My boys' term of service was over in a month. They were very much afraid of being taken to another island, which was natural in a way, as a savage is really not as safe in a strange place as a white man. Besides, they had had their desire and had seen Noumea, so that there was no longer any inducement for them to stay with me. They accordingly became most disagreeable, slow, sulky and sleepier than ever, and as I could not be punishing them all day long, life with them became somewhat trying. It is disappointing to find so little gratitude, but the natives are quite unaccustomed to be treated better by a white man than his interest demands, so that they suspect a trap in every act of kindness. Under the circumstances, I thought it best to dismiss my boys, and, finding little of interest in Epi, the natives having nearly all died out, I boarded the Australian steamer for Ambrym. Although Ambrym is only twenty-five miles from Epi, I was five days on the way, so zigzag a route did the steamer pursue. But if one is not in a hurry, life on board is quite entertaining. The first day we anchored near the volcano of Lopevi, a lofty peak that rises from a base six kilometres in diameter to a height of 1440 metres, giving its sides an average slope of 48 deg. which offers rather an unusual sight. The whole of Lopevi is rarely to be seen, as its top is usually covered with a thick cloud of fog or volcanic steam. It is still active, and but few whites have ascended it. At periods of great activity, the natives climb to the top and bring sacrifices to appease it, by throwing cocoa-nuts and yam into the crater. We touched at Port Sandwich, and then steamed along the coast of Malekula, calling every few miles at some plantation to discharge goods, horses, cattle and fowls, and take on maize or coprah. At last we arrived at Dip Point, Ambrym, where I was kindly received by Dr. B. of the Presbyterian Mission, who is in charge of the fine large hospital there. Its situation is not more picturesque than others, but the place has been made so attractive that one can hardly imagine a more lovely and restful sight. The buildings stand on level ground that slopes softly down to the beach. The bush has been cleared, with the exception of a number of gigantic fig trees, that overshadow a green lawn. Under their airy roof there is always a light breeze, blowing from the hills down to the sea. In the blue distance rises Aoba, and the long-drawn coast of Malekula disappears in the mist. A quieter, sweeter place for convalescents does not exist, and even the native patients, who are not, as a rule, great lovers of scenery, like to lie under the trees with their bandaged limbs and heads, staring dreamily into the green and blue and sunny world.