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moment. But still I am full of hope. I believe my circumstances will improve, and that speedily. I see my way now quite clearly which shall lead me to respectability if not competence. I will write again in about three months, and, though it is useless for me to write to you oftener, I should like to hear from you more frequently. Our little girl, who is now four years old, has enjoyed the best of health for this last two years and a half. She is now playing with the cat on the floor of a little sitting room, the door of which opens a few yards from the sea. Her dear mother is lying down—it is Sunday afternoon. In general Clarinda's health has been pretty good, and mine, since my arrival in this country, has been only interrupted by a short sickness about the date of my first letter to you in 1840. I have made inquiries after the son of Mrs. Weston. The officer of Customs who was boarded on the Joseph Cunard tells me that he saw him last June. He then looked well and was respectably dressed. He thinks he was in some draper's shop, but I have not been able to ascertain where he is at the present time. If his friends think proper to address a letter to him in care of me, it is more than probable that in the meantime I shall be enabled to find out