We are especially grateful to the Kai Tholos for proving that Christianity has no connection with broadcloth, and in every way discouraging the adoption of European garments. I have only seen one man foolish enough to appear in such—a native minister—and I rejoiced to hear his superiors indulging in gentle sarcasm, which would certainly have its effect. But in some neighbouring groups—Tonga for instance, where the people are even a finer race than these—everything native is dying out. To encourage the import of foreign goods, the people are _forbidden by law to make or wear native cloth_, and they are encouraged to make themselves objects of ridicule by adopting European dress. Imagine Parisian bonnets and absurd hats on these picturesque heads. This is the last news from Tonga just brought by H.M.S. Nymphe (Captain Grant Suttie), which went there to take Mr Layard, Consul of Tonga, on official duty. The cruise was delightful, but with some shadows. One officer, Mr Grey, died quite suddenly; the armourer also died, but he was very ill before they started. Mr Gordon has gone off to-day to try and make an amicable temporary arrangement between some natives and a white settler, who all claim the same land. So the former spear the cattle of the latter and drive them down into the sea. The wretched beasts are dying of starvation; and as it may be a couple of years before the Lands Commission can decide on the ownership of the innumerable estates claimed by hundreds of people, the white man’s wife came here to crave some temporary interference. She wore a white dress and white lace, her hair in beautiful long ringlets, a large hat and feather, and is very interesting to look upon. I hear she is a splendid musician, and something of an artist. She is an Austrian lady who had money of her own, which her husband has invested in this charming way. I should think plantation life in Fiji was hard enough in any case; but when you come to being at logger-heads with the natives, it must be odious indeed. Now I think I have given you a long enough screed. I am sure dear old Lady Ruthven will like to hear “A letter from Fiji.” Please give her my kindest love.