’This does not a bit distress me.  I like the freedom from all external excitement.  It gives me uninterrupted time from my own work; and the world does not suffer from my ignorance of its proceedings.  How you exist with all the abominations of daily papers, I can’t imagine.  Your life in England seems to be one whirl and bustle, with no real time for quiet thought and patient meditation, &c.  And yet men do think and do great things, and it doesn’t wear them out soon either.  Witness Bishops and Judges, &c., living to eighty and even ninety in our own days.

’I like quiet and rest, and no railroads and no daily posts; and, above all, no visitors, mere consumers of time, mere idlers and producers of idleness.  So, without any post, and nothing but a cart on wheels, save a wheelbarrow, and no visitors, and no shops, I get on very happily and contentedly.  The life here is to me, I must confess, luxurious, because I have what I like, great punctuality, early hours, regular school work, regular reading, very simple living; the three daily meals in hall take about seventy minutes all put together, and so little time is lost; and then the climate is delightful.  Too cold now, but then I ought to be in the islands.  The thermometer has been as low as 56° in my room; and I am standing in my room and writing now with my great coat on, the thermometer being 67°.

’You know that I am not cut out for society, never was at my ease in it, and am glad to be out of it.  I am seldom at my ease except among Melanesians:  they and my books are my best companions.  I never feel the very slightest desire for the old life.  You know how I should like to see you dear ones, and...[others by name] but I couldn’t stand more than a week in England, if I could transplant myself there in five minutes!  I don’t think this augurs any want of affection; but I have grown into this life; I couldn’t change it without a most unpleasant wrench.’

The letter was at this point, when the ‘Southern Cross’ arrived, on September 10, to carry off the Bishop and Mr. Palmer:  the one to the General Synod, and to take leave of his most loved and venerated friend; the other, to fetch his bride.

He arrived on the 18th of the month, looking ill, and much worn and even depressed, more so than Lady Martin had ever seen him, for the coming parting pressed heavily upon him.  The eye and teeth were operated upon without loss of time, and successfully; but this, with the cold of the voyage, made him, in his own word, ‘shaky,’ and it was well that he was a guest at Taurarua, with Lady Martin to take care of him, feed him on food not solid, and prevent him on the ensuing Sunday from taking more than one of the three services which had been at once proffered to him.

It was no small plunge from the calm of St. Barnabas.  ‘We agree,’ said Lady Martin, in a note within his envelope, ’that we cannot attempt to write letters just now.  We are in a whirl, mental and bodily; one bit of blue sky has just shown itself, viz. that Coley may possibly stay on with us for a week or two after the Selwyns have left us.  This really is proeter spem, and I mean to think that it will come to pass.’