Though, therefore, I could not help feeling often during the voyage, “What if I hear that they may be with me by Christmas!” yet it was not exactly unwelcome to hear that you do not come.  I recognised at once your reading of my letters as the right one; and my feelings, strong as they are, give way to other considerations, especially when, from my many occupations, I have very little time to indulge them.

’But for the thought of coming, and your great love to me, I thank you, dear ones, with all my heart.  May God bless you for it!...

’Good-bye, my dear Sisters; we are together in heart at all events.

’Your loving Brother,
‘J.  C. P.’

The judgment had decided that the elder sister especially would suffer more from the rough life at Kohimarama than her brother could bear that she should undergo, when he could give her so little of his society as compensation, without compromising his own decided principle that all must yield to the work.  Perhaps he hardly knew how much he betrayed of the longing, even while deciding against its gratification; but his sisters were wise enough to act on his judgment, and not on their own impulse; and the events of the next season proved that he had been right.  To Sir John Coleridge he wrote:—­

’Kohimarama:  November 15, 1862.

’My dear Uncle,—­I should indeed, as you say, delight to have a ramble in the old scenes, and a good unburthening of thoughts conceived during the past seven or eight years.

’And yet you see I could not try the experiment of those dear good sisters of mine coming out.  It would not have been what they expected and meant to come out to.  I am little seen by any but Melanesians, and quite content that it should be so.  I can’t do what I want with them, nor a tenth part of it as it is.  I cannot write to you of this last voyage—­in many respects a most remarkable one—­ indicating, if I am not over hopeful, a new stage in our Mission work.  Many islands yielding scholars for the first time; old scholars, with but few exceptions, steadfast and rapidly improving; no less than fifty-seven Melanesians here now from twenty-four islands, exclusive of the Loyalty Islands, and five bright Pitcairners, from twenty-four to sixteen, helpful, good, conscientious lads.  There are eight languages that I do not know, besides all the rest; yet I can see that they are all links in the great chain of dialects of the great “Pacific language,”—­yet dialects very far removed sometimes from one another.

’I find it not very easy to comply with reasonable demands from men in Europe, who want to know about these things.  If I had time and ability, I think I should enjoy really going into philology.  I get books sent me from people such as Max Muller, Grabalentz, &c.; and if I write to them at all, it is useless to write anything but an attempt at classification of the dialects; and that is difficult, for there are so many, and it takes so long to explain to another the grounds upon which I feel justified in connecting dialects and calling them cognate.  It becomes an instinct almost, I suppose, with people in the trade.