One thing that would strike you as peculiar would be to see a whole town without one chimney. There is a house which apparently has a couple, but these are only ventilators. You would also be impressed by our magnificent lighthouses—two wooden pyramids, which, seen at a certain angle to one another, mark the passage through the coral-reef. These are, I think, the only representatives of lighthouses in this most dangerous group. But at present the colony is too poor to build any, and Mother England is too stingy to allow us any. But whatever else is lacking, churches flourish. Besides the Wesleyan native chapels, there are a large Wesleyan church for the white population, a Roman Catholic church, and an Episcopal one. We, of course, belong to the latter; but at present our parson, Mr Floyd, is in New Zealand, so all the Governor’s staff take it by turns to officiate, two in the morning and two in the evening. They appear in surplices, and take their part well. Last Sunday morning Mr Le Hunte read prayers, and Captain Havelock one of Robertson’s sermons. Yesterday morning Captain Havelock read prayers, and Mr Maudslay preached a Kingsley. In the evening Mr Eyre read, and Mr Le Hunte preached; but I forget his subject, for such a tremendous storm of rain came down on the zinc roof that even his voice was drowned. After services we waited in vain for half an hour, and then waded home, fully a mile. Nurse and Mrs Abbey very sensibly left their dresses and bonnets in church! Mr Floyd has one of Bishop Patteson’s native clergy to assist him in a mission to the foreign labour, the Church of England most wisely judging it best to leave the Fijians wholly in the care of the Wesleyans, whose mission here has been so marvellously successful. But the foreign labour does seem almost a hopeless field. They are brought here from a multitude of isles, all talking different languages, and only remain three years in the group, so that the very small numbers that can be reached, even of those who find situations in Levuka, can scarcely be expected to learn much before they have to be sent back to their own isles as “time-expired labour.” Still, the little church does fill in the afternoons with a strangely motley congregation, and doubtless some seeds of good are carried back to the distant isles, which may bear fruit in due season.[8] There is yet another congregation which I have forgotten to mention—namely, our fellow-passengers, the company of Royal Engineers, who, finding the little English church already crowded, hold service by themselves in a thatched shed on the shore, open all round to admit the sweet sea-breeze, and overshadowed by large dark trees. It makes a very cool chapel, and we often linger as we pass to listen to the pleasant English voices and hearty singing.