’That I have been so well in body and so cheerful in mind ever since I left home—­I mean cheerful on the whole, not without seasons of sadness, but so mercifully strengthened at all times—­must, I think, without any foolish enthusiasm, be remembered by me as a special act of God’s goodness and mercy.  I was not the least weary of the sea.  Another month or two would have made very little difference to me, I think.  I am very fond of it, and I think of my voyages to come without any degree of dread from that cause, and I have no reason to expect any great discomfort from any other.  I have my whole stock of lemon syrup and lime juice, so that the salt meat on the “Southern Cross” will be counteracted in that way; and going round those islands we shall be ashore every few days.  But what most surprises me is this:  that when I am alone, as here at night in a great (for it is large) cheerless, lonely room, as I should have thought it once; though I can’t help thinking of my own comforts at home, and all dear faces around me, though I feel my whole heart swelling with love to you all, still I am not at all sad or gloomy, or cast down.  This does surprise me:  I did not think it would or could be so.  I have indeed prayed for it, but I had not faith to believe that my prayer would be so granted.  The fact itself is most certain.  I have at Alfington, when alone of an evening, experienced a greater sense of loneliness than I have once done out here.  Of this hitherto I feel no doubt:  it may be otherwise any day of course; and to what else can I attribute this fact, in all soberness of mind, but to the mercy of God in strengthening me for my work?  Much of it may be the effect of a splendid climate upon my physique, that is true; for indeed to find flowers in full blossom, green meadows, hot suns, birds singing, etc., in midwinter, with a cool, steady breeze from the sea invigorating me all the while, is no doubt just what I require; but to-day we have a north-easter, which answers to your south-west wind, with pouring rain, and yet my spirits are not going down with the barometer.  All the same, the said barometer will probably soon recover himself; for I believe these heavy storms seldom last long.  There is no fire in the room where I sit, which is the Bishop’s room when he is here; no fire-place indeed, as it opens into Mrs. Selwyn’s room.  The thermometer is 58°, and it is midwinter.’

To Miss Neill, on the same day, after repeating his conviction that he was in the right place, he says:—­

’I have written to them at home what I ought not perhaps to have said of myself, but that it will give them comfort—­that from all sides my being here as the Bishop’s companion is hailed as likely to produce very beneficial results.  But I must assure you that I fully know how your love for me and much too high opinion of me makes you fancy that I could be of use at home.  But we must not, even taking this view, send our refuse men