'The occasional notices of Mr. and Mrs. Keble in your letters, and the

full account of him and her as their end drew nigh, is very touching.

How much, how very much there is that I should like to ask him now! How

I could sit at his feet and listen to him! These are great subjects that

I have neither time nor brains to deal with, and there is no one

here who can give me all the help I want. I think a good deal about

Ritualism, more about Union, most about the Eucharistic question; but

I need some one with whom to talk out these matters. When I have

worked out the mind of Hooker, Bull, Waterland, &c., and read Freeman's

"Principles," and Pusey's books, and Mr. Keble's, &c., then I want

to think it out with the aid of a really well-read man. It is clearly

better not to view such holy subjects in connection with controversy;

but then comes the thought--"How is Christendom to be united when this

diversity exists on so great a point?" And then one must know what the

diversity really amounts to, and then the study becomes a very laborious

and intricate enquiry into the ecclesiastical literature of centuries.

Curiously enough, I am still waiting for the book I so much want, Mr.

Keble's book on "Eucharistic Adoration." I had a copy, of course, but I

lent it to some one. I lose a good many books in that way.

'The extraordinary change in the last thirty years will of course mark

this time hereafter as one of the most noticeable periods in the history

of the Church, indeed one can't fail to see it, which is not always

the case with persons living in the time of great events. The bold,

outspoken conduct of earnest men, the searching deeply into principles,

the comparative rejection of conventionalities, local prejudices,

exclusive forms of thought and practice, must strike everyone. But

one misses the guiding, restraining hand...the man in the Church

corresponding to "the Duke" at one time in the State, the authority.

'One thing I do think, that the being conversant only with thoughtful

educated Christians may result in a person ignoring the simpler idea of

the Eucharist which does not in the least divest it of its mysterious

character, but rather, recognising the mystery, seeks for no solution of

it. How can I teach my fifteen Melanesian Communicants the points which

I suppose an advanced Ritualist would regard as most essential? But I

can give them the actual words of some of the ancient, really ancient,

Liturgies, and teach them what Christ said, and St. Paul said, and the

Church of England says, and bid them acquiesce in the mystery.

'Yet I would fain know more. I quite long for a talk with Mr. Keble.

Predisposed on every account to think that he must be right, I am not

sure that I know what he held to be the truth, nor am I quite sure that

I would see it without much explanation; but to these holy men so much

is revealed that one has no right to expect to know. What he held was in

him at all events combined with all that a man may have of humility, and

learning, and eagerness for union with God.'

This letter was sent with these:--

'Norfolk Island: December 16, 1867.

'My dear Mr. Atkin,--The "Pacific" arrived on Friday after a quick

passage. All our things came safely. She leaves to-morrow for Sydney,

and we are in a great hurry. For (1) we have three mails all at once,

and I have my full share of letters, public and private; and (2) we have

had last week our first fall of rain for some three and a half months,

and we are doing our best to plant kumaras, &c., which grow here

wonderfully, if only they get anything like a fair chance.

'Joe as usual is foremost at all work; fencing, well-sinking, &c. And

he proves the truth of the old saying, that "the head does not suffer by

the work of the hand." His knowledge of Scripture truth, of what I

may fairly call the beginning of theological studies, gives me great

comfort. I am quite sure that in all essentials, in all which by God's

blessing tends to qualify a man for teaching faithfully, and with

sufficient learning and knowledge of the Word of God, he is above the

average of candidates for ordination in England.

'I don't say that he would pass the kind of examination before an

English Bishop so well as a great many--they insist a good deal on

technical points of historical knowledge, &c.--but in all things really

essential--in his clear perception of the unity of the teaching of the

Bible; in his knowledge of the Greek Testament, in his reading with me

the Articles, Prayer Book, &c., I am convinced that he is well fitted

to do his work well and truly. We have had more than one talk on deeper

matters still, on inward feelings and thoughts, on prayer and the

devotional study of God's Word, and divinity in general. I feel

the greatest possible thankfulness and happiness as I think of his

ordination, and of what, by the grace of God, he may become to very many

both heathens and Christians, if his life be spared.

'Once again, my dear friends, I thank you for giving him to this work.

He is the greatest conceivable comfort and help to me. I always feel

when he is walking or working with others, that there is one on whose

steadiness and strong sense of duty I can always rely. May God bless him

with His richest blessings....

'On Sunday next (D.V.) we shall not forget you, as I well know your

thoughts and prayers will be with us; and we sing "Before JEHOVAH'S

awful Throne" to the Old Hundredth; 2nd, No. 144 of the Hymnal, after

third Collect; and before sermon, 3rd, No. 143; after sermon, 4th, No.

19; after Litany, 5th, Veni Creator to All Saints.

The ordination will be in the Norfolk Island Church.--My kind regards to

Mrs. Atkin and Mary.

'Always, my dear friend, very truly yours,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

'December 16, 1867.

'My dear Miss Mackenzie,--Your brother's pedometer reached me safely

three days ago. I feel most truly unworthy to receive such gifts. I have

now his sextant, his pedometer, and, most precious of all, his "Thomas

a Kempis"; they ought to help me to think more of him, and his holy

example. Your letter commenting on the published life makes me know

him pretty well. He was one to love and honour; indeed, the thorough

humility and truthfulness, the single-mindedness of the man, the simple

sense of duty and unwearied patience, energy, and gentleness--indeed

you must love to dwell on the memory of such a brother, and look forward

with hope and joy to the reunion.

'We are fast settling ourselves into our headquarters here. Our

buildings already sufficient to house eighty or one hundred Melanesians.

We are fencing, planting, &c., &c., vigorously, and the soil here repays

our labours well. The yam and sweet potatoes grow excellently, and

the banana, orange, lemon, and nearly all semi-tropical fruits and

vegetables. I think that our commissariat expenditure will soon be very

small, and we ought to have an export before long.

'Two things seem to be pretty clear: that there is no lack of capacity

in the Melanesian, and no probability of any large supply of English

teachers and clergymen, even if it were desirable to work the Mission

with foreign rather than native clergymen. My own mind is, and has long

been in favour of the native pastorate; but it needs much time to work

up to such a result.

'All our party are well in health, save one good fellow, Walter

Hotaswol, who is dying of consumption, in faith and hope. "Better," he

says, "to die here with a bright heart than to live in my own land with

a dark one." It is a solemn Ember week for us.

'I remain, dear Miss Mackenzie, very truly yours,

'J. C. PATTESON.

'I quite agree with you that you cannot educate tropical and

semi-tropical people in England; and you don't want to make them English

Christians, you know.'

Walter's history is here completed:--

'January 22, 1868.

'My dear Cousin,--I write you a line: I have not time for more in

addition to my other epistle, to tell you that I purpose to baptize,

on Sunday next, eight Melanesian youths and one girl. You will, I

know, thank God for this. Indeed I hope (though I say it with a kind

of trembling and wonder) that a succession of scholars is now regularly

established from the Banks Islands.

'These nine are being closely followed by some ten or twelve more,

younger than they, averaging from seven to eleven years, who all read

and write and know the elements of Christian teaching, but you should

see them, bright merry little fellows, and the girls too, full of

play and fun. Yet so docile, and obedient, and good-tempered. They all

volunteer to stay here again this winter, though they have not been

at home since they first left it, in July and August 1866. They have a

generation of Christians--I mean one of our generations--some two dozen

or more, to help them; they have not the brunt of the battle to bear,

like dear George and Henry and others; and because, either here or

there, they will be living with Christians; I need not, I think, subject

them to a probation. Next year (D.V.) they may be baptized, and so the

ranks are being filled up.

'I would call the girl Charlotte were she a favourite of mine, but I

wait in hopes that a nicer girl (though this one is good and nice too)

may be baptized by your and Mrs. Keble's name. You may well believe that

my heart and mind are very full of this. May God grant that they may

continue His for ever!

'I confirm on the same day fourteen Norfolk Islanders.

'Walter Hotaswol, from Matlavo, the southern part of Saddle Island, died

on the evening of the Epiphany: a true Epiphany to him, I trust. He

was remarkably gentle and innocent for one born in a heathen land. His

confession, very fully made to me before his first Communion, was very

touching, simply given, and, thank God, he had been wonderfully kept

from the sins of heathenism. With us, his life for years was blameless.

He died almost without pain, after many weeks of lingering in

consumption, I verily believe in full faith in his Saviour and his God.

'During his last illness, and for a short time before he actually

took to his bed, he frequently received the Holy Communion. And very

remarkable were his words to me the day after his first Communion. I was

sitting by him, when he said, apropos of nothing, "Very good!"

'"What is very good, Walter?"

'"The Lord's Supper."

'"Why do you think so?"

'"I can't talk about it. I feel it here (touching his heart), I don't

feel as I did!"

'"But you have long believed in Him."

'"Yes, but I feel different from that; I don't feel afraid for death. My

heart is calm (me masur kal, of a calm following a gale)." His look

was very earnest as he added: "I do believe that I am going to Him."

Presently, "Bishop!"

'"Well."

'"Last night--no, the night before I received the Lord's Supper, I saw a

man standing there, a tanum liana (a man of rank, or authority). He said

Your breath is bad, I will give you a new breath.'"

'"Yes."

'"I thought it meant, I will give you a new life. I thought it must be

JESUS."

'He was weak, but not wandering. "Yes, better to die here with a bright

heart than to live in my old home with a dark one."

'January 28th.--The nine young Christians were baptized on Sunday

evening; a very touching and solemn service it was, very full of

comfort. It may be that now, in full swing of work, I am too sanguine,

but I try to be sober-minded, thankful, and hopeful. I try, I say--it is

not easy.

'God bless you, my dear Cousin, and as I pray for you, so I know you

pray for us.

'Your affectionate Cousin,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

A long letter to James Patteson, which was begun a few days later, goes

into the man's retrospect of the boy's career:--

'March 3rd.--I think often of your boys. Jack, in two or three years,

will be old enough for school, and I suppose it must make you anxious

sometimes. I look back on my early days, and see so much, so very much

to regret and grieve over, such loss of opportunities, idleness, &c.,

that I think much of the way to make lessons attractive to boys and

girls. I think a good deal may be done simply by the lessons being given

by the persons the children love most, and hence (where it can be done)

the mother first, and the father too (if he can) are the best people.

They know the ways of the child, they can take it at the right times. Of

course, at first it is the memory, not the reasoning power, that must be

brought into exercise. Young children must learn by heart, learn miles

which they can't understand, or understand but very imperfectly. I think

I forget this sometimes, and talk to my young Melanesians as I should to

older persons. But I feel almost sure that children can follow a simple,

lively account of the meaning and reasons of things much more than one

is apt to fancy. And I don't know how anything can be really learnt

that is not understood. A great secret of success here is an easy and

accurate use of illustration--parabolic teaching.

'Every day of my life I groan over the sad loss I daily experience in

not having been grounded properly in Latin and Greek. I have gone on

with my education in these things more than many persons, but I can

never be a good scholar; I don't know what I would not give to have been

well taught as a boy. And then at Eton, any little taste one might have

had for languages, &c., was never called out.

My fault again, but I can't help thinking that it was partly because

the reason of a rule was never explained. Who ever taught in school the

difference between an aorist and a perfect, e.g.? And at college I was

never taught it, because it was assumed that I knew it. I know that

at ten, fifteen, or twenty, I should not in any case have gone into

languages as I do now. But I might have learnt a good deal, I think.

A thoroughly good preparatory school is, I dare say, very difficult to

find. I would make a great point, I think, to send a boy to a good

one; not to cram him or make a prig of him, but simply to give him the

advantage which will make his whole career in life different from what

it will be if his opening days pass by unimproved. Cool of me, Jem, to

write all this; but I think of this boy, and my boyish days, and what I

might have been, and am not.

'I was always shallow, learned things imperfectly, thought I knew a

thing when I knew scarce any part of it, scrawling off common-place

verses at Eton, and, unfortunately, getting sent up for them. I had a

character which passed at school and at home for that of a fair scholar.

Thence came my disgrace at being turned out of the select, my bad

examination for the Balliol scholarship, my taking only a second, &c.

Nothing was really known! Pretty quick in seizing upon a superficial

view of a matter, I had little patience or determination to thoroughly

master it. The fault follows me through life. I shall never, I fear, be

really accurate and able to think out a matter fully. The same fault I

see in my inner life. But it is not right to talk perhaps too much of

that, only I know that I get credit for much that I don't do, and

for qualities which I don't possess. This is simple truth, not false

humility. Some gifts I have, which, I thank God, I have been now taught

to employ with more or less of poverty in the service.'

The vessel that took away the above despatches brought the tidings of

New Zealand's beloved Primate being appointed to the See of Lichfield.

It was another great wrench to the affectionate heart, as will be seen

in this filial reply to the intelligence:--

'2nd Sunday in Lent, 10 P.M.

'My dear, dear Bishop,--I don't think I ever quite felt till now what

you have been to me for many a long year. Indeed, I do thank God that I

have been taught to know and dearly love you; and much I reproach myself

(not now for the first time) that I have been wilful, and pained you

much sometimes by choosing for myself when I ought to have followed your

choice. I could say much, but I can't say it now, and you don't desire

it. You know what I think and feel. Your letter of the 3rd reached me

last night. I don't yet realise what it is to me, but I think much more

still of those dear people at Taurarua. It is perfectly clear to my

mind that you could not have acted otherwise. I don't grudge you to the

Mother Church one atom!

'I write at this time because I think you may possibly be soon beginning

your first Ordination Service in your Cathedral. It was almost my first

thought when I began to think quietly after our 8 P.M. prayers. And I

pray for those whom you may be leading to their work, as so often you

have laid your hands on me. I understand Bishop Andrewes' [Greek text]

now.

'What it must have been to you and still is!...

'This move to Norfolk Island does make a great difference, no doubt. And

full well I know that your prayers will be around us; and that you will

do all that mortal man can do for us and for the islands. Indeed, you

must not trouble yourself about me too much. I shall often need you,

often sadly miss you, a just return for having undervalued the blessing

of your presence. But I do feel that it is right. I humbly pray and

trust that God's blessing may be on us all, and that a portion of your

spirit may be with us.

'More than ever affectionately yours,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

The tidings had come simultaneously with the history of the Consecration

of All Saints, Babbicombe, for indeed the Bishop and Mrs. Selwyn were

staying with Joanna and Fanny Patteson for the Octave Services when

the first offer arrived. So that the two mails whose contents were

transported together to Norfolk Island contained matter almost

overwhelming for the brother and friend, and he had only one day in

which to write his answers. To the sisters the assurance is, 'Only be

quite comforted about me!' and then again, 'No, I don't grudge him one

bit. There is no room for small personal considerations when these great

issues are at stake.'

'I don't think I quite know yet what it is to me. I can't look at his

photograph with quite dry eyes yet. But I don't feel at all sad or

unhappy. You know the separation, if God, in His mercy, spare me at

last, can't be long; and his prayers are always around us, and he is

with us in spirit continually, and then it will be such joy and delight

to me to watch his work.

'I think with such thankfulness of the last Holy Week; the last Easter

Sunday spent wholly with him. I think too, and that sadly enough, of

having pained him sometimes by being self-willed, and doing just what he

has not done, viz., chosen for myself when I ought to have followed him.

'Do you remember when, on the morning of Mamma's death, we came into the

study where Uncle and Aunt Frank were, and our dear Father in his great

faith and resignation said, with broken voice, "I thank God, who spared

her to me so long"? Surely I may with far greater ease say, "I thank God

for the blessing for now thirteen, years of his example and loving care

of me." Had he been taken away by death we must have borne it, and we

can bear this now by His grace.'

The thought engrossed him most completely. It is plain in all his

letters that it was quite an effort to turn his mind to anything but the

approaching change. His Primate had truly been a 'Father in God' to him.

His affections had wound themselves about him and Mrs. Selwyn, and the

society that they formed together with Sir William and Lady Martin had

become the next thing to his home and family. Above all, the loneliness

of sole responsibility was not complete while the Primate was near to

be consulted. There had been an almost visible loss of youth and

playfulness ever since the voyages had been made without the leader

often literally at the helm; and though Bishop Patteson had followed his

own judgment in two decided points--the removal to Norfolk Island, and

the use of Mota language instead of English, and did not repent having

done so, yet still the being left with none to whom to look up as an

authority was a heavy trial and strain on mind and body, and brought on

another stage in that premature age that the climate and constant toil

were bringing upon him when most men are still in the fulness of their

strength.

The next letter spoke the trouble that was to mark the early part of the

year 1868 as one of sickness and sorrow.

'Our two Ambrym boys are coming out; and I am hopeful as to some more

decided connection with the north face of the Island. Mahaga lads

very promising, but at present Banks Islanders much ahead of the rest.

Indeed, of some of them, I may say that while they have no knowledge of

many things that an English lad ought to know, yet they have a very fair

share of intelligence concentrated on the most important subject, and

know a good deal about it. They think.'

Then follows a working out of one of the difficult questions that always

beset missionaries respecting the heathen notions--or no notions--about

wedlock. Speaking of the persons concerned, the journal continues:--

'They were not able to understand--and how can a man and woman, or

rather a girl and boy, understand--what we understand by marriage.

They always saw men and women exchanging husbands and wives when they

pleased, and grew up in the midst of such ideas and practices, so that

there never was a regular contract, nor a regularly well-conceived and

clearly-understood notion of living together till "death us do part" in

their minds. You will say, "And yet they were baptized." Yes, but I did

not know so much about heathen ways then, and, besides, read St. Paul

to the Corinthians, and see how the idea of sanctity of marriage, and

of chastity in general is about the last idea that the heathen mind

comprehends. Long after the heathen know that to break the sixth,

eighth, even the ninth and tenth Commandments is wrong, and can

understand and practically recognise it to be so, the seventh is a

puzzle to them. At the best they only believe it because we say that it

is a Commandment of God. Look at the Canons of the early Church on the

question; look how Luther sanctioned the polygamy, the double marriage,

of the Landgrave of Hesse! So that although now, thank God, our scholars

understand more of what is meant by living with a woman, and the

relation of husband and wife is not altogether strange to them, yet

it was not so at first, and is not likely to be so with any but our

well-trained scholars for a long time.'

'Norfolk Island: March 26, 1868. 'My dearest Sisters,--How you are

thinking of me this anniversary? Thirteen years since I saw your dear

faces and his face. Oh! how thankful I am that it is so long ago. It

was very hard to bear for a long long time. Last night as I lay awake

I thought of that last Sunday, the words I said in church (how absurdly

consequential they seem to me now), the walk home, calling to see C. L.,

parting with the Vicar and M., the last evening--hearts too full to say

what was in them, the sitting up at night and writing notes. And then

black Monday! Well, I look back now and see that it was very hard at

first, and I don't deny that I found the mere bodily roughnesses very

trying at first, but that has long past. My present mode of life is

agreeable to me altogether now. Servants and company would be a very

great bore indeed. So even in smaller ways, you see, I have all that I

can desire. I always try to remember that I may miss these things, and

specially miss you if it should please God to send any heavy sickness

upon me. I dare say I should be very impatient, and need kind soothing

nurses. But I must hope for the best.

'Just now we have some anxiety. There has been and is a bad typhoid

fever among the Pitcairners: want of cleanliness, no sewerage, or very

bad draining, crowded rooms, no ventilation, the large drain choked up,

a dry season, so that the swampy ground near the settlement has been

dry, these are secondary causes. For two months it has been going on. I

never anticipated such a disease here.

'But the fever is bad. Last night two died, both young women of about

twenty. Two, one a married man of thirty, with five children, the other

a girl of twelve, had died before. I have been backwards and forwards,

but no one else of the party. The poor people like to see me. For three

weeks I have felt some anxiety about four or five of our lads, and they

have been with me in my room. I don't like the symptoms of one or two of

them. But it is not yet a clear case of the fever.'

'Easter Eve.--Dear Sisters, once more I write out of a sick hospital.

This typhoid fever, strongly marked, as described in Dr. Watson's books,

Graye's edition of Hooper's "Vade Mecum," and, as a very solemn lesson

of Lent and Holy Week, seven Pitcairners have died. For many weeks the

disease did not touch us; we established a regular quarantine, and used

all precautions. We had, I think, none of the predisposing causes of

fever at our place. It is high, well-drained, clean, no dirt near,

excellent water, and an abundant supply of it; but I suppose the whole

air is impregnated with it. Anyhow, the fever is here.

'April 23rd.--My house consists, you know, of Chapel, my rooms, and

hospital. This is the abode of the sick and suspected. The hospital is

a large, lofty, well-ventilated room; a partition, 6 feet high, only

divides it into two; on one side are the sick, on the other side sleep

those who are sickening.

'As yet twenty have been in my quarters. Of these seven are now in

Codrington's house, half-way between hospital and ordinary school life.

They are convalescents, real convalescents. You know how much so-called

convalescents need care in recovering from fever, but these seven have

had the fever very slightly indeed, thank God; the type of the disease

is much less severe than it was at first. One lad of about sixteen, Hofe

from Ysabel Island, died last Friday morning. The fever came on him with

power from the first. He was very delirious for some days, restless,

sleepless, then comatose. The symptoms are so very clearly marked, and

my books are so clear in detail of treatment, that we don't feel much

difficulty now about the treatment, and the nursery and hospital work we

are pretty well used to.

'Barasu, from Ysabel Island, who was near dying on Thursday week, a

fortnight ago to-day, has hovered between life and death. I baptized him

at 9 P.M. on Holy Thursday (the anniversary of Mr. Keble's death). John

Keble: rather presumptuous to give such a name, but I thought he would

not have been named here by it for many hours. He is now sitting by the

hospital fire. I have just fed him with some rice and milk; and he is

well enough to ask for a bit of sweet potato, which he cannot yet hold,

nor guide his hand to his mouth. He has had the regular fever, and is

now, thank God, becoming convalescent. No other patient is at present

in a dangerous state; all have the fever signs more or less doubtful. No

one is at present in a precarious state. It has been very severe in

the town, and there are many cases yet. Partly it is owing to the utter

ignorance or neglect of the most ordinary rules of caution and nursing.

Children and men and women all lie on the ground together in the fever

or out of it. The contagion fastens upon one after another. In Isaac

Christian's house, the mother and five children were all at one time in

a dangerous state, wandering, delirious, comatose. Yet the mortality has

been small. Only seven have died; some few are still very ill, yet the

character of the fever is less severe now. We had some sharp hospital

work for a few days and nights, all the accompaniments of the decay of

our frail bodies. Now we have a respite. Codrington, Palmer, and I take

the nursing; better that the younger ones, always more liable to take

fever, should be kept out of contagion; to no one but I have gone among

the sick in town, or to town at all. We are all quite well.

'Beef tea, chicken broth, mutton broth, wine, brandy, milk to any

extent, rice, &c.--Palmer manufactures all. The Pitcairners, most

improvident people, are short of all necessary stores. I give what I

can, but I must be stingy, as I tell them, for I never anticipated an

attack of typhus here. They will, I trust, learn a lesson from it, and

not provoke a recurrence of it by going on in their old ways.

'I don't deny that at times I have been a good deal depressed: about

Holy Week and Easter Week was the worst time. Things are much brighter

now; though I fully expect that several others, perhaps many others,

will yet have the attack, but I trust and fancy it may be only in a

modified form. We have regular Chapel and school, but the school is a

mild affair now; I who am only in bed from 12.30 or 1 to 5, and in the

hospital all day, cannot be very bright in school. I just open a little

bit of my red baize door into Chapel, so that the sick in my room join

in the service. Nice, is it not?

'This will greatly unsettle plans for the voyage. The "Southern Cross"

is expected here about May 10; but I can't leave any sick that may want

my care then, and I can't take back to the islands any that are only

just convalescent, or indeed any of the apparently healthy who may yet

have the seeds of the fever in them. It would be fearful if it broke out

on the islands. I must run no risk of that; so I think that very likely

I may keep the whole party here another year, and make myself a short

visitation. I suppose that the Bishop will come to New Zealand, and I

must try to meet him; I should like to see his face once more; but if

he doesn't come, or if I can't (by reason of this sickness) go to meet

him--well, I shall be spared the parting if I don't have the joy of the

meeting, and these things are not now what they once were.

'April 28th.--Barasu (John Keble) died this morning as I read the

Commendatory Prayer by his side. He had a relapse some five days ago,

how we cannot say, he was always watched day and night. I had much

comfort in him, he was a dear lad, and our most hopeful Ysabel scholar.

His peaceful death, for it was very peaceful at the last, may work

more than his life would have done; some twenty others convalescent, or

ailing, or sick. At this moment another comes to say that he feels out

of sorts; you know that sensation, and how one's heart seems to stop for

a minute, and then one tries to look and speak cheerfully.

'April 29th.--I read the Service over another child to-day, son of James

and Priscilla Quintall, the second child they have lost within a few

days, and Priscilla herself is lying ill of the fever. Poor people, I

did what little I could to comfort them; the poor fellow is laid up

too with a bad foot; a great many others are very ill, some young ones

especially.

'May 5th.--Jemima Young sent for me yesterday morning. I was with her

the day before, and she was very ill. I reached the room at 11.45, and

she died at noon. [Jemima Young had been particularly bright, pleasant,

and helpful when Mrs. Selwyn was on the island].

'May 7th.--The sick ones doing pretty well. You must not think it is all

gloom, far from it, there is much to cheer and comfort us. The hearty

co-operation of these excellent fellow-workers is such a support, and is

brought out at such times.

'We are going on with divers works, but not very vigorously just now. We

are sawing the timber for our large hall: the building still to be put

up, and then our arrangements will be complete for the present.

'Then our fencing goes on. We have one large field of some ninety or one

hundred acres enclosed, the sea and a stream bounding two sides, and two

other fields of about forty and twenty acres. I have good cart mares and

one cart horse, a riding mare which I bought of Mr. Pritt, and Atkin has

one also, eleven cows, and as many calves, poultry (sadly destroyed

by wild cats) and pigs, and two breeding sows, and a flock of fifty

well-bred sheep imported. These cost me £4. 10s. a head; I hope they

are the progenitors of a fine flock. The ram cost £12. We have plenty

of work, and must go on fencing and subdividing our fields. Most of

the land is wooded; but a considerable quantity can easily be cleared.

Indeed 200 or 300 acres are clear now of all but some smaller stuff

that can easily be removed. A thick couch-grass covers all. It is not

so nutritious as the ordinary English grasses; but cattle, sheep, and

horses like it, only a larger quantity is needed by each animal. It

gives trouble when one wants to break it up, it is such a network of

roots; but once out of the ground and the soil clear, and it will grow

anything. Our crops of sweet potatoes are excellent. The ordinary potato

does very well too; and maize, vegetables of all sorts, many fruit

trees, all the semi-tropical things, capitally; guavas by the thousand,

and very soon I hope oranges; lemons now by thousands, melons almost a

weed, bananas abundant; by-and-by coffee, sugar-cane, pineapples (these

last but small), arrowroot of excellent quality. Violets from my

bed, and mignonette from Palmer's, scent my room at this minute. The

gardeners, Codrington, Palmer, and Atkin, are so kind in making me

tidy, devising little arrangements for my little plot of ground, and my

comfort and pleasure generally. Well, that is a nice little chat with

you. Now it is past 8 P.M., and the mutton broth for Clement and Mary is

come. I must feed my chicks. Excellent patients they are, as good as can

be. They don't make the fuss that I did in my low fever when I was so

savage with your doves that would go on cooing at my window, don't you

remember?

'My dear Bishop will be touched by the confidence in him shown by

his late Diocesan Synod in entrusting to him the nomination of his

successor. It was clearly the right thing to do. As for me, no one who

knows anything about it or me would dream of removing me from Melanesia,

as long as I have health and strength, and still less of putting me into

another diocese. When I break down, or give up, it will not be to hold

any other office, as I think.

'May 8th.--All going on pretty well, thank God. Mary is weak, but I

think better; did not wander last night. Clement, with strong typhoid

symptoms, yet, at all events, not worse. But he is a very powerful,

thickset fellow, not a good subject for fever. I feel that I am

beginning to recover my interest in things in general, books, &c. For

two months I was entirely occupied with hospital work, and with visiting

daily the sick Pitcairners, and I was weary and somewhat worn out. Now I

am better in mind and body; some spring in me again. This may be to

fit me for more trials in store; but I think that the sunshine has come

again.'

There were, however, two more deaths--the twins of Mwerlau. Clement died

on the 24th of May; the other brother, Richard, followed him a fortnight

later. They were about seventeen, strong and thick-set; Clement had made

considerable progress during his two years of training, and had been

a Communicant since Christmas. Before passing to the other topics with

which, as the Bishop said, he could again be occupied, here is Mr.

Codrington's account of this period of trouble:--

'A great break in the first year was caused by the visitation of typhus

fever in the earlier part of 1868. This disease, brought as I always

believed by infection from a vessel that touched here, first attacked a

Norfolk Islander who did not live in the town. He was ill in the middle

of February, others of the Pitcairn people soon after. The Bishop began

at once to visit the sick very diligently, and continued to visit them

throughout, though after a time our own hospital was full. Our first

case was on the llth of March, and our last convalescents did not go out

until near the end of June. For some time there was hard work to be

done with nursing the sick. The Bishop had the anxiety and the charge

of medically treating the sick. Mr. Nobbs, as always, was most kind in

giving the benefit of his experience, but he was too fully occupied with

the care of his own flock to be able to help us much. It was agreed, as

soon as we saw the disease was among us, that the three elder members of

the Mission should alone come into communication with the sick. We kept

watch in turns, but the Bishop insisted on taking a double share, i.e.,

he allowed us only to take regular watches in the night, undertaking the

whole of the day's work, except during the afternoon when he was away

with the Pitcairn people. He seemed quite at home in the hospital,

almost always cheerful, always very tender, and generally very decided

as to what was to be done. He was fond of doctoring, read a good deal of

medical books, and knew a good deal of medical practice; but the weight

of such a responsibility as belonged to the charge of many patients in a

fever of this kind was certainly heavy upon him. The daily visit to the

Pitcairn people on foot or on horseback was no doubt a relief, though

hard work in itself. Of the four lads we lost, two, twins, had been some

time christened, one was baptized before his death, the first who died

had not been long with the Mission. It is characteristic of Bishop

Patteson that I never heard him say a word that I remember of religion

to one of the sick. On such things he would not, unless he was obliged,

speak except with the patient alone.

'Before the sickness was quite over, the "Southern Cross" arrived for

the winter voyage. The danger of carrying infection to the islands could

not be incurred, and the vessel was sent back to Auckland for a time.'

The letters she carried back refer again to the growing anxiety about

the 'labour traffic.'

'May 6th.--I am corresponding with a Wesleyan Missionary in Ovalau

(Fiji) on a matter that you may see mentioned some day in the papers, a

very questionable practice of importing from the Southern New Hebrides

(principally Tanna) natives to work on the cotton plantations of white

settlers in Fiji. It is all, as I am assured, under the regulation of

the Consul at Ovalau, and "managed" properly. But I feel almost sure

that there is, or will be, injuries done to the natives, who (I am sure)

are taken away under false pretences. The traders don't know the Tannese

language, and have no means of making the people understand any terms,

and to talk of any contract is absurd. Yet, a large number of Tanna men,

living on really well-conducted plantations, owned by good men, might

lead to a nucleus of Christian Tannese. So says Mr. M. True, say I, if

(!) you can find the good planters and well-conducted plantations. Mr.

M. assures me that they (the Wesleyan Missionaries) are watching the

whole thing carefully. He writes well and sensibly on the whole, and

kindly asks me to visit his place, and judge for myself.

'Tanna is in the hands of the Nova Scotia Presbyterians--Mr. Greddie,

Inglis, and others; but the adjacent islands we have always visited and

considered ours, and of course a plague of this kind soon spreads.

My letter to Mr. Attwood on the matter was read by Sir John Young and

Commodore Lambert, and they expressed a warm interest in the matter. Mr.

M. says that they think it would be well to accept some rule of conduct

in the matter from the Commodore, which is, I think, likely to do good.'

By the 15th of June the glad intelligence was received that the hospital

had been empty for a fortnight; and the house that was to have been

carried to Mota was put up for the married couples, for whom it afforded

separate sleeping rooms, though the large room was in common. Two

weddings were preparing, and B---- and his wife had become reconciled.

'We may hope that this time it is not a case of two children, then

unbaptized, living together, heathen fashion, obeying mere passion,

ignorant of true love, but a sober, somewhat sad reunion of two clever

and fairly-educated grown-up people, knowing much of life and its sad

experience, understanding what they are about, and trying to begin again

with prayer to God and purposes of a good life.'

This time of convalescence was a time of great progress. A deep

impression had been made on many, and there was a strong spirit of

enquiry among them. The Bishop then began a custom of preaching to his

black scholars alone after the midday service, dismissing his five or

six white companions after prayers, because he felt he could speak

more freely and go more straight to the hearts of his converts and

catechumens if he had no other audience.

The other inhabitants of the island suffered long after the St. Barnabas

scholars were free, and deaths continued. It was impossible to enforce

on such an undisciplined race the needful attention to cleanliness, or

even care of the sick; the healthy were not kept apart, nor was the food

properly prepared for the sick. It was impossible to stir or convince

the easy-going tropical nature, and there was no authority to enforce

sanitary measures, so the fever smouldered on, taking first one, then

another victim, and causing entire separation from St. Barnabas, except

as far as the Bishop was concerned.

Meantime, a house was being put up to receive Mr. Palmer's intended

wife, the daughter of that Mr. Ashwell who had shared in the disastrous

voyage when the 'Southern Cross' had been wrecked. She had been brought

up to Mission work, and was likely to be valuable among the young girls.

After this announcement, the Bishop continues:--

'My mind is now made up to take the great step of ordaining dear George

Sarawia, for nine years my pupil, and for the last three or four my

friend and helper. Codrington is only surprised that he is not ordained

already. Humanly speaking, there can be no doubt of his steadfastness.

He is, indeed, a thoroughly good conscientious man, humble without

servility, friendly and at his ease without any forwardness, and he has

a large share of good sense and clear judgment. Moreover, he has long

held a recognised position with all here and in New Zealand, and for the

last two years the Mota people and the neighbouring islanders have quite

regarded him as one whom they recognise as their leader and teacher, one

of our own race, yet not like us--different; he knows and does what we

can't do and don't know.

'They quite look upon him as free from all the difficulties which attend

a man's position as inheriting feuds, animosities, &c. He goes anywhere;

when the island may be in a disturbed state, no one would hurt him; he

is no partisan in their eyes, a man of other habits and thoughts and

character, a teacher of all.

'I think, oh! with such feelings of thankfulness and hope too, of

the first Melanesian clergyman! I should almost like to take him to

Auckland, that the Bishop might ordain him; but he ought to be ordained

here, in the presence of the Melanesians; and in the hasty confusion of

the few weeks in New Zealand, George would be at a sad loss what to do,

and the month of October is cold and raw. But you may get this just in

time to think of his Ordination, and how you will pray for him! His

wife Sara is a weakly body, but good, and she and I are, and always

have been, great friends. She has plenty of good sense. Their one

child, Simon, born in Norfolk Island some fourteen months ago, is a very

nice-looking child, and healthy enough.

Meantime the spirit of enquiry and faith was making-marked progress.

Mr. Codrington says: 'The stir in the hearts and minds of those already

christened might be called a revival, and the enquiring and earnest

spirit of many more seemed to be working towards conversions. During

this time, there might be seen on the cliff or under the trees in the

afternoon, or on Sundays, little groups gathered round some of the elder

Christians, enquiring and getting help. It was the work that George

evidently was enabled to do in this way that convinced everyone that the

time had quite come for his Ordination. It is worth mentioning that

the boys from one island, and one individual in particular, were much

influenced by the last conversations of the first Christian who died

here (Walter Hotaswol), who had told his friends to be "sure that all

the Bishop had told them was true."'

This quickening and its results are further described in the ensuing

letter, wherein is mention of the Bauro man Taroniara, the most

remarkable of the present conversions, and destined three years after to

die with the Bishop and Mr. Atkin.

'June 20, 9 P.M., 1868.

'My dear Sisters,--You know how I am thinking of him to-day. Seven years

ago! I think that he seems more and more present to my mind than ever.

How grateful it is to me to find the dear Bishop ever recurring to

him in his sermons, &c.; but indeed we all have the great blessing and

responsibility of being his children. The thought of meeting him again,

if God be so merciful, comes over me sometimes in an almost overpowering

way: I quite seem to see and feel as if kneeling by his side before the

Great Glory, and even then thinking almost most of him. And then, so

many others too--Mamma, Uncle James, Frank, &c., and you, dear Joan,

think of your dear Mother. It seems almost too much. And then the mind

goes on to think of the Saints of God in every generation, from one

of the last gathered in (dear Mr. Keble) to the very first; and as we

realise the fact that we may, by God's wonderful mercy, be companions,

though far beneath the feet, of Patriarchs, and Apostles, and Martyrs,

and even see Him as He is--it is too great for thought! and yet, thank

God, it is truth.

'My heart is full too of other blessed thoughts. There seems to be a

stirring of heart among our present set of scholars, the younger ones I

mean; they come into my room after evening Chapel and school, one or

two at a time, but very shy, sit silent, and at last say very softly,

"Bishop, I wish to stop here for good."

'"Why?"

'"I do wish to be good, to learn, to be like George and Henry and the

rest."

'This morning I baptized Charlotte and Joanna. Charlotte will be married

to Fisher on Wednesday, when Benjamin and Marion will also be married.

Oh, what blessings are these! I spoke earnestly of the service in my

preachment.

'Taroniara, from San Cristoval, said to me the other night, "Bishop,

why is it that now I think as I never thought before? I can't tell quite

what I think. You know I used to be willing to learn, but I was easily

led away on my own island; but I think that I shall never wish again

to listen to anything but the Word of God. I know I may be wrong, but I

think I shall never be inclined to listen to anything said to me by

my people to keep me from you and from this teaching. I feel quite

different: I like and wish for things I never really used to care for; I

don't care for what I used to like and live for. What is it?"

'"What do you think it is?"

'"I think--but it is so (mava) great--I think it is the Spirit of God in

my heart."

'As for the Mota and Matlavo fellows, and the girls too, they have now

good examples before them, and one and all wish to stop here as long

as I please. And that being so, the return to their homes not being

a return to purely heathen islands, I trust that they may soon be

baptized. So my heart is full of thankfulness and wonder and awe.

'All this time I write with a full sense of the uncertainty of this and

every human work. I know the Bishop is preaching on failures, and I try

to think he is preaching to me.

'July 2nd, 8 A.M.--My dear Sisters, what a day we had yesterday! so

full of happiness and thankfulness. It was the wedding-day of Fisher and

Charlotte, Benjamin and Marion.

'The chapel was so prettily dressed up by Mr. Codrington and Mr. Bice,

under whose instructions some of the lads made evergreen ornaments, &c.,

large white arums and red flowers also.

'At 7 A.M. Morning-Prayers, as usual. At 9.30 the wedding. All the

Melanesians in their places in Chapel; and as we came into the Chapel

from my room, the 100th Psalm was chanted capitally. Mr. Codrington said

he never was present at so thoroughly devotional a wedding. It was a

really solemn religious service.

'Then I gave good presents to everyone in the school, even the smallest

boys came in for a knife, beads, &c. Then cricket, for the day was

beautifully fine, though it is midwinter. And all sorts of fun we

had. Then a capital dinner, puddings, &c. Then cricket, running races,

running in sacks (all for prizes), then a great tea, 7 P.M. Chapel,

then native dances by a great bonfire. Then at 10 P.M. hot coffee and

biscuits, then my little speech, presenting all our good wishes to the

married couples, and such cheering, I hope it may be well remembered.

The deeper feeling of it all is bearing fruit. Already lads and young

men from the Solomon Islands say, "We begin to see what is meant by a

man and woman living together." The solemnity of the service struck them

much.

'The bridegrooms wore their Sunday dresses, nice tidy trousers of dark

tweed, Crimean shirt, collar and tie, and blue serge coat. The brides,

white jackets trimmed with a bit of red, white collar and blue skirts.

All the answers quietly and reverently made; the whole congregation

answering "Amen" to the word of blessing in an unmistakeable way. The

67th Psalm was chanted, of course.

'My plan is to have Psalms, with reading and singing to suit each day,

regarded as commemorative of the great facts and doctrines, so that

every week we read in chapel about forty Psalms, and sing about twelve

hymns. These are pretty well known by heart, and form already a very

considerable stock of Scriptural reference. The Resurrection and the

Gift of the Spirit, the Nativity, Manifestation, Betrayal, Ascension,

Crucifixion, Burial, with the doctrines connected with them, come in

this way every week before their minds. I translated Psalms chosen with

reference to this plan, and wrote hymns, &c. in the same way.

'I wish you could have been with us yesterday. It was really a

strikingly solemn service. Then our fortnightly 7 A.M. Communions, our

daily 7 A.M. and 7 P.M. Services, our Baptisms, yes and our burials too,

all are so quiet, and there is so much reverence. You see that they have

never learnt bad habits. A Melanesian scholar wouldn't understand how

one could pray in any other posture than kneeling.

'The evening Catechumen classes, so happy. And then the dear fellows at

their private prayers. The Chapel is always open, you know, and in the

early morning and late evening little knots of three and four, or eight

and ten, are kneeling about, quietly saying their prayers. The sick

lads--dear Clement and Richard who died--as long as they could move,

knelt up in hospital to say their prayers, and all but quite the new

comers did the same. It was touching to see them, weak and in much pain,

yet I did not of course tell them that they might as well pray as they

lay on their rugs. Better for them even if it did a little exhaust them.

It is no mere formal observance of a rule, for there never has been any

rule about it. I have given them short simple prayers, and they first

learn to kneel down with me here in my room, or with Codrington in his

room, &c. But I merely said (long ago at Kohimarama), "You know you can

always go into the Chapel whenever you like."

'Sometimes I do wish you could see them; but then unless you could talk

with them, and indeed unless you knew the Melanesian mind and nature,

you couldn't estimate these things rightly.

'But never did I feel so hopeful, though my old text is ever in my mind,

Isaiah lx. 5: "Thine heart shall fear, and be enlarged." That's exactly

it.

'July 18th.--To-morrow I baptize Taroniara, of San Cristoval, a young

man full of promise. He has a wife and little girl of about four years

old. He may become, by God's blessing, the teacher of the people of his

island.'

(From a letter of the same date to myself, I add the further particulars

about one who was to teach by his death instead of his life, and for

whom the name of the first martyr was chosen):--

'He has been with me for some years, always good and amiable; but too

good-natured, too weak, so that he did not take a distinct line with his

people. He is a person of some consequence in his neighbourhood. Now

he gives all the proofs that can well be given of real sincerity. He

wonders himself, as he contrasts his present with his former thoughts.

I feel, humanly speaking, quite convinced that he is thoroughly in

earnest. His wife and little child are in the islands. "How foolish of

me not to have listened to you, and brought them here at once. Then we

could stop here for good." But he will return with them, all being well,

or without them, if anything has happened to them, and I see in him, as

I hope and pray, the pioneer for San Cristoval at last.

'(Resuming the home letter.) The language of Mota now is beginning to be

a very fair channel for communicating accurate theological teaching.

We have, of course, to a large extent made it so by assigning deeper

meanings to existing words (we have introduced very few words). This is

the case in every language. On Sunday night, if you had been here, and

been able to understand my teaching on St. John vi. to the Communicants,

you would have been surprised, I think. Something of Hooker's fifth book

was being readily taken in by several of those present. An Old Testament

history they don't learn merely as certain events. They quickly take up

the meaning, the real connection. I use the "Sunday Teaching," or work

them at all events on that plan. Well, you mustn't say too much of the

bright side of the picture. It is so easy to misunderstand.

'The time has been bad for our "lambing." We have thirty-five lambs,

looking well, and have lost, I think, nine. Yesterday a great event

occurred. One of the cart-mares foaled; great was the satisfaction of

the Melanesians at the little filly. Calves are becoming too common, as

we have now fourteen or fifteen cows, and five more are owing to us for

goods which the people take in exchange--not money, which would not suit

them as well. We have fenced in plenty of grass, and I don't wan't to

pay any more for keep. Of course, we use a good deal of salt beef

on shore here, as well as seek to supply the "Southern Cross" on her

voyages.

'It is pleasant to walk about and see the farm and gardens thriving.

All being well, we shall have some 300 bananas next year, lots of

sugar-canes; many fruit trees are being planted, pine-apples, coffee,

&c. Guavas grow here like weeds. I don't care for these things; but the

others do, and of course the scholars rejoice in them.

'I think of the islands, and see them in my waking dreams, and it seems

as if nothing was done. But I think again of what it was only a very

short time ago, and oh! I do feel thankful indeed, and amazed, and

almost fearful. I should like much, if I am alive and well, to see my

way to spending more of my time on the islands. But the careful training

of picked scholars for future missionaries is, I am sure, the most

important part of our work (though it must be combined as much as

possible with residence in the islands). If I could feel that the school

was well able to get on without me, I would be off to the islands for

a good spell. On the other hand, I feel most strongly that my chief

business is to make such provision as I may for the multiplication of

native missionaries, and the future permanent development and extension

of the Mission; and to do this, our best scholars must be carefully

trained, and then we may hope to secure a competent staff of native

clergymen for the islands.

'Mind, I am not disposed to act in a hasty way. Only I don't mean to

let conventional notions about an English clergyman hinder my providing

Melanesian islands with a Melanesian ministry. These scholars of ours

know very much more, and I imagine possess qualifications of all

kinds for their work in Melanesia, greater than the majority of the

missionaries in the old missionary times.

'How many men did good work who could hardly read, only repeat a few

portions of the Service-book, &c.!

'I need not say that we wish to educate them up to the maximum point

of usefulness for their practical work. But, given earnestness and

steadfastness of character, a fair amount of teaching power, and a sound

knowledge of fundamental truths, of the Church Services, and the meaning

and spirit of the Prayer-book, and we may surely trust that, by God's

grace, they may execute the office of the Ministry to the glory of God,

and the edification of the Church.

'They have now in Mota, in print, St. Luke, the Acts; soon will have St.

John, which is all ready; the Prayer-book, save some of the Psalms, and

a few other small portions. And in MS. they have a kind of manual of

the Catechism, abstract of the Books of the Old Testament, papers on

Prophecy, &c., &c. All this work, once done in Mota, is, without very

much labour, to be transferred into Bauro, Mahaga, Mara, &c., &c. as I

hope; but that is in the future.'

In the birthday letter to his sister Fanny, his chilly nature confesses

that August cold was making itself felt; and it was becoming time for

him to make a journey to the settled world, both on account of a small

tumour under his eyelid, and of the state of his teeth. Moreover, no

letters from home had reached him since the 2nd of March. But he writes

on the 7th of September to his brother:--

'This does not a bit distress me. I like the freedom from all external

excitement. It gives me uninterrupted time from my own work; and the

world does not suffer from my ignorance of its proceedings. How you

exist with all the abominations of daily papers, I can't imagine. Your

life in England seems to be one whirl and bustle, with no real time for

quiet thought and patient meditation, &c. And yet men do think and do

great things, and it doesn't wear them out soon either. Witness Bishops

and Judges, &c., living to eighty and even ninety in our own days.

'I like quiet and rest, and no railroads and no daily posts; and, above

all, no visitors, mere consumers of time, mere idlers and producers of

idleness. So, without any post, and nothing but a cart on wheels, save

a wheelbarrow, and no visitors, and no shops, I get on very happily and

contentedly. The life here is to me, I must confess, luxurious, because

I have what I like, great punctuality, early hours, regular school work,

regular reading, very simple living; the three daily meals in hall take

about seventy minutes all put together, and so little time is lost; and

then the climate is delightful. Too cold now, but then I ought to be in

the islands. The thermometer has been as low as 56° in my room; and I

am standing in my room and writing now with my great coat on, the

thermometer being 67°.

'You know that I am not cut out for society, never was at my ease in

it, and am glad to be out of it. I am seldom at my ease except among

Melanesians: they and my books are my best companions. I never feel the

very slightest desire for the old life. You know how I should like to

see you dear ones, and...[others by name] but I couldn't stand more than

a week in England, if I could transplant myself there in five minutes!

I don't think this augurs any want of affection; but I have grown into

this life; I couldn't change it without a most unpleasant wrench.'

The letter was at this point, when the 'Southern Cross' arrived, on

September 10, to carry off the Bishop and Mr. Palmer: the one to the

General Synod, and to take leave of his most loved and venerated friend;

the other, to fetch his bride.

He arrived on the 18th of the month, looking ill, and much worn and even

depressed, more so than Lady Martin had ever seen him, for the coming

parting pressed heavily upon him. The eye and teeth were operated upon

without loss of time, and successfully; but this, with the cold of the

voyage, made him, in his own word, 'shaky,' and it was well that he was

a guest at Taurarua, with Lady Martin to take care of him, feed him on

food not solid, and prevent him on the ensuing Sunday from taking more

than one of the three services which had been at once proffered to him.

It was no small plunge from the calm of St. Barnabas. 'We agree,' said

Lady Martin, in a note within his envelope, 'that we cannot attempt to

write letters just now. We are in a whirl, mental and bodily; one bit

of blue sky has just shown itself, viz. that Coley may possibly stay on

with us for a week or two after the Selwyns have left us. This really is

proeter spem, and I mean to think that it will come to pass.'

But in all this bustle, he found time to enclose a kind little note to

me; showing his sympathy with the sorrow of that summer, in my mother's

illness:--

'Auckland. October 3, 1868.

'I add one line, my dear Cousin, to assure you of my prayers being

offered for you, now more especially when a heavy trial is upon you and

a deep sorrow awaiting you. May God comfort and bless you! Perhaps the

full experience of such anxiety and the pressure of a constant weight

may, in His good Providence, qualify you more than ever to help others

by words put into your mouth out of your own heart-felt troubles.

'Yet in whatever form the sorrow comes, there is the blessing of knowing

that she is only being mysteriously prepared for the life of the world

to come. There is no real sorrow where there is no remorse, nor misery

for the falling away of those we love. You have, I dare say, known (as

I have) some who have the bitterness of seeing children turn out badly,

and this is the sorrow that breaks one down.'

It was during these spring days of October, that last Sunday before the

final parting, that being hindered by pouring rain from going with

the Primate, who was holding a farewell service with the sick at the

hospital, Bishop Patteson said the prayers in the private chapel. After

these were ended (Lady Martin says), 'he spoke a few words to us.

He spoke of our Lord standing on the shore of the Lake after His

Resurrection; and he carried us, and I think himself too, out of the

heaviness of sorrow into a region of peace and joy, where all conflict

and partings and sin shall cease for ever. It was not only what he said,

but the tones of his musical voice, and expression of peace on his own

face, that hushed us into a great calm. One clergyman, who was present,

told Sir William Martin that he had never known anything so wonderful.

The words were like those of an inspired man.

'Three days after, our dear friends sailed. I will not dwell on the

last service at St. Paul's Church, when more than four hundred persons

received the Holy Communion, where were four Bishops administering

in the body of the church and the transepts; but in the chancel, the

Primate and his beloved son in the faith were partaking together for the

last time of the Bread of Life.

'From the Church we accompanied our beloved friends to the ship, and

drove back on a cold, dry evening, a forlorn party, to the desolate

house. But from that time dear Bishop Patteson roused himself from his

natural depression (for to whom could the loss be greater than to him?)

and set himself to cheer and comfort us all. How gentle and sympathising

he was! He let me give him nourishing things, even wine--which he had

long refused to take--because I told him Mrs. Selwyn wished him to have

it. Many hearts were drooping, and he no longer shrank from society, but

went about from one to another in the kindest manner. I do not know how

we could have got on without him. He loved to talk of the Bishop. In his

humility he seemed to feel as if any power of usefulness in himself had

been gained from him. It was like him to think of our Auckland poor at

this time. They would so miss the Bishop and Mrs. Selwyn. He prayed me

to draw £50 a year for the next year or two, to be spent in any way I

should think best. And he put it as a gift from his dear Father, who

would have wished that money of his invested here should be used in part

for the good of the townspeople. This did not include his subscriptions

to the Orphan Home and other charities.'

To make his very liberal gifts in time of need in the name of his

Father, was his favourite custom; as his former fellow-labourer, the

Rev. B. T. Dudley, found when a case of distress in his own parish in

the Canterbury Settlement called forth this ready assistance.

Perhaps the young Church of New Zealand has never known so memorable or

so sorrowful a day as that which took from her her first Bishop: a day

truly to be likened to that when the Ephesians parted with their Apostle

at Miletus. The history of this parting Bishop Patteson had himself to

read on Saturday, October 17, the twenty-seventh anniversary of Bishop

Selwyn's Consecration. It was at the Celebration preceding the last

meeting of the Synod, when Collect, Epistle, and Gospel were taken from

the Order for the Consecration of Bishops; and as the latter says,--'He

has always told me to officiate with him, and I had, by his desire, to

read Acts xx. for the Epistle. I did read it without a break-down, but

it was hard work.' Then followed the Sunday, before described by Lady

Martin; and on Tuesday the 20th, that service in St. Mary's--the parting

feast:--

'Then,' writes the younger Bishop, 'the crowded streets and wharf, for

all business was suspended, public offices and shops shut, no power of

moving about the wharf, horses taken from the carriage provided for the

occasion, as a mixed crowd of English and Maoris drew them to the wharf.

Then choking words and stifled efforts to say, "God bless you," and so

we parted!

'It is the end of a long chapter. I feel as if "my master was taken from

my head."

'Ah! well, they are gone, and we will try to do what we can.

'I feel rather no-how, and can't yet settle down to anything!'

But to the other sister on the same day comes an exhortation not to be

alarmed if friends report him as 'not up to the mark.' How could it

be otherwise at such a time? For truly it was the last great shock his

affections sustained. In itself, it might not be all that the quitting

home and family had been; but not only was there the difference between

going and being left behind, but youth, with its spirit of enterprise

and compensation, was past, and he was in a state to feel the pain of

the separation almost more intensely than when he had walked from the

door at Feniton, and gathered his last primrose at his mother's grave.

Before leaving Auckland, the Bishop married the Rev. John Palmer to Miss

Ashwell; and while they remained for a short time in New Zealand, he

returned for the Ember Week.

'St. Thomas, Norfolk Island: December 21, 1868.

'My dear Cousin,--I must write you a few lines, not as yet in answer to

your very interesting letter about Mr. Keble and about Ritualism, &c.,

but about our great event of yesterday.

'George Sarawia was ordained Deacon in our little chapel, in the

presence of fifty-five Melanesians and a few Norfolk Islanders. With him

Charles Bice, a very excellent man from St. Augustine's, was ordained

Deacon also. He has uncommon gifts of making himself thoroughly at

home with the Melanesians. It comes natural to him, there is no effort,

nothing to overcome apparently, and they of course like him greatly. He

speaks the language of Mota, the lingua franca here, you know.

'But what am I to say of George that you cannot imagine for yourself? It

was in the year 1857 that the Bishop and I first saw him at Vanua Lava

Island. He has been with us now ten years; I can truly say, that he has

never given me any uneasiness. He is not the cleverest of our scholars;

but no one possesses the confidence of us all in the same degree. True,

he is the oldest of the party, he can hardly be less than twenty-six

years old, for he had been married a year when first we saw him; but it

is his character rather than his age which gives him his position. For a

long time he has been our link with the Melanesians themselves whenever

there was something to be done by one of themselves rather than by us

strangers. Somehow the other scholars get into a way of recognising

him as the A 1 of the place, and so also in Mota and the neighbouring

islands his character and reputation are well known. The people expect

him to be a teacher among them, they all know that he is a person of

weight.

'The day was warm and fine.

'At 7.20 A.M. we had the Morning Service, chanting the 2nd Psalm. I

read Isa. xlii. 5-12 for the First Lesson, and 1 Tim. iii. 8-13 for the

Second, and the Collect in the Ordination Service before the Prayer of

St. Chrysostom. Mr. Codrington, as usual, read the prayers to the end of

the third Collect, after which we sang our Sunday hymn.

'At 11 A.M. we began the Ordination Service. One Epiphany hymn, my short

sermon, then Mr. Codrington presented the candidates, speaking Mota for

one and English for the other. The whole service was in Mota, except

that I questioned Bice, and he answered in English, and I used the

English words of Ordination in his case. George was questioned and

answered in Mota, and then Bice in English, question by question. Mr.

Nobbs was here and a few of the people, Mr. Atkin, Mr. Brooke, so we

made a goodly little party of seven in our clerical supper.

'What our thoughts were you can guess as we ordained the first

Melanesian clergyman. How full of thankfulness, of awe, of wonderment,

the fulfilment of so much, the pledge of it, if it be God's will, of so

much more! And not a little of anxiety, too--yet the words of comfort

are many; and it does not need much faith, with so evident a proof of

God's Love and Power and Faithfulness before our very eyes, to trust

George in His Hands.

'The closing stanzas of the Ordination Hymn in the "Christian Year"

comforted me as I read them at night; but I had peace and comfort, thank

God, all through.

'Others, too, are pressing on. I could say, with truth, to them in the

evening in the Chapel, "This is the beginning, only the beginning, the

first fruit. Many blossoms there are already. I know that God's Spirit

is working in the hearts of some of you. Follow that holy guidance, I

pray always that you may be kept in the right way, and that you may be

enabled to point it out to others, and to guide them in it."

'And yet no words can express what the recoil of the wave heathenism is,

but "when the enemy shall come in like a flood," and it has indeed its

own glorious word of Promise. It is like one who was once a drunkard and

has left off drinking, and then once more tastes the old deadly poison,

and becomes mad for drink; or like the wild furious struggles (as I

suppose) of poor penitents in penitentiaries, when it seems as if the

devil must whirl them back into sin. You know we see things which

look like "possession," a black cloud settling down upon the soul,

overwhelming all the hopeful signs for a time. And then, when I have my

quiet talk with such an one (and only very few, and they not the best

among us), he will say, "I can't tell, I didn't mean it. It was not I.

What was it?" And I say, "It was the devil, seeking to devour you, to

drag you back into the old evil dark ways." "It is awful, fearful."

"Then you must gird your loins and pray the more, and remember that you

are Christ's, that you belong to Him, that you are God's child, that

Satan has no right to claim you now. Resist him in this name, in the

strength of the Spirit whom Christ has sent to us from the Father, and

he will flee from you."

'It is of course the same more or less with us all, but it comes out

in, a shape which gives it terrible reality and earnestness. Only think,

then, more than ever, of them and of me, and pray that "the Spirit of

the Lord may lift up a standard against the enemy." At times we do seem

to realise that it is a downright personal struggle for life or death.'

There the writer paused, and the next date is

'Christmas Day, 1868.

'My dearest Sisters,--What a happy happy day! At 12.5 A.M. I was awoke

by a party of some twenty Melanesians, headed by Mr. Bice, singing

Christmas carols at my bedroom door. It is a glass window, opening on to

the verandah. How delightful it was! I had gone to bed with the Book

of Praise by my side, and Mr. Keble's hymn in my mind; and now the Mota

versions, already familiar to us, of the Angels' Song and of the "Light

to lighten the Gentiles," sung too by some of our heathen scholars, took

up as it were the strain. Their voices sounded so fresh and clear in the

still midnight, the perfectly clear sky, the calm moon, the warm genial

climate.

'I lay awake afterwards, thinking on the blessed change wrought in their

minds, thinking of my happy happy lot, of how utterly undeserved it was

and is, and (as is natural) losing myself in thoughts of God's wonderful

goodness and mercy and love.

'Then at 4.45 A.M. I got up, a little later perhaps than usual.

Codrington and Brooke were very soon at work finishing the decorations

in the Chapel; branches of Norfolk Island pines, divers evergreens,

pomegranates and oleanders and lilies (in handfuls) and large snow-white

arums; on the altar-table arums above, and below lilies and evergreens.

Oleanders and pomegranates marked the chancel arch. The rugs looked very

handsome, the whole floor at the east end is covered with a red baize or

drugget to match the curtains.

'7 A.M., Holy Communion. Six clergymen in surplices and fifteen other

communicants. At 10 A.M., a short, very bright, joyful service, the

regular Morning Prayers, Psalms xcv. xix. cx. all chanted. Proper

Lessons, two Christmas hymns.

'Then games, cricket, prisoner's base, running races. Beef, pork,

plum-puddings.

'Now we shall soon have evening Chapel, a great deal of singing, a

few short words from me; then a happy, merry, innocent evening, native

dances, coffee, biscuit, and snapdragons to finish with.

'If you had been here to-day, you would indeed have been filled with

surprise and thankfulness and hope. There is, I do think, a great deal

to show that these scholars of ours so connect religion with all that

is cheerful and happy. There is nothing, as I think, sanctimonious about

them. They say, "We are so happy here! How different from our lands!"

'And I think I can truly say that this is not from want of seriousness

in those of an age to be serious.

'I pour this out to you in my happy day--words of hope and joy and

thankfulness! But remember that I feel that all this should make me

thoughtful as well as hopeful. How can I say but what sorrow and trial

may even now be on their way hither? But I thank God, oh! I do thank

Him for his great love and mercy, and I do not think it wrong to give my

feelings of joy some utterance.'

With this year the Eucharist was administered weekly, the Melanesians

still attending fortnightly; but it proved to have been a true

foreboding that a sorrow was on its way:--

'January 8th.--A very joyful Christmas, but a sad Epiphany!

'U---, dearer to me than ever, has (I now hear from him) been putting

himself in the way of temptation. I had noticed that he was not like

himself, and spoke to him and warned him. I told him that if he wished

to be married at once, I was quite willing to marry him; but he said

they were too young, and yet he was always thinking of the young

fiancee. Alas! he had too often (as he says) put himself in the way

of temptation with his eyes open, and he fell. He was frightened,

terrified, bewildered.

'Alas! it is our first great sorrow of the kind, for he was a

Communicant of nearly three years' standing. Yet I have much comfort.

'I can have no doubt, 1st, that a fall was necessary, I believe fully.

His own words (not suggested by me) were, "I tempted God often, and He

let me fall; I don't mean He was the cause of it, it is of course only

my fault; but I think I see that I might have gone on getting more and

more careless and wandering further and further from Him unless I had

been startled and frightened." And then he burst out, "Oh! don't send me

away for ever. I know I have made the young ones stumble, and destroyed

the happiness of our settlement here. I know I must not be with you all

in Chapel and school and hall. I know I can't teach any more, I know

that, and I am miserable, miserable. But don't tell me I must go away

for ever. I can't bear it!"

'I did manage to answer almost coldly, for I felt that if I once let

loose my longing desire to let him see my real feeling, I could not

restrain myself at all. "Who wishes to send you away, U--? It is not me

whom you have displeased and injured."

'"I know. It is terrible! But I think of the Prodigal Son. Oh! I do long

to go back! Oh! do tell me that He loves me still."

'Poor dear fellow! I thought I must leave him to bear his burthen for a

time. We prayed together, and I left him, or rather sent him away from

my room, but he could neither eat nor sleep.

'The next day his whole manner, look, everything made one sure (humanly

speaking) that he was indeed truly penitent; and then when I began to

speak words of comfort, of God's tender love and compassion, and told

him how to think of the Lord's gentle pity when He appeared first to

the Magdalene and Peter, and when I took his hand in the old loving way,

poor fellow, he broke down more than ever, and cried like a child.

'Ah! it is very sad; but I do think he will be a better, more steadfast

man: he has learnt his weakness, and where to find strength, as he

never had before. And the effect on the school is remarkable. That there

should be so much tenderness of conscience and apprehension of the guilt

of impurity among the children of the heathen in among many brought up

in familiarity with sin, is a matter for much thankfulness.'

To this may well be added an extract from Joseph Atkin's journal,

showing his likemindedness both in thoughtfulness and charity:--

'I feel quite sure that we must be prepared for many such cases. The

whole associations and training of the early lives of these people must

influence them as long as they live. The thought of what my mother and

sister would think, never occur to them as any influence for good; and

although this may be said to be a low motive for doing right, it is a

very powerful one, and it is more tangible because it is lower.

'The Bishop, in speaking of it to-day, told the boys that they ought not

to do right to please him, but because it was right to please God; but I

can't help thinking that pleasing the Bishop may and can help the

other very much. Is it not right for a child to do right to please its

parents, and for older children too to be helped by the thought that

they are pleasing those they love and honour?

'We had a council to-day of all the Church members to talk about how

U---- was to be treated. For himself, poor fellow, I should think

kindness would be harder to bear than neglect.

'Mr. Codrington says, "On this occasion all the male Communicants went

together to some little distance, where a group of boulders under the

pines gave a convenient seat. The Bishop set out the case, and asked

what was the opinion of the elder boys as to the treatment of the

offender. They were left alone to consider; and when we came back, they

gave their judgment, that he should not eat in the hall at what may be

called the high table, that he should not teach in school, and should

not come into Chapel."

'This was of course what was intended, but the weight of the sentence so

given was greater with the school, and a wholesome lesson given to the

judges. How soon the Bishop's severity, which never covered his pity,

gave way to his affection for one of his oldest and dearest pupils, and

his tenderness for the penitent, and how he took a large share of blame

upon himself, just where it was not due, can well be understood by all

who knew him.'

There was soon a brighter day. On January 25, writes Mr. Atkin:--

'We had a great day. In the morning some who were baptized last summer

were confirmed, and at night there were baptized three girls and

thirteen boys. Most of them were quite little fellows. I don't think any

of us will easily forget their grave and sober but not shy looks, as one

by one they stepped up to the Bishop. I think that all understood and

meant what they said, that Baptism was no mere form with them, but a

real solemn compact. All who were in my class (nine), or the Sunday

morning school, were baptized in the evening. While we were standing

round the font, I thought of you at home, and half wished that you

could have seen us there. I was witness for my son (Wate); he was called

Joseph, so that I shall lose my name that I have kept so long.'

Joseph Wate, the little Malanta boy, was always viewed by the Atkin

family as a kind of child, and kept up a correspondence with his

godfather's sister, Mother Mary as he called her.

On the same day the Bishop wrote to Judge Pohlman:--

'My very dear Friend,--I must not let our correspondence drop, and the

less likely it seems to be that we may meet, the more I must seek to

retain your friendship, by letting you know not only the facts that

occur here, but my thoughts and hopes and fears about them.'

(Then, after mentioning the recent transgression, the letter continues

respecting the youth.)

'His fright and terror, his misery and deep sorrow, and (I do believe)

godly repentance, make me say that he is still, as I trust, one of our

best scholars. But it is very sad. For three weeks he did not come even

into chapel with us. He not only acquiesced, but wished that it should

be so.

'Last Saturday evening he was readmitted, without any using of fine

names. I did as a matter of fact do what was the practice of the early

Christians, and is recognised in our Ash Wednesday service now. It was

very desirable that great notice should be taken of the commission of

an act which it is hard for a heathen to understand to be an act of sin,

and the effect upon the whole school of the sad and serious way in which

this offence was regarded has been very good.

'In the circumstances it is so easy to see how the discipline of the

early Church was not an artificial, but a necessary system, though by

degrees elaborated in a more complicated manner. But I find, not seldom,

that common sense dictates some course which afterwards I come across

in Bingham, or some such writer, described as a usage of the early

Christians.

'In our English nineteenth century life such practices could hardly be

reintroduced with benefit. Yet something which might mark open offences

with the censure of the Christian Body is clearly desirable when you can

have it; and of course with us there is no difficulty whatever.

'I cannot be surprised, however deeply grieved at this sad occurrence;

and though it is no comfort to think how many English persons would

think nothing of this, and certainly not show the deep compunction and

sorrow which this poor fellow shows, yet, as a matter of fact, how few

young Englishmen are there who would think such an act, as this young

Melanesian thinks it to be, a grievous sin against God, and matter for

continual sorrow and humiliation. So I do rejoice that he is sorrowing

after a godly sort.

'In other respects there is a very hopeful promising appearance just

now. We number seven clergymen, including myself. We have a very

efficient band of Melanesian teachers, and could at this moment work a

school of 150 scholars.

'George Sarawia will (D.V.) start with a little company of Christian

friends at his own island. The scholars from all the different islands

fraternise excellently well, and in many cases the older and more

advanced have their regular chums, by private arrangement among

themselves, whom they help, and to whose islands they are quite prepared

to be sent, if I think fit so to arrange; and I really do believe that

from the Banks Islands we may send out missionaries to many of the

Melanesian islands, as from Samoa and Karotonga they have gone out

to the islands of the Eastern Pacific. Humanly speaking, I see no

difficulty in our drawing into our central school here any number of

natives that we can support, from the New Hebrides, Banks and Solomon

Islands, and I trust soon from the Santa Cruz Islands also.

'Here must be the principal work, the training up missionaries and

steadfast Christian men and women, not of ability sufficient to become

themselves missionaries, but necessary to strengthen the hands of their

more gifted countrymen. This training must be carried on here, but with

it must be combined a frequent visitation and as lengthened sojourns in

the islands as possible. The next winter we hope that the Rev. J. Atkin

will be some time at San Cristoval, the Rev. C. H. Brooke at Florida,

the Rev. J. Palmer at Mota. But I am more than ever convinced that

the chiefest part of our work is to consist in training up Melanesian

clergymen, and educating them up to the point of faithfully reproducing

our simple teaching. We must hope to see native self-supporting

Melanesian Churches, not weak indolent Melanesians dependent always

on an English missionary, but steadfast, thoughtful men and women,

retaining the characteristics of their race so far as they can

be sanctified by the Word of God in prayer, and not force useless

imitations of English modes of thought and nineteenth century

civilisation.

'It is sometimes a consequence of our national self-conceit, sometimes

of want of thought, that no consideration is shown to the characteristic

native way of regarding things. But Christianity is a universal

religion, and assimilates and interpolates into its system all that is

capable of regeneration and sanctification anywhere.

'Before long I hope to get something more respectable in the way of

a report printed and circulated. It seems unreasonable to say so, but

really I have very little time that I can spare from directly Melanesian

work, what with school, translations, working out languages, and (thank

God) the many, many hours spent in quiet interviews with Melanesians

of all ages and islands, who come to have private talks with me, and to

tell me of their thoughts and feelings. These are happy hours indeed. I

must end. Always, my dear friend, affectionately and sincerely yours,

'J. C. PATTESON.'

The readmission thus mentioned was by the imposition of hands, when the

penitent was again received, and his conduct ever since has proved his

repentance true.

February brought Mr. and Mrs. Palmer to their new home, and carried

away Mr. Codrington for a holiday. The budget of letters sent by this

opportunity contained a remarkable one from young Atkin. Like master,

like scholar:--

'February 24, 1869.

'My dear Mother,--You must not think about my coming back; I may have to

do it, but if I do, it will seem like giving up the object of my life.

I did not enter upon this work with any enthusiasm, and it is perhaps

partly from that cause that I am now so attached to it that little short

of necessity would take me away; my own choice, I think, never. I know

it is much harder for you than for me. I wish I could lighten it to you,

but it cannot be. It is a great deal more self-denial for you to spare

me to come away than for me to come away. You must think, like David, "I

will not offer unto the Lord my God of that which doth cost me nothing."

If you willingly give Him what you prize most, however worthless the

gift may be, He will prize it for the willingness with which it is

given. If it had been of my own choosing that I came away, I should

often blame myself for having made a selfish choice in not taking harder

and more irksome work nearer home, but it came to me without choosing. I

can only be thankful that God has been so good to me.'

Well might the Bishop write to the father, 'I thank you in my heart for

Joe's promise.'

How exactly his own spirit, in simple, unconscious self-abnegation and

thorough devotion to the work. How it chimes in with this, written on

the self-same morning to the Bishop of Lichfield:--

'St. Matthias Day, 6.45 A.M., 1869.

My dear Bishop,--You do not doubt that I think continually of you, yet

I like you to have a line from me to-day. We are just going into Chapel,

altering our usual service to-day that we may receive the Holy Communion

with special remembrance of my Consecration and special prayer for a

blessing on the Mission. There is much to be thankful for indeed,

much also that may well make the retrospect of the last eight years a

somewhat sad and painful one as far as I am myself concerned. It

does seem wonderful that good on the whole is done. But everything is

wonderful and full of mystery....

'It is rather mean of me, I fear, to get out of nearly all troubles by

being here. Yet it seems to me very clear that the special work of the

Mission is carried on more conveniently (one doesn't like to say more

successfully) here, and my presence or absence is of no consequence when

general questions are under discussion....

'Your very affectionate

'J. C. PATTESON.'

The same mail brought a letter to Miss Mackenzie, with much valuable

matter on Mission work:--

'February 26, 1869.

'Dear Miss Mackenzie,--I have just read your letter to me of April 1867,

which I acknowledged, rather than answered, long ago.

'I can't answer it as it deserves to be answered now. I think I have

already written about thirty-five letters to go by this mail, and my

usual work seldom leaves me a spare hour.

'But I am truly thankful for the hopes that seem to show themselves

through the mists, in places where all Christian men must feel so

strong an interest. I do hope to hear that the new Bishopric may soon

be founded, on which Mr. Robertson and you and others have so set your

hearts. That good man! I often think of him, and hope soon to send him,

through you, £10 from our Melanesian offertory.

'You know we have, thank God, thirty-nine baptized Melanesians here, of

whom fifteen are communicants, and one, George Sarawia, a clergyman. He

was ordained on December 20.

'There are many little works usually going ons which I don't consider it

fair to reckon among the regular industrial work of the Mission. I pay

the young men and lads and boys small sums for such things, and I

think it right to teach the elder ones the use of money by giving them

allowances, out of which they buy their clothing, &c., when necessary,

all under certain regulations. I say this that you may know that our

weekly offertory is not a sham. No one knows what they give, or whether

they give or not. A Melanesian takes the offertory bason, and they give

or not as they please. I take care that such moneys as are due to them

shall be given in 3d., 4d., and 6d. pieces.

'Last year our offertory rather exceeded £40, and it is out of this that

my brother will now pay you £10 for the Mackenzie fund. I write all this

because you will like to think that some of this little offertory comes

bond fide from Melanesians.

'...You take me to mean, I hope, that Christianity is the religion for

mankind at large, capable of dealing with the spiritual and bodily needs

of man everywhere.

'It is easy for us now to say that some of the early English Missions,

without thinking at all about it, in all probability, sought to impose

an English line of thought and religion on Indians and Africans. Even

English dress was thought to be almost essential, and English habits,

&c., were regarded as part of the education of persons converted through

the agency of English Missions. All this seems to be burdening the

message of the Gospel with unnecessary difficulties. The teacher

everywhere, in England or out of it, must learn to discriminate between

essentials and non-essentials. It seems to me self-evident that

the native scholar must be educated up to the highest point that is

possible, and that unless one is (humanly speaking) quite sure that he

can and will reproduce faithfully the simple teaching he has received,

he ought not to teach, much less to be ordained.

'All our elder lads and girls here teach the younger ones, and we know

what they teach. Their notes of our lessons are brought to me, books

full of them, and there I see what they know; for if they can write down

a plain account of facts and doctrines, that is a good test of their

having taken in the teaching. George Sarawia's little essay on the

doctrine of the Communion is to me perfectly satisfactory. It was

written without my knowledge. I found it in one of his many note-books

accidentally.

'As for civilisation, they all live entirely with us, and every

Melanesian in the place, men and women, boys and girls, three times a

day take their places with all of us in hall, and use their knives and

forks, plates, cups and saucers (or, for the passage, one's pannikins)

just as we do. George and two others, speaking for themselves and their

wives, have just written out, among other things, in a list which I told

them to make out: plates, cups, saucers, knives, forks, spoons, tubs,

saucepans, kettles, soap, towels, domestic things for washing, ironing,

&c.