12th.—While I was reading a letter in a Derry paper, Mackey came in, and on examination recognised it as his own production, written in his boyish days to his father, or some other relative in the North of Ireland: whimsical coincidence! We remained awake almost all Thursday night in retracing recollections of our friends and contemporaries; and I read so eagerly the news in the Derry papers that I put my eyes out of writing order, and idled away the ensuing day in paying and receiving visits from a gentleman, and a lady too, who afterwards sent me an invitation to dine about two miles and a half from Hermitage, with Mr B. Think of the dissipation of society on the Swan River! I walked to and from his house without greater inconvenience than that occasioned by the wet grass. I wish the "walking" in Ireland may be as peaceable this day. When will the dreaded winter come?
I went yesterday to Mr. Brown for some carrot seeds; the weather was lovely, like one of your summer days; towards evening it becomes cool, and in the morning there is some frost. Every day now my garden claims my labour: I have transplanted my young carrots, rape, cabbages, and French spinach between my wheat drills, which are eighteen inches apart; and I expect that they will all thrive, especially where manure has been supplied to them.
*****
