I have resumed my explorations in the woods with renewed enthusiasm, for during my week’s absence they have become more lovely and enticing than ever:  unluckily, however, Jack seems to think that fresh rattlesnakes have budded together with the tender spring foliage, and I see that I shall either have to give up my wood walks and rides, or go without a guide.  Lovely blossoms are springing up everywhere, weeds, of course, wild things, impertinently so called.  Nothing is cultivated here but cotton; but in some of the cotton fields, beautiful creatures are peeping into blossom, which I suppose will all be duly hoed off the surface of the soil in proper season:  meantime I rejoice in them, and in the splendid magnificent thistles, which would be in flower-gardens in other parts of the world, and in the wonderful, strange, beautiful butterflies that seem to me almost as big as birds, that go zig-zagging in the sun.  I saw yesterday a lovely monster, who thought proper, for my greater delectation, to alight on a thistle I was admiring, and as the flower was purple, and he was all black velvet, fringed with gold, I was exceedingly pleased with his good inspiration.

This morning I drove up to the settlement at St. Annie’s, having various bundles of benefaction to carry in the only equipage my estate here affords,—­an exceedingly small, rough, and uncomfortable cart, called the sick house waggon, inasmuch as it is used to convey to the hospital such of the poor people as are too ill to walk there.  Its tender mercies must be terrible indeed for the sick, for I who am sound could very hardly abide them; however, I suppose Montreal’s pace is moderated for them:  to-day he went rollicking along with us behind him, shaking his fine head and mane, as if he thought the more we were jolted the better we should like it.  We found, on trying to go on to Cartwright’s Point, that the state of the tide would not admit of our getting thither, and so had to return, leaving it unvisited.  It seems to me strange that where the labour of so many hands might be commanded, piers, and wharves, and causeways, are not thrown out (wooden ones, of course, I mean), wherever the common traffic to or from different parts of the plantation is thus impeded by the daily rise and fall of the river; the trouble and expense would be nothing, and the gain in convenience very considerable.  However, perhaps the nature of the tides, and of the banks and shores themselves, may not be propitious for such constructions, and I rather incline upon reflection to think this may be so, because to go from Hampton to our neighbour Mr. C——­’s plantation, it is necessary to consult the tide in order to land conveniently.  Driving home to-day by Jones’ Creek, we saw an immovable row of white cranes, all standing with imperturbable gravity upon one leg.  I thought of Boccaccio’s cook, and had a mind to say, Ha! at them to try if they had two.  I have been over to Mr. C——­, and was very much pleased with my visit, but will tell you of it in my next.