colony where bread is sure, and plenty
follows steadiness in toil ! E. M., the needlewoman,
writes from Port Philip to her
mother thus :—" I take this opportunity to
write these few lines to you, hoping they will
find you in good health, as it leaves me at
present, thank God ; and to inform you that
I arrived safe in Melbourne, and that I was
three months in service, and that I left to get
married, and at the time of writing I am
married about six weeks. I am happy to
say I am married to a foreigner belonging to
America, and I am very happy in my married
state." E. M., one perceives, is of a straightforward
turn, and wastes no words in her
narration. M. A. W., however, finds a little
room for the emotions, though she also writes
" these few lines to you, hoping to find you,"
&c. She had been a poor servant, on the
scanty wages of fifteen-pence a week.
Oppressed by the happiness of an improved
condition, she soon breaks out— " Dear
mother, I have been so happy, you don't
know ; I have had the best of everything
since I left London ; I have had plum-pudding
three times a week, and fresh meat very
often." Presently again comes the burden,
"Dear mother, I have been so happy, you
don't know ; I have been waiting on the
captain's lady all the passage." Presently it
is, " Dear mother, I have oft-times thought
of you when I have been sitting down at a
good dinner, and my poor sisters and brothers
too. Sydney is such a beautiful place I can't
say ; it's such a delightful place ; mother, I
am so delighted !"

From this artless effusion of pleasure, we
turn to a letter written from Cape Town by
another girl who had been a servant in
England upon miserable earnings. Full of
delicate fondling, it is a letter to her mother:
"My Dear, Dear, Dear, Darling Mother, I
now take my pen, &c. Darling Mother, I
cannot tell you how uneasy I am at not having
heard from you all this long time. For the
last six days I have gone to the post-office
daily, and to-day the steamer came in, and I
went again, fully expecting a letter: I do
not remember ever feeling envious before, but
when I saw people of all colours, black, white,
and grey, with letters in their hands, I cer-
tainly did feel as if I should have liked to
knock them all down. Dear mother, this is
now the fourth letter I have sent you, and I
have not heard a word from you, which
makes me very uneasy indeed. Darling
mother, there are steamers come to England
every month," &c. Then she tells her mother
of the good place she is in, and of the satisfaction
which she gives her master, who has, in
consequence, made interest to send to England
for her mother and her brother. " Darling
mother," writes the girl, " I know the dangers
of the sea will not frighten you, for the same
God that brought me safe will, I hope, bring
you and my brother also. Darling, in this
packet you will find a letter for Mrs. Herbert.
and I wish you could take it yourself to her,
and then you will hear all about it, darling.
Mother, I hope you will come, for we shall
all live together, and you will get good wages,
and my brother will be well clothed, and be
taken care of, and you will not have to work
hard here like you do at home. Darling
mother, I am always dreaming of you at
night, and thinking of you by day, and
wondering how you are, and how you look,
and whether you have fretted for your little
Phoebe ; and I shall be sure to know whether
you have, and then I shall try to give you a
scolding if you have, though I am afraid I
shall not be able. Darling mother, don't
give my brother any more kisses, for I shall
want them all to myself; I am sure I shall be
greedy of them." This brother Richard is a
child, and Phoebe now goes on to send him
playful messages of her affection. The little
Phoebe seems to have won for herself, even in
England, a good many friends. " I hope you
will get ready and come to me soon. O ! how
I do long for the time when I shall see your
dear face ! I am sure that I shall want a
strait jacket when I do see you again. You
know, dear mother, when you come you will
not have to seek a home ; there is one already
for you, and kind hearts to welcome you.
Give my love to Martha R., and to Mary and
Mrs. C. Darling mother, give my duty to
Mrs. W., and ask her to excuse the liberty I
have taken in having your letters directed to
her house, but I thought it was the most
likely place to find you. Remember me to
Mrs. C. Darling mother, remember me
to Mrs. M. and Mrs. S. ; and if ever you see
Mrs. B., give my love to her ; and perhaps
Mary C. has seen Miriam H. ; if she has, give
my love to her ; " with more of the same kind.

After a little more of this tender home
talk, thus the letter ends: " Darling mother,
I have plaited a piece of my own hair, knowing
you will keep it for my sake; and when
you come you will see if it is any longer. I
remain your affectionate, loving, and dutiful
little daughter, P. H.

"Accept a thousand kisses from me, and give
some to my brother—so good-bye; God bless
you both."

By aid of Mr. Herbert's committee, the
mother really was sent out, and Phoebe had
her joy fulfilled.

C. S., another of the seven hundred, writing
from Adelaide, says to her mother, " Now you
would not know me—I am so fat, red-faced,
bright-eyed, and care for no one. This is the
place for independent spirits: the labourer is
as much thought of as his master; things just
as they should be; the country most beautiful;
but the country much colder than I
expected. How I wish you and the dear
children were here! but you would have to
rough it sadly for a time, and the boys would
have to work very hard. All the work here
is very hard, none soft soft—people are no use
here. I have got hardened to it, like the rest;