the right to plead His precious promises. The vessel of one calling himself Prince de Jean Beuve, a French refugee, who had become a naturalized American, visited Port Resolution. He said, he had to escape from his own country for political offences. His large and beautiful ship was fitted up and armed like a Man-of-war. She was manned chiefly by slaves, whom he ruled with an iron hand. What a contrast to Captain Allan’s whaler! Yet he also was very sympathetic and kind to me. Having heard rumour of my trials and dangers, he came on shore, as soon as his ship cast anchor, with a body of armed men. He was effusively polite, with all a Frenchman’s gush and gesticulation, and offered to do anything possible for me. He would take me to Aneityum or Sydney or wherever I wished. The ship was his own; he was sailing chiefly for pleasure, and he had called at our Islands to see if sufficient trade could be opened up to justify his laying on a line of steamers to call here in their transit. He urged me, I believe sincerely, to give him the pleasure of taking me and my belongings to some place of safety. But I was restrained from leaving, through the fear that I would never be permitted to return, and that Christ’s work would suffer. In the still burning hope of being able to lead the Tannese to love and serve Jesus, I declined with much gratitude his genuine kindness. He looked truly sorry to leave me in the circumstances wherein I was placed. After two hours on shore, he returned to his ship towards evening. Knowing that the Tannese were threatening to burn my former house, which I wished to remove to higher ground and add to the room I now occupied on the hill, I took advantage of the presence of the Prince’s vessel, and set my Aneityumese Teachers and some friendly Natives to prepare for the task; but unfortunately, I forgot to send word to the Frenchman regarding my plans and aims. We removed the sugar-cane leaf thatch from the roof of the house, and began burning it on cleared ground, so that I might be able to save the heavy wood which could not be replaced on Tanna. Our French friend, on seeing the flames rising up furiously, at once loaded his heavy guns, and prepared his men for action. Under great excitement, he came ashore with a large number of armed men, leaving the rest on board ready at a given signal to protect them with shot and shell. Leaving one half of those brought on shore to guard the boats, he came running towards my house, followed by the other half, wet with perspiration, and crying,— “Fer are dey? fer are dey? De scoundrels! I vill do for dem, and protect you. I sall punish dem, de scoundrels!”