For the Term of His Natural Life

February 1

d fortune that has just happened to me, I am struck by t

-an animal, eating and drinking, for tomorrow I die? Yet it has been so. My world, that world of which I once dreamt so much, has been-here. My fame-which was

s. I have striven with my familiar sin, and have not always been worsted. Melancholy reflection. "Not always!" "But yet" is as a gaoler to bring forth some monstrous malefactor. I vowe

are given to thinking aloud, that the queen of Midas must needs whisper to the sedges the secret of her husband's infirmity. Outwardly I am a man of God, pious and grave and softly spoken. Inwardly-what? The mean, cowardly, weak sinner that this book knows me...I

dare not write all his thoughts and deeds; the words would blister the paper. Yet your sheets are smooth enough, you fat rogue! Our neighbours of Rome know human nature. A man must confess. One reads of wretches who have carried secr

it us without our leave, And art, within ourselves,

ves poor humanity to earn its condemnation as it may? I'll have none of that-though I preach it. One must soothe the vulgar senses of the people. Priesthood has its "pious frauds". The Master spoke in parables. Wit? The wit that sees how ill-balanced are our actions and our aspirations? The devilish wit born of our own brain, that sneers at us for our own failings? Perhaps madness? More likely, for there are few men who are not mad one h

doctrine which I am inclined to believe, though unwilling to confess); what circumstance can h

TOWN, J

that they did not get on well with the last man, and when my advice was asked, I at once recommended you for the office. The pay is smal

t solicitation of the Government-seems to have become absurdly lenient with the prisoners, and it is reported that

chaplaincy is vacant,

this seeming goo

ay, a Pharaoh had arisen who knows not Joseph. It is evident that the meddlesome parson, who complained of men being flogged to death, is forgotten, as the men are! How many ghosts must

grounds for me to hate him; if I had injured him, I should hate him still more. Is that the reason I hate myself at times-my greatest enemy, and one whom I have injured beyond forgiveness?

ave no business with a brain like hers-that is, if they wish to be women and not sexual monsters. Mrs. Carr is not a lady, though she might have been one. I don't think she is a good woman either. It is possible, indeed, that she has known the factory before now. There is a mystery about her, for I was informed that she was a Mrs. Purfoy, the widow of a whaling captain, and had married one of her assigned servants, who had deserted her five years ago, as soon as he obtained his freedom. A word or two at dinner se

heartache. "One that hath let go himself from the hold and st

n of mine. I have more than half a mind to never open you again! To read you is to recall to myself all I wou

with fortune. It is strange that accident should have induced me to stay a week under the same roof with that vision

d be a happy man. Yet there is a skeleton in this house also. That young wife, by nature so lovable and so mirthful, ought not to have the sadness on her face that twice to-day has clouded it. He seems a passionate and boorish c

to throw off the saintly mask, and appear as a Freethinker. Yet, am I a coward? I urge upon myself that it is for the glory of God I hold my peace. The scandal of a priest turned infidel would do more harm than the reign of reason would do good. Imagine this trustful woman for instance-she would suffer anguish at the thoughts of such a sin, though another were the sinner. "If anyone offend one of these little ones

s to believe in any report of the young man's death, and having a life-interest in the property, holds it against all comers. My poor host in consequence comes out here on his pay, and, three years ago, just as he is hoping that the death of his aunt may give him opportunity to enforce a claim as next of kin to some portion of the property, the long-lost son returns, is recognized by his mother a

is not overburdened with brains, I fancy. Let me see if I ca

ld have run to meet him.) He enters, coldly kisses his wife, and disturbs at once the current of our thoughts. "It has been hot to-day. What, still no letter from head-quarters, Mr. North! I saw Mrs. Golightly in town, Sylvia, and she asked for you. There is to be a ball at Government House. We must go." Then he departs, and is heard in the distance indistinctly cursing because the water is not hot enough, or because Dawkins, his convict servant, has not brushed

et to the drawing-room, and finish my criticism of the new poet, Mr. Tennyson, to Mrs. Frere. Frere does not read Tennyson-nor anybody else. Adjourned to the drawing-room, we chat-Mrs. Frere and I-until supper. (He eats supper.) She is a charming companion, and when I talk my bes

wever, one sees that her face has lost much of the delicate plumpness which it probably owned in youth. She has had one child, born only to die. Her cheeks are thin, and her eyes have a tinge of sadness, which speak of physical pain

ined strength and heartiness. Though he is at least forty years of age, he does not look more than thirty. His face is 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. T

Comptroller-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 explanations of convict tricks and wickedness. He is celebrated for his knowledge of such matters. Det

like the James North who fought the bargee and took the gold medal. What a drink water is! The fons Bandusiae splendidior vitreo was

kness caused to be flogged at Port Arthur, and whose face comes before me to reproach me even now. The other that Mrs. Carr is an old acquaintance of Frere's. The latter piece of information I o

sound. Man has vigour of reason, woman quickness of feeling. The woman who possesses masculine force of intellect is abnormal." He did not half comprehend me, I could

e man's face that he owned ugly memories, and pressed him further. "She's up country somewhere," he said. "Married her assigned servant, I was told, a fellow named Carr. I haven't seen her for years, and don'

le that these two creatures-the notable disciplinarian and the wife of the assigned servant-could have been more than friends in youth? Quite possible. He is the sort of man for gross amours. (A pretty way I am abusing my host!) And the supple woman with the dark eyes would have been just the creature to enthral hi

as a school-girl concerning this fatuous official, and yet-Heaven knows-I feel deeply enough the importance of the task he has before him. One relieves one's brain by these whirlings of one's mental limbs. I remember that a prisone

told me after dinner that she disliked the very name of "convict" from early associations. "I have lived among them all my life," she said, "but that does not make it the better fo

ds to her own opinion, and looks at me with horror

us," I said. "

ur of voice and manner I have before remarke

oolish (?) fancies as to physiognomy-and it made me start. What death, indeed? What sort of death would one meet with widely-opened eyes, parted lips, and brows bent as though to rally fast

n, and finding an excuse for going to the piano, dashed into a waltz. This unnatural gaiety ended, I fancy, in an hysterical fit. I heard he

t my patience relieved. Query: Would not the majority of mankind rather be bored by people in authority than not noticed by them? James North declines to answer for his part. I have made my farewells to my friends, and on looking back on the pleasant hours I have spent, felt sad

otsteps through the streets returning, Seeing through blinding r

weet scene of love and duty, Then turns into the wild wet

n she expected; and yet what business have I sentimentali

w for Norfolk Islan