’I can’t write about politics.  Then comes the astounding news of this fearful war.  What am I to say to my Melanesians about it?  Do these nations believe in the Gospel of peace and goodwill?  Is the Sermon on the Mount a reality or not?  Is such conduct a repudiation of Christianity or not?  Are nations less responsible than individuals?  What possible justification is there for this war?  It is fearful, fearful on every ground.  Oh, this mighty belauded nineteenth-century civilisation!

’Yet society has improved in some ways.  Even war is not without its accompaniment of religion.  And it brings out kindly sympathy and stimulates works of charity.  But what a fearful responsibility lies upon the cause of the war.  It is hard to acquit Louis Napoleon of being really the cause.

’There would be great pleasure in seeing all the younger ones, not equal of course to that of seeing you all; but as I get older in my ways and habits, I think that my mind goes back more to the young ones.  True, I have a large family about me, 145 Melanesians here now.  Yet there is the want of community of thought on some subjects, and the difficulty of perfectly easy communication with them.  No Melanesian tongue is like English to me.

’I wrote a first sheet, but filled it up with mere stupid thoughts about questions of the day, not worth sending.  And this long letter, badly written, too, will weary your eyes.

’I must end.  My kindest love to Aunt, Mary, and all.  Always, my dearest Uncle,

’Your loving and grateful Nephew,

‘J.  C. Patteson.’

Two letters of December 12 follow; the first to Bishop Abraham.

Mrs. Palmer’s picture of the brides, at the last of the weddings the Bishop so enjoyed, may be acceptable.  It went to Mrs. Abraham by the same opportunity:—­

’Three were married a short time before Christmas; they, with five others, were baptized on Advent Sunday.  They had been here about thirteen months, and had got on very well during that time, improved in every way.  I think some of them are loveable girls, and it is pleasant to see them so happy and at home here.

’They were a queer-looking set when they first came, or I suppose I thought them so.

’I got some of the older girls to give them a good wash all over in warm water, and then gave them the new clothes.  They looked at me in such a curious way.  They had heard of me, “Palmer’s wife,” from the others, but had not seen an Englishwoman before.  A few days after they came, I ran into their room with my hair down, and they exclaimed with wonder “We ura ras” ("very good"), almost shouting, and then I told them to feel it, and some kissed it with gentle reverence, as though it were something very extraordinary.

’They are very kind and obliging in doing anything I want.  They have to be looked after a good bit, but are very obedient.  I did not imagine they would give so little trouble.  They are great chatterboxes, and very noisy, but all in an innocent way.  They seldom quarrel among themselves.  I don’t think their feelings are so strong as those of the Maoris, either of love or hate.