all October and half November I may devote to working up carefully (D.V.) the Banks and New Hebrides group without being under the necessity of going down to the Solomon Islands.  Thirdly, I had an opportunity of going further to the westward than I had ever been before, and of seeing new ground.  Fourthly, the Primate, I found, assumed that I should go.  So here I am, in great clover, of course:  the change from Mota to man-of-war life being amusing enough.  Barring some illness, slight attacks of fever, I have enjoyed myself very much.  The seeing Ysabel Island is a real gain.  I had time to acquire some 200 words and phrases of the language, which signify to me a great deal more.  The language is a very remarkable one, very Polynesian; yet in some respects distinguished from the Polynesian, and most closely related to Melanesian dialects.

’I need not enter into all this.  It is my business, you know, to work at such things, and a word or two often tells me now a good deal of the secrets of a language—­the prominent forms, affixes, &c., &c.; the way in which it is linked on to other dialects by peculiar terminations, the law by which the transposition of vowels and consonants is governed in general.  All these things soon come out, so I am very sanguine about soon, if I live, seeing my way in preparing the way for future missionaries in the far West.

’But I must not forget that I have some islands to visit in the next month or two where the people are very wild, so that I of all people have least reason to speculate about what I may hope to do a year hence.

’The real anxiety is in the making up my own mind whether or not I ought to lower the boat in such a sea way; whether or not I ought to swim ashore among these fellows crowded there on the narrow beach, &c.

’When my mind is made up, it is not so difficult then.  But, humanly speaking, there are but few islands now where I realise the fact of there being any risk; at very many I land with confidence.  Yet I could enumerate, I dare say, five-and-twenty which we have not visited at all, or not regularly; and where I must be careful, as also in visiting different parts of islands already known to us in part.  Poor poor people, who can see them and not desire to make known to them the words of life?  I may never forget the Bishop’s words in the Consecration Service:—­“Your office is in the highest sense to preach the Gospel to the poor;” and then his eye glanced over the row of Melanesians sitting near me.

’How strange that I can write all this, when one heavy sense of trouble is hanging vaguely over me.  And yet you will be thankful that I can think, as I trust, heartily of my work, and that my interest is in no way lessened.  It ought to be increased.  Yet I scarce realise the fact of being a Bishop, though again it does not seem unnatural.  I can’t explain what I mean.  I suppose the fact that I knew for so long before that it must come some day if I lived, makes the difference now.