should I struggle to conceal from myself that all my former scenes must henceforth be but as a dream of the days that are gone? Here is my lot cast, Between us there is a gulf fixed (oh how wide!) which few have resolution to cross: yet it is nothing when attempted. It is an excitement, a novelty, a sensation worth the purchasing.
To a first settler, the uncertainty of the how, the when, the where, the everything, connected with his prospects, is distracting; but to those coming out to join their friends, what is there but pleasure? I really believe that most persons would think it a change for the better. But it is, as I have more than once observed, too great a responsibility to advise the change.
There are now no difficulties in the way of emigration compared with those which the original settlers encountered. We have houses to shelter in, beds to sleep on, inns to quarter at,—meat and bread. But as to any of yourselves emigrating—how could you leave property, business, friends to lead the life of a rustic? Could you enjoy such a condition, so widely differing from your present habits and occupations? It is kind in you to talk of coming out here, to keep me in spirits; but I know the impracticability of it. If any of you have definite intentions on the subject, write, and demand whatever specific information you desire.
I begin to fear that I am bound to this place for life, or for a very long period; but this is the first time I have dared to express the conviction, even to myself, and I must not dwell on it.
The Merope is about to sail. If I should not be able to write more in this packet, accept my concluding prayer, that God may bless you all with health and happiness, and receive the assurance of the health, contentment, and probable prosperity of your affectionate brother,