: kitchen, garden, farm, dairy, &c. You know that we have

no servants. Mr. Palmer prints and teaches printing. Atkin works at

whatever may be going on, and has a large share of work to get ready for

me, and to read with me: Greek Testament, 12 to 12.45, Greek and Latin

from 2 to 3. So all the lads are busy at out-door work from 10 to 12.45;

and I assure you, under Mr. Pritt's management, we begin to achieve

considerable results in our farm and garden work. We are already

economising our expenditure greatly by keeping our own cows, for which

we grow food (a good deal artificial), and baking our own bread. We sell

some of our butter, and have a grand supply of milk for our scholars,

perhaps the very best kind of food for them.

'If we can manage to carry on a winter's school here with some ten or

twelve of the lads left under Mr. Pritt's charge, while I go off with

the rest, I really think that the industrial department may become

something considerable. It is an essential part of the system, for we

must begin with teaching habits of order, punctuality, &c:, in respect

of those things with which they have already some acquaintance. No

Melanesian can understand why he is to sit spelling away at a black

board; and he is not like a child of four or five years old, he must

be taught through his power of reasoning, and perceiving the meaning

of things. Secondly, we can gradually invest the more advanced scholars

with responsible duties. There are the head cooks in the various weeks,

the heads of departments in garden work, &c., &c. As these lads and

men are being trained (we hope) to teach others, and as we want them to

teach industry, decency, cleanliness, punctuality, to be, and to teach

others to be honest, and careful, and thoughtful, so we find all these

lessons are learnt more in the industrial work than in the mere book

work, though that is not neglected. Indeed school, in the restricted

sense of the word, is going on for four or four and a half hours a day.

'The main difficulty remains, of retaining our hold upon boys. Oh that I

could live permanently in twenty islands at once! But I can't do so even

in one; and all the letter-writing and accounts, and, worst of all,

the necessity for being trustee for matters not a bit connected with

Melanesia, because there is no one else, interferes sadly with my

time. I think I could work away with the languages, &c., and really do

something with these fellows, but I never get a chance. I never have two

days together which I can spend exclusively at Melanesian work. And I

ought to have nothing whatever to distract me. Twenty languages calling

for arrangement and comparison causes confusion enough!'

These interruptions made the Kohimarama life trying. 'As for

correspondence,' says the birthday despatch to Fanny, 'why this mail

my letters to Victoria alone are twelve, let alone Sydney, Brisbane,

Adelaide, Tasmania, New Zealand, and England. Then three sermons a week,

occasional services, reading up for a most difficult session of General

Synod, with really innumerable interruptions from persons of all kinds.

Sometimes I do feel tempted to long for Curtis Island merely to get

away from New Zealand! I feel as if I should never do anything here.

Everything is in arrears. I turn out of a morning and really don't know

what to take up first. Then, just as I am in the middle of a letter (as

yesterday) down comes some donkey to take up a quarter of an hour (lucky

if not an hour) with idle nonsense; then in the afternoon an invasion

of visitors, which is worst of all. That fatal invention of "calling"!

However, I never call on anyone, and it is understood now, and people

don't expect it. I have not even been to Government House for more than

a year!

'There, a good explosion does one good! But why must idle people

interfere with busy men? I used to make it up by sitting up and getting

up very early indeed; but somehow I feel fit for nothing but sleeping

and eating now.'

After an absence of three weeks at the General Synod at Christchurch,

the Bishop took up such of his party as were to return, and sailed home,

leaving those whom he thought able to brave the winter with Mr. and Mrs.

Pritt, on one of the first days of June. The first visit was one to the

bereaved family at Norfolk Island, whence a brief note to his brother on

the 9th begins:--

'Nothing can be more comforting to me than the loving patient spirit

of these dear people. Poor Mr. and Mrs. Nobbs and all the brothers and

sisters so good and so full of kindness to me. It was very trying when

I first met them yesterday. They came and kissed me, and then, poor

things, fairly gave way, and then I began to talk quietly about Edwin

and Fisher, and they became calm, and we knelt and prayed together.'

After landing the Bishop at Mota, the others crossed to Port Patteson

where they found Fisher Young's grave carefully tended, kept clear of

weeds, and with a fence round it. After establishing Mr. Palmer at the

station at Mota, the Bishop re-embarked for Santa Maria, where, at the

north-east--Cock Sparrow Point, as some one had appropriately called

it--the boat was always shot at; but at a village called Lakona, the

people were friendly, and five scholars had come from thence, so the

Bishop ventured on landing for the night, and a very unpleasant night

it, was--the barrack hut was thronged with natives, and when the heat

was insufferable and he tried to leave it, two of his former scholars

advised him strongly to remain within.

It was bad weather too, and there was some difficulty in fetching him

off, and he was thankful that the wet had hindered more than 300 or 400

natives from collecting; there was no possibility of speaking to them

quietly, for the sight of the boat suggested trading, and they flocked

round as he was fetched off, half a dozen swimming out and begging to go

to New Zealand. He took three old scholars and one new one, and sent the

others off with fish-hooks, telling them that if they would not behave

at Lakona as he liked, he would not do as they liked. However, no arrows

were shot.

Then while the 'Southern Cross,' with Mr. Tilly and Mr. Atkin, went on

to land the Solomon Island scholars, the work at Mota was resumed in

full force. It seems well worth while to dwell on the successive steps

in the conversion of this place, and the following letter shows the

state of things in the season of 1865:--

'Mota: July 4, 1865.

'My dearest Sisters and Brother,--I must write a joint letter for all,

with little notes if I have anything more special for anyone of you. I

wish you could see this place. The old hut is queer enough certainly,

quite open on one side, and nearly so on another, but it is

weather-tight in the middle, with forms to sit on and a table or two

like a kitchen table, on which I read and write by day, and sleep by

night. Last night we killed five lizards; they get on the roof and drop

down and bite pretty severely, so seeing these running all about, we

made a raid upon them, poor things. The great banyan tree is as grand

as ever, a magnificent tree, a forest in itself, and the view of the sea

under its great branches, and of the islands of Matlavo and Valua, is

beautiful.

'At daylight I turn off my table and dress, not elaborately--a flannel

shirt, old trousers and shoes; then a yam or two is roasted on the

embers, and the coffee made, and (fancy the luxury here in Mota!)

delicious goat's milk with it. Then the morning passes in reading,

writing, and somewhat desultory talking with people, but you can't

expect punctuality and great attention. Then at one, a bit of biscuit

and cheese (as long as the latter lasts). Mr. Palmer made some bread

yesterday. Then generally a walk to meet people at different villages,

and talk to them, trying to get them to ask me questions, and I try to

question them. Then at 6 P.M., a tea-ation, viz., yam and coffee, and

perhaps a crab or two, or a bit of bacon, or some good thing or other.

But I forgot! this morning we ate a bit of our first full-grown and

fully ripe Mota pine-apple (I brought some two years ago) as large and

fine as any specimens I remember in hot-houses. If you mention all these

luxuries, we shall have no more subscriptions, but you may add that

there is as yet no other pineapple, though our oranges, lemons, citrons,

guavas, &c., are coming on. Anyone living here permanently might make a

beautiful place indeed, but it becomes sadly overgrown in our absence,

and many things we plant are destroyed by pigs, &c.

'Then after tea--a large party always witnessing that ceremony--there is

an hour or so spent in speaking again to the people, and then I read a

little with Wadrokala and Carry. Then Mr. Palmer and I read a chapter of

Vaughan on the Revelation, then prayers, and so to bed. It seems as if

little was done--certain talks with people, sometimes many, sometimes

few; yet, on the whole, I hope an increased acquaintance with our

teaching. You can well understand that the consciousness of sin and the

need of a Redeemer may be talked about, but cannot be stated so as

to make one feel that one has stated it in the most judicious and

attractive manner. Of course it is the work of God's Spirit to work this

conviction in the heart. But it is very hard so to speak of it as

to give (if you can understand me) the heathen man a fair chance of

accepting what you say. Forgetfulness of God; ingratitude to the Giver

of life, health, food; ignorance of the Creator and the world to come,

of the Resurrection and Life Everlasting, are all so many proofs to

us of a fallen and depraved state. But the heathen man recognises some

outward acts as more or less wrong; there he stops. "Yes, we don't fight

now, nor quarrel, nor steal so much as we used to do. We are all right

now."

'"Are you? I never taught you to think so. You tell me that you believe

that the Son of God came down from heaven. What did He come for? What is

the meaning of what you say that He died for us?"

'It is the continual prayer and effort of the Christian minister

everywhere, that God would deepen in his own heart the sense of sin, and

create it in the mind of the heathen. And then the imperfect medium of a

language very far from thoroughly known! It is by continual prayer, the

intercession of Christ, the power of the Spirit (we well know) that the

work must be carried on. How one does understand it! The darkness seems

so thick, the present visible world so wholly engrosses the thoughts,

and yet, you see, there are many signs of progress even here, in changed

habits to some extent, in the case of our scholars, real grounds of hope

for the future. One seems to be doing nothing, yet surely if no change

be wrought, what right have we to expect it. It is not that I looked for

results, but that I seek to be taught how to teach better. The Collect

for the first Sunday after Epiphany is wonderful.

'It requires a considerable effort to continually try to present to

oneself the state of the heathen mind, to select illustrations, &c.,

suitable to his case. And then his language has never been used by him

to set forth these new ideas; there are no words which convey the ideas

of repentance, sin, heartfelt confession, faith, &c. How can there be,

when these ideas don't exist? Yet somehow the language by degrees

is made the exponent of such ideas, just as all religious ideas are

expressed in English by words now used in their second intention, which

once meant very different and less elevated ideas.

'I find everywhere the greatest willingness to listen. Everywhere I take

my pick of boys, and now for any length of time. That is the result of

eleven scholars remaining now in New Zealand. Everyone seems to wish to

come. I think I shall take away five or six young girls to be taught at

Kohimarama, to become by and by wives for scholars. Else the Christian

lad will have to live with a heathen girl. But all this, if carried out

properly, would need a large number of scholars from only one island. At

Curtis Island, indeed (should it answer and supply plenty of food), we

might hope to have a school some day of 300 or 400, and then thirty or

forty from each island could be educated at once; but it can't be so in

New Zealand. And a good school on an island before a certain number are

trained to teach could not, I think, be managed successfully. I feel

that I must concentrate more than hitherto. I must ascertain--I have

to some extent ascertained--the central spots upon which I must chiefly

work. This is not an easy thing, nevertheless, to find out, and it has

taken years. Then using them as centres, I must also find out how far

already the dialect of that spot may extend, how far the people of the

place have connections, visiting acquaintances, &c. elsewhere, and to

use the influence of that place to its fullest extent. Many islands

would thus fall under one centre, and thus I think we may work. My mind

is so continually, day and night, I may say, working on these points,

that I dare say I fill up my letters with nothing else. But writing on

these points helps me to see my way.'

On July 7, an expedition to Aroa seems to have overtired Bishop

Patteson, and a slight attack of fever and ague came on. One of his

aunts had provided him with a cork bed, where, after he had exerted

himself to talk to his many visitors, he lay 'not uncomfortably.' He

was not equal to going to a feast where he hoped to have met a large

concourse, and after a day of illness, was taken back to Mota in the

bottom of the boat; but in another week more revived, and went on with

his journal, moralising on the books he had been reading while laid up.

'I looked quite through Bishop Mackenzie's life. What a beautiful

story it is! what a truthful, simple, earnest character, and that

persuasiveness that only real humility and self-forgetfulness and

thoughtfulness can give. Then his early desire to be useful, his

Cambridge life, the clear way in which he was being led on all through.

It is very beautiful as an illustration of the best kind of help that

God bestows on His children. Here was one so evidently moulded and

fashioned by Him, and that willingly, for so it must be, and his life

was just as it should be, almost as perfect perhaps as a life can be.

What if his work failed on the Shire? First, his work has not failed to

begin with, for aught we know; and secondly his example is stimulating

work everywhere. I shall indeed value his Thomas a Kempis. [A copy sent

home from the Zambesi stained with the water of the Shire, and sent to

the Bishop by Miss Mackenzie].

The ship returned with tidings that the more important scholars would

be ready to come back after a short holiday with their friends, and the

Bishop embarked again on the 29th. At Mai he landed, and slept ashore,

when little Petere, the son of the young man whose death had so nearly

been revenged on the Bishop, a boy of eight years old, did the honours

as became a young chief, and announced, 'I am going to New Zealand with

you.' No one made any attempt to prevent him; but the old scholars did

not show themselves helpful, and only one of them, besides three more

new ones, came away. The natives were personally friendly, but there was

no sign of fighting being lessened among them.

At Whitsuntide there was a brisk trade in yams, but no scholars were

brought away; the parents would not part with any young enough to be

likely to be satisfactory pupils, nor would the one last year's scholar

come. Here intelligence was received that a two-masted ship had been

at Leper's Island, a quarrel had taken place and some natives had been

shot. It was therefore decided that it would not be safe to land, but

as the vessel sailed along the coast, numerous canoes came out, bringing

boars' tusks for sale. Three boys who had been taken on a cruise of six

weeks the year before, eagerly came on board, and thirty or forty more.

All the parents were averse to letting them go, and only two ended by

being brought away: Itole, a young gentleman of fourteen or so, slim

and slight, with a waist like a wasp, owing to a cincture worn night

and day, and his hair in ringlets, white with coral-lime; his friend a

little older, a tall, neat-limbed fellow, not dark and with little of

the negro in his features.

A letter to me was written during this cruise, from which I give an

extract:--

'It was a great delight to me to receive a letter from Mr. Keble, by

the February mail from England. How kind of him to write to me; and his

words are such a help and encouragement.

'I dare say I shall see Merivale's Lectures soon. Nothing can well be

so wonderful, as a proof of God's hand controlling and arranging all the

course of history to those who need it, as a subject for adoration and

praise, to those who need not such proof, than the vast preparation made

for the coming of Christ and the spreading of the Gospel. To popularise

this the right way, and bring it home to the thought of many who have

not time nor inclination for much reading, must be a good work. I

suppose that all good Church histories deal with that part of the

subject; it is natural for the mere philosopher to do so.

'And think how the early Alexandrian teachers used the religious

yearnings of the East to draw men to the recognition of their wants,

supplied and satisfied only in Christianity. Often it is the point

d'appui that the Missionary must seek for. There is an element of faith

in superstition; we must fasten on that, and not rudely destroy the

superstition, lest with it we destroy the principle of faith in things

and beings unseen. I often think, that to shake a man's faith in his

old belief, however wrong it may be, before one can substitute something

true and right, is, to say the least, a dangerous experiment. But

positive truth wins its way without controversy, while error has no

positive existence, and there is a craving for truth deep down in the

heathen heart.

'Do you remember that grand passage of Hooker, where he says that he

cannot stand to oppose all the sophisms of Romanism, only that he will

place against it a structure of truth, before which, as Dagon before the

Ark, error will be dashed in fragments?

'In our work (and so I suppose in a Sunday school) one must think out

each step, anticipate each probable result, before one states anything.

It is of course full of the highest interest. Can't you fancy a party of

twenty or thirty dark naked fellows, when (having learnt to talk freely

to them) I question them about their breakfast and cocoa-nut trees,

their yams and taro and bananas, &c., "Who gave them to you? Can you

make them grow? Why, you like me and thank me because I give you a few

hatchets, and you have never thought of thanking Him all these long

years."

'"It is true, but we didn't think."

'"But will you think if I tell you about Him?"

'"He gave them rain from heaven and fruitful seasons."

'How it takes one back to the old thoughts, the true philosophy of

religion. Sometimes I lie awake and think "if Jowett and others could

see these things!"

'And yet, if it is not presumptuous in me to say so, I do think

that this work needs men who can think out principle and supply any

thoughtful scholar or enquirer with some good reason for urging this

or that change in the manners and observances of the people. Often as

I think of it, I feel how greatly the Church needs schools for

missionaries, to be prepared not only in Greek and Latin and manual

work, but in the mode of regarding heathenism. It is not a moment's work

to habitually ask oneself, "Why feel indignant? How can he or she

know better?" It is not always easy to be patient and to remember the

position which the heathen man occupies and the point of view from which

he must needs regard everything brought before him.

'Thank you for Maclear's book. It is a clear statement of the leading

facts that one wishes to know, a valuable addition to our library.

You know, no doubt, a book which I like much, Neander's "Light in Dark

Places."

'I shall remember about Miss Mackenzie's memoir of that good Mrs.

Robertson. I wonder that men are not found to help Mr. Robertson. Here,

as you know, the climate (as in Central Africa) is our difficulty. I

think sometimes I make too much of it, but really I don't see how a man

is to stand many months of it. But I can't help thinking and hoping that

if that difficulty did not exist I could see my way to saying, "Now,

a missionary is wanted for these four or five or six islands, one for

each, and a younger man as fellow-helper to that missionary," and they

would be forthcoming.

'Yet doubtless I don't estimate fairly the difficulties and hardships

as they appear to the man who has never left England, and is not used

to knocking about. I should have felt the same years ago but for the

thought of being with the Primate, at least I suppose so.

'Well, I have written a very dull letter, but the place from which it

comes will give it some interest. I really think that not Mota only, but

the Banks Islands are in a hopeful state.

'Next year (D.V.) Mr. Palmer will try the experiment of stopping here

for eight or ten months. I almost dare to hope that a few years may make

great changes. Yet it seems as if nothing were done in comparison with

what remains to be done.

'Sarah, Sarawia's wife, pronounced that as she was always ill at home,

she would risk the New Zealand winter; two more married pairs came, and

four little maidens to be bred up under Mrs. Pritt, girls from twelve to

eight years old, of whom Sarah was quite able to take charge.'

There was the usual proportion of lads from various islands; but the

most troublesome member of the community seems to have been Wadrokala's

three years old daughter. 'I have daily to get Wadrokala and Carry to

prevent their child from being a nuisance to everybody.' But this might

have been a difficulty had she been white.

This large party had to be taken to the Solomon Isles to complete the

party, sailing in company with the 'Curacoa,' the Commodore's ship, when

the local knowledge and accurate surveying done by Mr. Tilly and Mr.

Kerr proved very valuable, and Sir William Wiseman gave most kind and

willing assistance.

Since his short interview with the Bishop off Norfolk Island, he had

been cruising in the New Hebrides. There some of the frequent outrages

of the traders had made the people savage and suspicious, and one of the

Missionaries of the London Missionary Society living at Tanna had been

threatened, driven away across the island, and his property destroyed.

He had appealed for protection as a British subject, and Sir William

Wiseman had no choice but to comply; so after warning had been sent to

the tribe chiefly concerned to quit their village, it was shelled and

burnt. No one seems to have been hurt, and it was hoped that this

would teach the natives to respect their minister--whether to love his

instruction was another question.

This would not have been worth mentioning had not a letter from on board

the 'Curacoa' spoken of chastising a village for attacking a Missionary.

It went the round of the English papers, and some at once concluded

that the Missionary could be no other than the Bishop. Articles

were published with the usual disgusting allusions to the temptation

presented by a plump missionary; and also observing with more justice

that British subjects had no right to run into extraordinary peril and

appeal to their flag for protection.

Every friend or relative of Bishop Patteson knew how preposterous the

supposition was, and his brother took pains to contradict the rumour.

As a matter of fact, as his letters soon proved, he was not only not in

company with the 'Curacoa' at the time, but had no knowledge either of

the outrage or the chastisement, till Sir William Wiseman mentioned it

to him when they were together at Sydney.

At Ysabel or Mahya, the party was made up to sixty, seven married

couples and seven unmarried girls among them. The female population

was stowed away at night in the after cabins, with 'arrangements quite

satisfactory to them, as they were quite consistent with propriety, but

which would somewhat startle unaccustomed folk.'

The 'Curapoa' stood in the offing while Sta. Cruz was visited, or rather

while the 'Southern Cross' approached, for the Bishop thought it

better not to risk landing; but numerous canoes came off, and all the

curiosities were bought which were offered in hopes of reestablishing

a friendly relation. There was reason to think the people of this group

more than usually attached to the soil, and very shy and distrustful,

owing perhaps to the memories left by the Spaniards.

Thence the 'Southern Cross' sailed across for an inspection of Curtis

Island, and again with a favourable impression; but the Brisbane

Parliament had just been prorogued, everyone was taking holiday, and the

Bishop therefore gave up his visit to that place, and sent the vessel

straight home to Auckland with her cargo of souls, while he returned to

Sydney to carry on the same work as in the former year. Here one great

delight and refreshment to him was a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Mort at their

beautiful home at Greenoaks. What a delight it must have been to

find himself in a church built by his host himself! 'one of the most

beautiful things I have seen, holds about 500 people; stained glass,

carved stalls, stone work, &c.,--perfect.' And the house, 'full of

first-rate works of art, bronzes, carvings, &c.,' was pleasant to the

eyes that had been so enthusiastic in Italy and Germany, and had so

long fasted from all beauty but that of Nature, in one special type. The

friends there were such as to give life and spirit to all these external

charms, and this was a very pleasant resting place in his life. To Sir

John Coleridge he writes:--

'I am having a real holiday. This place, Greenoaks, the really

magnificent place of my good friends Mr. and Mrs. Mort, is lovely. The

view of the harbour, with its land-locked bays, multitude of vessels,

wooded heights, &c., is not to be surpassed; and somehow I don't

disrelish handsome rooms and furniture and pictures and statues and

endless real works of art in really good taste.

'One slips into these ways very readily. I must take care I am not

spoilt. Everyone, from the governor downwards, lays himself out to make

my visit pleasant. They work me hard on Sundays and week days, but it

is a continual round of, I don't deny, to me, pleasurable occupation.

Kindly people asked to meet me, and the conversation always turned to

pleasant and useful subjects: Church government, principles of Mission

work, &c. These colonies, unfortunate in many ways, are fortunate in

having governors and others in high position who are good men, and the

class of people among whom my time is spent might (me judice) hold its

position among the best English society.

'I am very intimate with some few families, drop in and set the young

ladies down to play Beethoven and Mendelssohn, and it is a nice change,

and refreshes me.'

From Sydney the Bishop went to Adelaide and Melbourne, and these five

weeks in Australia obtained about 800 pounds for the Mission; the Bishop

of Sydney had hoped to raise more, but there had been two years of

terrible drought and destruction of cattle, and money was not

abundant. The plan of sending Australian blacks to be educated with

the Melanesians was still entertained; but he had not much hope of this

being useful to the tribes, though it might be to the individuals, and

none of them ever were sent to him.

But what had a more important effect on the Mission was a conference

between Sir William Wiseman and Sir John Young, the Governor of New

South Wales, resulting in an offer from the latter of a grant of land

on Norfolk Island for the Mission, for the sake of the benefit to the

Pitcairners; at the same time the Commodore offered him a passage in the

'Curacoa' back to Auckland, touching at Norfolk Island by the way. The

plan was carried out, and brought him home in time for Christmas, to

find all and prosperous under Mr. Pritt at St. Andrew's. His mind was

nearly made up on the expedience of a change to a place which was likely

to suit both English and tropical constitutions alike, and he hoped to

make the experiment the ensuing winter with Mr. Palmer and a small body

of scholars.