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ruddy, his eyes bright, his voice firm and ringing. He must
be a man of considerable strength and—I should say—of
more than ordinary animal courage and animal appetite.
There is not a nerve in his body which does not twang like a
piano wire. In appearance, he is tall, broad, and bluff, with
red whiskers and reddish hair slightly touched with grey.
His manner is loud, coarse, and imperious; his talk of dogs,
horses, and convicts. What a strangely-mated pair!
March 30th.—A letter from Van Diemen’s Land. ‘There
is a row in the pantry,’ said Frere, with his accustomed slang.
It seems that the Comptroller-General of Convicts has ap-
pointed a Mr. Pounce to go down and make a report on
the state of Norfolk Island. I am to go down with him, and
shall receive instructions to that effect from the Comp-
troller-General. I have informed Frere of this, and he has
written to Pounce to come and stay on his way down. There
has been nothing but convict discipline talked since. Frere
is great upon this point, and wearies me with his explana-
tions of convict tricks and wickedness. He is celebrated for
his knowledge of such matters. Detestable wisdom! His
servants hate him, but they obey him without a murmur.
I have observed that habitual criminals—like all savage
beasts—cower before the man who has once mastered them.
I should not be surprised if the Van Diemen’s Land Gov-
ernment selected Frere as their ‘disciplinarian”. I hope they
won’t and yet I hope they will.
April 4th.—Nothing worth recording until to-day. Eat-
ing, drinking, and sleeping. Despite my forty-seven years,
I begin to feel almost like the James North who fought the

0 For the Term of His Natural Life