The weather has been so very mild that I have seldom observed the thermometer, which was at 52° at sunrise this morning, and 64° at noon in the shade; really the winter of this climate is delightful, like your charming June. The air at this moment is perfumed by a shrub resembling jessamine, bearing a yellow flower; this is the fifth odoriferous plant that I have met with; the ground is almost covered with it. I have had a disappointment in some more of my farming stock—thirteen eggs which should have produced chickens about this time, have every one failed. I have been favoured with two new songs from birds like thrushes; the notes are not much varied, but seem rather a repetition of something corresponding with these words, "come with me and let us make a nest, ah! do," to which the other seems to reply, "no indeed I shan't, at least with you"—the last note accented.
15th.—I turn from the harmony of these charming birds to the disrespectful tones of James, who swears that he will leave me, even if I should send him to Botany Bay, and because I will not allow him to hunt the dogs after some strange cows which have wandered on my land. I do not well know what to do with him; he looks very sulky, but has commenced his work again. I laughed him into good humour by leading him to the ditch at which he had been working, and putting a spade into his hand.
