grand piano, and the children’s toys.  Our infant city consists of three log-huts and one of clay, which, however, on the second day, fell in to the ground landlords.  We have now built it up again, and, all things considered, are as comfortable as we could expect:  and have christened our settlement New London, in compliment to the old metropolis.  We have one of the log-houses to ourselves—­or at least shall have, when we have built a new hog-sty.  We burnt down the first one in making a bonfire to keep off the wild beasts, and, for the present, the pigs are in the parlour.  As yet our rooms are rather usefully than elegantly furnished.  We have gutted the Grand Upright, and it makes a convenient cupboard; the chairs were obliged to blaze at our bivouacs—­but thank Heaven, we have never leisure to sit down, and so do not miss them.  My boys are contented, and will be well when they have got over some awkward accidents in lopping and felling.  Mrs. P. grumbles a little, but it is her custom to lament most when she is in the midst of comforts:  she complains of solitude, and says she could enjoy the very stiffest of stiff visits.  The first time we lighted a fire in our new abode, a large serpent came down the chimney, which I looked upon as a good omen.  However, as Mrs. P. is not partial to snakes, and the heat is supposed to attract those reptiles, we have dispensed with fires ever since.  As for wild beasts, we hear them howling and roaring round the fence every night from dusk till daylight; but we have only been inconvenienced by one lion.  The first time he came, in order to get rid of the brute peaceably, we turned out an old ewe, with which he was well satisfied, but ever since he comes to us as regular as clock-work for his mutton; and if we do not soon contrive to cut his acquaintance, we shall hardly have a sheep in the flock.  It would have been easy to shoot him, being well provided with muskets; but Barnaby mistook our remnant of gunpowder for onion seed, and sowed it all in the kitchen garden.  We did try to trap him into a pit-fall; but after twice catching Mrs. P. and every one of the children in turn, it was given up.  They are now, however, perfectly at ease about the animal, for they never stir out of doors at all; and, to make them quite comfortable, I have blocked up all the windows, and barricaded the door.  We have lost only one of our number since we came—­namely, Diggory, the market-gardener, from Glasgow, who went out one morning to botanize, and never came back.  I am much surprised at his absconding, as he had nothing but a spade to go off with.  Chippendale, the carpenter, was sent after him, but did not return; and Gregory, the smith, has been out after them these two days.  I have just dispatched Mudge, the herdsman, to look for all three, and hope he will soon give a good account of them, as they are the most useful men in the whole settlement, and, in fact, indispensable to its existence.  The river Mudiboo is deep and rapid, and said to swarm