We have been here for four days, as it is a large central district; and are very cosily housed with “Richard,” the village teacher, a fine handsome fellow of the upper class, and one who takes pride in having his house a pattern of neatness and order, greatly to our comfort. Yesterday being Sunday, our crew dispersed at daybreak to hold services in many distant villages in remote valleys just emerging from heathenism. I scarcely recognised them when they all appeared in their clean white shirts and _sulus_, their ordinary working dress being merely a _sulu_, with wreaths of green leaves hanging in fringes from the waist and shoulders. But they are very particular about their Sunday shirts being well starched and ironed, and Mrs Langham’s nice Fijian girl, who helps them with their washing, has to bestow greater care on their garments than on her master’s. I think I told you that they are students from the Mission Institute—fine young fellows destined to become teachers or native ministers, according to their capacity, and in the meantime doing what they can by teaching in the villages through which they pass. The mission has in each district a certain number of such lads in training, and these, amongst them, do whatever work is required in the house and about the premises. Thence the most promising are drafted off to the college at Navouloa, which lies half-way between Rewa and Bau, where, after careful training, their ultimate destination is decided. You can imagine it is by no means an easy matter to keep 1400 schools supplied with teachers, though the people themselves are quite willing to support them. At the present moment this difficulty is greatly increased, owing to the number of teachers who died in the measles. Mr Webb has lost ninety, and Mr Langham forty; and other districts have suffered in proportion.