On the birth of a son to us on the Island, the old Chief was in ecstasies. He claimed the child as his heir, his own son being dead, and brought nearly the whole inhabitants in relays to see the _white_ Chief of Aniwa! He would have him called Namakei the Younger, an honour which I fear we did not too highly appreciate. As the child grew, he took his hand and walked about with him freely amongst the people, learning to speak their language like a Native, and not only greatly interesting them in himself, but even in us and in the work of the Lord. This, too, was one of the bonds, however purely human, that drew them all nearer and nearer to Jesus. The death of Namakei had in it many streaks of Christian romance. He had heard about the Missionaries annually meeting on one or other of the Islands and consulting about the work of Jehovah. What ideas he had formed of a Mission Synod one cannot easily imagine; but in his old age, and when very frail, he formed an impassioned desire to attend our next meeting on Aneityum, and see and hear all the Missionaries of Jesus gathered together from the New Hebrides. Terrified that he would die away from home, and that that might bring great reverses to the good work on Aniwa, where he was truly beloved, I opposed his going with all my might. But he and his relations and his people were all set upon it, and I had at length to give way. His few little books were then gathered together, his meagre wardrobe was made up, and a small Native basket carried all his belongings. He assembled his people and took an affectionate farewell, pleading with them to be “strong for Jesus,” whether they ever saw him again or not, and to be loyal and kind to Missi. The people wailed out, and many wept bitterly. Those on board the _Dayspring_ were amazed to see how his people loved him. The old Chief stood the voyage well. He went in and out to our meeting of Synod, and was vastly pleased with the respect paid to him on Aneityum. When he heard of the prosperity of the Lord’s work, and how Island after Island was learning to sing the praises of Jesus, his heart glowed, and he said,— “Missi, I am lifting up my head like a tree. I am growing tall with joy!” On the fourth or fifth day, however, he sent for me out of the Synod, and when I came to him, he said, eagerly,— “Missi, I am near to die! I have asked you to come and say farewell. Tell my daughter, my brother, and my people to go on pleasing Jesus, and I will meet them again in the fair World.” I tried to encourage him, saying that God might raise him up again and restore him to his people; but he faintly whispered,— “O Missi, death is already touching me! I feel my feet going away from under me. Help me to lie down under the shade of that banyan tree.” So saying, he seized my arm, we staggered near to the tree, and he lay down under its cool shade. He whispered again,—