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and shot a pair of ducks, all tending to our great desideratum in luxury—a supply of fresh meat. We have had some refreshing rain, but the weather is now settled again, and most charming; thermometer 66°.
The spring of grass is amazing—everything green; beautiful little flowers, raising their heads like snow-drops, and having very much the fragrance of the hawthorn blossom, have sprung up in great profusion.
How often I wish that some of you were here! for this wild life although it has its inconveniences, has its pleasures too. I am sure you would enjoy it, if once the roughing was a little over. I have had great feasting upon fresh meat (fowls) every day for some time for myself and people: to-day I had at dinner a very large pigeon; yesterday, a brace of wild ducks; and the day before a brace of parrots, and so on—besides greens and radishes. I feel very happy just now in every respect except my solitude. Great rumours of ship arrivals!—are they true?—any from England?—any letters?
Oh! the anxious throbbings of the emigrant's heart, with those he loves, far—far away, but with perhaps long letters of their affectionate remembrances on board that ship now sailing into the harbour:—alas! she is from another country. But I must resume my diary.
Saturday, 28th.—The numerous frogs remind me that the moist weather and approaching winter have brought into active life an immense quantity of these creatures, some of which make a hard co—ax, co—ax, sort of noise, and others a most mournful and horrible bellowing, which might be mistaken for the high note of a bull; perhaps this was what frightened the French navigators.[1] Planted yesterday two hundred cabbages and some lettuces in my garden: we did
