’Your affectionate Cousin,

‘J.  C. Patteson.’

How many sons who have lost a mother at fifteen or sixteen dwell on the thought like this affectionate spirit, twenty-seven years later?

’Advent Sunday, November 20, 1869.

’It is a solemn thing to begin a new year on the anniversary of our dear Mother’s death.  I often think whether she would approve of this or that opinion, action, &c.  Wright’s painting is pleasant to look upon.  I stand in a corner of my room, at father’s old mahogany desk.  Her picture and his, the large framed photographs from Richmond’s drawing, and a good photograph of the Bishop are just above.  I wish you could see my room.  I write now on December 3, a bright summer day, but my room with its deep verandah is cool and shady.  It is true that I refuse carpet and curtains.  They only hold dust and make the room fusty.  But the whole room is filled with books, and those pictures, and the Lionardo da Vinci over the fireplace, and Mr. Boxall’s photograph over it, and his drawing vis-a-vis to it at the other end of the room, and by my window a splendid gloxinia with fine full flowers out in a very pretty porcelain pot, both Mr. Codrington’s gift.  On another glass stand (also his present) a Mota flower imported here, a brilliant scarlet hibiscus, and blossoms of my creepers and bignonia, most beautiful.  So fresh and pretty.  The steps of the verandah are a mass of honeysuckle.  The stephanotis, with the beautiful scented white flowers and glossy leaves, covers one of the posts.  How pleasant it is.  Everyone is kind, all are well, all are going on well just now.  Such are missionary comforts.  Where the hardships are I have not yet discovered.  Your chain, dear Joan, is round my neck, and the locket (Mamma’s) in which you, Fan, put the hair of you five, hangs on it.

’I am dipping my pen into the old silver inkstand which used to be in the front drawing-room.  Every morning at about 5 A.M.  I have a cup of tea or coffee, and use Grandmamma Coleridge’s old-fashioned silver cream-jug, and the cup and saucer which Augusta sent out years ago, my old christening spoon, and the old silver tea-pot and salver.  Very grand, but I like the old things.

’This day fortnight (D.V.) I ordain J. Atkin and C. H. Brooke Priests.

’I have no time to answer your April and September letters.  I rejoice with all my heart to hear of Dr. Moberly’s appointment.  What a joyful event for Charlotte Yonge.  That child Pena sent me Shairp’s (dear old Shairp) book, which I wanted.  I must write to Sophy as soon as I can.  You will forgive if I have seemed to be, or really have been, unmindful of your sorrows and anxieties.  Sometimes I think I am in too great a whirl to think long enough to realise and enter into all your doings.

’Your loving Brother,

‘J.  C. P.’

The intended letter to Mrs. Martyn was soon written.  The death there referred to was that of Mrs. William Coleridge, widow of the Bishop of Barbadoes:-