Sunday.—Killed a wether lamb last night, which weighed 36lbs., clean meat and very fat. Sold some at 1s. I think it not improbable that fresh meat may be so low as 9d. a lb. during some part of next year. Long ago I was to have received a small crate of crockery and some material for wool bags "in the next ship." Expecting it, I did not buy when I could have got it, but had to send my wool in my sheets last year, and to purchase this year where I might, for it is not come. I trust I am not to say this of your letters. I have lived a long time, in the few years since I left you. I fancy myself getting old, but time has not been standing still perhaps with you either,—though he could not be so ungallant as to lay his hands upon you so rudely.
The following lines were specially addressed to my sisters in the journal of 5th June, 1835. I cannot call to mind now any particular reason for such an outburst upon myself; which I called
Spirit of better days