are-free jollity,
the irresponsible joyousness, which is supposed to belong naturally to
youth. This was not due, I think, to the mere fact of my being left
alone in the world as a child. We have all met urchins joyous in the
most abject destitution. I attribute it to two causes: inherited
temperamental tendencies, and the particular circumstances in which I
happened to be left alone in the world. Had I been born in a slum, and
subsequently left an orphan there; or had my father's death occurred
half a dozen years earlier than it did; in either case my
circumstances would, I apprehend, have influenced me far less.

As things were with me when I found myself in the ranks of the
friendless and penniless, I had formed certain definite tastes and
associations, the influence of which was such as to make me earnestly
anxious to get away from that strata of the community which my
companions at St. Peter's Orphanage, for example, accepted
unquestioningly as their own. Now when a youngster in his early teens
is possessed by an earnest desire of that sort, I suppose it is not
likely to stimulate irresponsible gaiety and carelessness in him.

But, withal, I enjoyed those Sydney years; yes, I savoured the life of
that period with unfailing zest. But, incidents of the type which dear
old Mrs. Gabbitas called 'Awful warnings,' were for me more real, more
impressive, than they are to youths who live in comfortably luxurious
homes, and know the care of mother and sisters. The normal youth is
naturally not often moved to the vein of--'There, but for the grace of
God, goes ---- etc.' But I was, inevitably.

For instance, there was the American journalist who so heartily
despised my bourgeois prudence and progress. As I walked through the
Domain one evening, not many months after I had heard myself compared
with a 'sure thing grafter,' I saw a piece of human wreckage curled up
under a tree in the moonlight. It was not a very infrequent sight of
course, even in prosperous Sydney, This particular wreck, as he lay
sleeping there, exposed the fact that he wore neither shirt nor socks.
He was dreadfully filthy, and his stertorous breathing gave a clue to
the cause of his degradation. As I drew level with him, the moon shone
full on his stubble-grown face. He was the American reporter.

Here was a chance to return good for evil. I might have done several
quite picturesque things, and did think of leaving a coin beside the
poor wretch. Then