The beautiful night wore away, and in the morning a kindly breeze sprang up and brought us straight to the passage, when, with a few tacks, we made this anchorage. The village is pretty enough, shadowed by large trees, actually on the shore; but the people seemed unhealthy, and the flies multitudinous, and the house prepared for us is buried in poor plantains, and is stuffy and damp. After due inspection, we determined on sleeping in the large matted church, close to the teacher’s house, offered us. Of course it is otherwise quite empty,—save for a pulpit adorned with white shells. So we curtained off one end of it and there slept in peace, while just beyond our screens, Mr Langham was holding a meeting of all the native teachers on the island,—such a fine sensible body of men. Next night there were four weddings, and so many friends assembled that we did not venture on rigging up our quarters till the very tedious ceremony was over,—tedious because of the amount of inquiry and cross-questioning involved, and dismally dark, as our one lantern was the sole light in the large dark church. So many strangers assembled from other villages that the teacher’s house, where we were by way of living, was crammed; so we had our breakfast in church, where I am now writing to you while waiting till the Jubilee is ready to sail,—the delay being caused by shipping the native minister and all his family, who go to another isle. We brought their successors with us. Also we take half-a-dozen lads, whose parents give them to the mission for special training at one of the institutions; then if they prove to be good stuff they will be promoted to the training college, and gradually advance to be teachers, and perhaps eventually native ministers in charge of large districts. The organisation is most perfect, and spreads like a web over every remote corner of the isles, always excepting the still heathen mountain districts.