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 not get them till late, and put them in by the light of a beautiful moon. Do you take an interest in the daily labour of my garden? I hope you do, for to me it is a source of great interest and amusement. This morning I sent for my cows: the men could not succeed in bringing them, I went myself and brought the older one, and afterwards returned for the younger: I believe James and I never had so hard a piece of work in our lives; she was wild beyond belief; actually knocked him down twice, and ran at me. We
