as, from the
literary standpoint, worth while.

For me the news of Freydon's end had something more than literary
significance. There was a period during which we shared an office
room, and I recall with peculiar satisfaction the fact that it was no
kind of friction or difficulty between us which brought an end to that
working companionship. The much longer period over which our
friendship extended was marred by no quarrel, nor even by any lapse
into mutual indifference. And it may be admitted, in all affectionate
respect, that Freydon was not exactly of those who are said to 'get on
with any one.'

In the matter of my own recent journey to Australia, the thing which I
looked forward to with keenest interest was the opportunity I thought
it would afford me of seeing and talking with Freydon, in his chosen
retreat in the Antipodes, and judging of his welfare there. And then,
on the eve of my departure, came the news that he was no more.

Under the modest roof which had sheltered him, on the coast of
northern New South Wales, I presently spent two quiet and thoughtful
weeks, given for the most part to the perusal of his papers, which,
along with his other personal effects, he had bequeathed to me. (His
remaining property was left to the friend whose name is given here as
Sidney Heron.)

Before I left that lonely, sunny spot, I had practically decided to
pass on to such members of the reading world as might be interested
therein what seemed to me the more salient and important of these
papers: the bulky document which forms a record of its writer's life.
Afterwards, as was inevitable, came much reflection, and at times some
hesitancy. But, when all is done, and the proof sheets lie before me,
my conviction is that I decided rightly out there in the bush; and
that something is inherent in these last writings of Nicholas
Freydon's which, properly understood, demands and deserves the test of
publication. Therefore, they are made available to the public, in the
belief that some may be the richer and the kindlier for reading them.

But, for revising, altering, dove-tailing, or shaping these papers,
with a view to the attainment of an orthodox form of literary
production, whether in the guise of autobiography, life-story,
dramatic fiction, or what not, I desire explicitly to disclaim all
thought of such a pretension. As I see it, that would have been an
impertinence. I cannot claim to know what Freydon's intentions may
ha