strongest proof of Father
Dordillon's prestige that it survived, seemingly without loss, this
hasty deposition.

His method with the natives was extremely mild. Among these barbarous
children he still played the part of the smiling father; and he was
careful to observe, in all indifferent matters, the Marquesan etiquette.
Thus, in the singular system of artificial kinship, the bishop had been
adopted by Vaekehu as a grandson; Miss Fisher, of Hatiheu, as a
daughter. From that day, Monseigneur never addressed the young lady
except as his mother, and closed his letters with the formalities of a
dutiful son. With Europeans he could be strict, even to the extent of
harshness. He made no distinction against heretics, with whom he was on
friendly terms; but the rules of his own Church he would see observed;
and once at least he had a white man clapped in gaol for the desecration
of a saint's day. But even this rigour, so intolerable to laymen, so
irritating to Protestants, could not shake his popularity. We shall best
conceive him by examples nearer home; we may all have known some divine
of the old school in Scotland, a literal Sabbatarian, a stickler for the
letter of the law, who was yet in private modest, innocent, genial, and
mirthful. Much such a man, it seems, was Father Dordillon. And his
popularity bore a test yet stronger. He had the name, and probably
deserved it, of a shrewd man in business and one that made the mission
pay. Nothing so much stirs up resentment as the inmixture in commerce of
religious bodies; but even rival traders spoke well of Monseigneur.

His character is best portrayed in the story of the days of his decline.
A time came when, from the failure of sight, he must desist from his
literary labours: his Marquesan hymns, grammars, and dictionaries; his
scientific papers, lives of saints, and devotional poetry. He cast about
for a new interest: pitched on gardening, and was to be seen all day,
with spade and water-pot, in his childlike eagerness, actually running
between the borders. Another step of decay and he must leave his garden
also. Instantly a new occupation was devised, and he sat in the mission
cutting paper flowers and wreaths. His diocese was not great enough for
his activity; the churches of the Marquesas were papered with his
handiwork, and still he must be making more. "Ah," said he, smiling,
"when I am dead what a fine time you will have clearing out my trash!"
He had been dead about