I sometimes feel that I shall never more see you all: I feel as though I were transported for I work hard from 5 in the morning until 9 in the evening. I then sit down in my tent, wearied and tired: hard work little for it. I smoke a few pipes and begin to think of you all at home  I say to myself often that I am now suffering for my recklessness at home and I feel that I am justly suffering: it is now that I feel the loss of you all and of a home where, had I been what was required of a son, I might be now happy in that home without any care anxiety or laborious work, all of which are now my only companions. This Australia, dear mother, is most falsely represented: there are ministers in this colony who are working on the roads breaking stones and thousands come thinking to get a fortune in a few months but alas what a mistake they make and the gold fields again which contain so many thousands, what are they doing, barely making a living