Ellen's letters were longer, and I need hardly say I read them again and again with delight. Not in one of them was to be found a complaining word; instinctively she always took the bright and cheerful view, and I knew that for my sake she would make light of crosses. How did her letters run? She was happy and in good health; she was comfortable in her lodgings, and the landlady was kindness itself; our child was wonderfully well, and was growing "so big" that I would hardly know him; his eyes were more beautiful than ever; everybody noticed them, everybody fell in love with him; it made her so proud to see people look admiringly at him, and "you would not believe the notice he takes of things"; he had learned already to lisp "mamma" and "papa;" and he sent his love to his dear papa, and a thousand, thousand kisses; she had obtained some needlework by which she was earning a few shillings a week, "not that through your great kindness we have not enough to live upon, but I want to put something by for a rainy day;" I was to be sure not to order her to give up the work, because she had too much idle time on her hands, and the hours flew by more quickly when she was fully employed; "when my needle is in my hand my thoughts are always on baby's dear father, and I am wondering what he is doing at that precise moment--but indeed, my love, you are never out of my thoughts;" and so on, and so on. Not a detail of her domestic life which she believed would afford me pleasure was omitted, "and I hope I am not worrying you by speaking of these small matters, but it is such a pleasure to me; I write every night when baby is asleep and my work is done." The tender expressions of concern for my welfare were inexpressibly comforting to me. In my lonely tent I saw with my mind's eye the dear woman in her London lodging sitting pen in hand at her labor of love, with baby asleep in his little crib, and everything in the humble room clean and sweet and orderly, and I thanked God she was happy and well. Things went from bad to worse with me. Driven by necessity I wandered from place to place, and there seemed to be no rest for the sole of my foot. When I plied my pick on the goldfields I worked as "a hatter," by which is meant a man who works singlehanded. I spent weeks and weeks prospecting for gold and finding none. Bad luck dogged me wherever I went, whatever I undertook. I had a reasonable longing for money--for the sake of my dear Ellen and my boy, and once I missed a great fortune.