Melbourne, September 23. 1852.

At sea, on the 9th of this month, I wrote, “To-morrow, if the wind is favourable, I trust we shall cast anchor off Melbourne, after a voyage of 102 days!” This morning, at ninety miles from land, on opening the scuttle in my cabin, I perceived an aromatic odour, as of spicy flowers, blown from the land; and going out to announce the fact, I met a gentleman coming into the cuddy, who said, “Come on deck, and smell the land!” People could not at first believe it; but there it was, strong and delicious, as Milton describes it from the coasts of Mozambique and of Araby the Blest. The wind is blowing strong off the shore; and the fragrance continues, something like the scent of a hayfield, but more spicy. I expect it is the yellow mimosa, which my brother Richard said we should now find in flower all over the valleys.

A very amusing fellow-passenger, who was always ambitious to be the first to suggest anything, said, eagerly, “It is the scent of cowslips; mind! I say it is cowslips; and we shall see when we get there. Remember that!” On my observing that I did not believe that there was either cowslip or primrose in the country, except they were in a garden, our amusing friend exclaimed, “Oh! I say it is cowslips, or something like them. It is mimosa, or something with a honied smell. It is something of that kind. I say it is that.”