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within, and amused at the gambol motions of a little kangaroo, which I took the other day out of its mother's pouch as she was running from a hunting party. The poor little thing attaches itself to my foot, and hops along with me wherever I go; "passibus æquis;" its bed is in my old cloth slipper. Apropos, an arrival of shoes from Van Diemen's Land.
21st.—A passing traveller called out this morning that there was a turkey in the plain above. Such a hint was not to be despised; three of us accordingly sallied out, just in time to see the bird flying away. We followed, and saw some natives, who disappeared on our approach. We deemed it prudent not to be too curious, being in such matters pretty much of Falstaff's mind, that "the better part of valour is discretion." After this unsuccessful sally, I worked in the garden very busily, sowing turnips in drills, and planted fifty-six pounds of potatoes. At times I feel very happy here; and if it were not from the want of my own family and old companions, I should be always so, as my occupations are of a healthy, happy, and innocent nature.
23rd.—What have been the events of this day? Robert was making a window frame,
Johnny whitewashing, and James burning weeds. I got an acre of wheat harrowed in by a friend's bullocks, not like the "Beatus ille" of Horace, who,
and then went kangaroo hunting, without success, and drank tea with Mr. Burgess, who gave me a young snake, which is now in the bottle of preserves.
24th.—Gardening. Bathed twice in the river to cool myself in the midst of the terrible winter. Robert declares his inability to finish the window sashes. I have now two acres of wheat,—of oats, and nearly an acre in garden under turnips,
