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AN EMIGRANT'S HOME LETTERS

I had to travel through the bush in the middle of the night, a poor prisoner got up from his bed to carry my baggage, out of pure respect. But think not that I met with respect and kindness only among this class of my fellow-creatures. One of the most influential men in the colony, a member of the Legislative Council, and a descendant from one of the most illustrious families in England, has not thought me undeserving his kindness, and I have lately sat down to table with some of the most respectable merchants in Sydney. I have now a more comfortable home than it was ever my lot to possess in England. There is one species of wretchedness which I am now entirely free from—that of being in debt with no means of paying. Companions I have none beyond my wife and child, but I have plenty of books to amuse myself, and a deal of leisure time in which to read them. Upon the whole, I am getting reconciled to the country, though my home-sick heart still very frequently pines for its native land. Poor Clarinda spends a very solitary life, as my situation requires me to be absent from her the greater part of my time; still, the thought that our native land could not yield us bread reconciles her to the absence of friends, and our dear