_Wednesday, November 3rd._--An attack of ague last night has made me feel weak and good for nothing this morning. However, I had to get up, and the prospect outside was as dismal as ever. Rain and wind and gloominess. My patient, thank God, is most decidedly better, and if he takes care of himself will do very well now. I have had a fire in my house all day, and with Dr. Codrington’s book on the Melanesian languages, have got on very pleasantly. I should like, however, to see a little sunshine, and one has a right to expect it now in the height of summer. I am dreadfully afraid Mrs. Selwyn’s visit to me will be impossible, when the ship arrives the roads will be so impassable. Towards evening it cleared a bit and I was able to move out, but generally speaking, everyone has been kept close prisoner to-day. The people who always seem to me to love paddling about in the wet, expressed a strong disinclination to move from their houses, and in the absence of other occupation or amusement, have been asleep most of the day I fancy. A native’s capacity for sleep is unbounded, and perhaps a fortunate thing for him, but he can wake at any time, day or night, and get up straight away. We had our usual Evensong and singing class, the weather keeping fairer until we had all got indoors again in our several houses, when down came the rain. There is a sweet, lulling, comfortable sound in rain when you are safe indoors, or perchance in bed, and sleep seems to come unwooed. I practice here what I seldom do anywhere else, read in bed, and far on in the stillness of the solemn night, I read on and on with keen enjoyment and a sense of rest, for one gets tired of sitting in a land devoid of easy chairs and sofas. The usual posture of a native is to squat on his heels or else to recline, naturally our high seats are foreign and uncanny to them. I cannot myself squat for any length of time, and at times I sigh for the comfort of a good easy chair. _Thursday, November 4th._--Very wet, dispiriting morning, and threatening for another stormy day. It cleared off, however, and barring showers we have had a fine day. A most interesting ceremony took place here to-day called “uli meroana,” (_i.e._ “untieing war.”) The event ought to have come off long ago, but the chief actors in the sad drama which led to its necessity have been somewhat dilatory. Sometime since the natives of “uta” (the inland as distinguished from the shore) attacked a village in our district and killed three people. They were the agressors and the sole actors--the people did nothing but pack up their goods and clear out, some flying in one direction and some in another. The majority took refuge in this part of the island and have never done anything in the way of retaliation, but have always gone armed since and been on the alert, not with the object of revenging their injuries, but from fear of further attack.