little girl, who can now just totter about from chair to chair, and repeat many little words very sweetly—our dear little blue-eyed ocean child is ever with her, to soothe her in her lonely hours. You ask me for the child's name. It is 'Clarinda Sarah.' She is now a year and ten months old, and, excepting a slight cold, is in a happy state of health. If she is at any time poorly, she fights most stoutly against taking physic, and says to her mother: "Father will beat you." In your next letter be pleased to let me know how all of you are getting on, particularly my father and mother (that I may determine in what way I may best assist them). It is my intention to remit some money home as soon as possible. It is probable that I shall return to London in three or four years, but I shall be sure not to stay in England, nor do I think I shall settle in Sydney. I have promised myself a voyage to Java before returning to Europe, which I shall probably make in the latter part of next year. You will think I am speaking extravagantly, but do not be surprised to receive a letter from me, dated from Manilla, or Sourabaya, or Batavia, or even Calcutta, for I am determined upon a trip to the East. Should you have any opportunity of sending to me
