March, 1832. I have had letters from you of later dates before, but these explain many allusions and circumstances in the subsequent letters which I was not clear about. I walked up to Guildford, though the day was excessively warm, and intended to have reached home by night to con over my letters in undisturbed comfort; but being wearied, I was forced to accept a bed on the way; but reached home for breakfast the following morning with a good appetite for it.
One word about health. You seem to consider that we must be very bilious here, and that we must consequently use much medicine. I have not taken any medicine whatever since I left Ireland, nor have I required it; so much for this climate.
It is fortunate that some of my letters reached you before Captain S. and his mate (who were never higher than Perth, if so far) arrived in Dublin, else you would have been unhappy about my situation here. What was Freemantle then? a bare, barren-looking district of sandy coast;—the shrubs cut down for fire-wood, the herbage trodden bare, a few wooden houses, many ragged-looking tents and contrivances for habitations,—our hotel, a poor public house, into which every one crowded,—our colony, a few cheerless dissatisfied people with gloomy looks, plodding their way through the sand from hut to hut to drink grog, and grumble out their discontents to each
