At home in
England, I would have gone far to see such scenes; but they are here
at every turn. I enclose you some leaves, but the purity of the colour
is gone after a few hours. I am sure many valuable additions might be
made to the European stock of flowers: there are thousands of
species--some extremely beautiful; but how they are propagated, or
whether they could be transplanted, I cannot tell, being no
horticulturist. Among the millions here, one plant would be much
admired with you. It grows wild about three feet high, with long,
curiously-formed leaves, and surmounted by bunches of bright scarlet
blossoms, exactly like the geranium. In the course of my stroll, I
came upon a genuine shanty of a new settler, full of fine children.
The husband away at work--a little patch cleared for Indian corn and a
few vegetables, the sturdy trees enclosing all. Truly the pair have
their work before them, but they have likewise hope and comfort. I
chatted a little while with the wife, a genuine specimen of the
Anglo-Saxon race--clean, industrious, and hopeful: left home to avoid
being starved, and sat down here, in rude comfort, with her ruddy
children growing up about her--to be a joy and a support, instead of
the drag and vexation they would have proved at home.
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