be between twenty-five and
thirty years of age; he had an open manly countenance, and there was a
bold and fearless expression in his eye.

"Yes," said I, in reply to his question; "this is one of the ways to
London. Do you come from far?"

"From ---," said the man, naming a well-known sea-port.

"Is this the direct road to London from that place?" I demanded.

"No," said the man; "but I had to visit two or three other places on
certain commissions I was entrusted with; amongst others to ---, where I
had to take a small sum of money. I am rather tired, master; and, if you
please, I will sit down beside you."

"You have as much right to sit down here as I have," said I, "the road is
free for every one; as for sitting down beside me, you have the look of
an honest man, and I have no objection to your company."

"Why, as for being honest, master," said the man, laughing and sitting
down by me, "I hav'n't much to say--many is the wild thing I have done
when I was younger; however, what is done, is done. To learn, one must
live, master; and I have lived long enough to learn the grand point of
wisdom."

"What is that?" said I.

"That honesty is the best policy, master."

"You appear to be a sailor," said I, looking at his dress.

"I was not bred a sailor," said the man, "though, when my foot is on the
salt water, I can play the part--and play it well too. I am now from a
long voyage."

"From America?" said I.

"Farther than that," said the man.

"Have you any objection to tell me?" said I.

"From New South Wales," said the man, looking me full in the face.

"Dear me," said I.

"Why do you say 'Dear me'?" said the man.

"It is a very long way off," said I.

"Was that your reason for saying so?" said the man.

"Not exactly," said I.

"No," said the man, with something of a bitter smile; "it was something
else that made you say so; you were thinking of the convicts."

"Well," said I, "what then--you are no convict."

"How do you know?"

"You do not look like one."

"Thank you, master," said the man cheerfully; "and, to a certain extent,
you are right--bygones are bygones--I am no longer what I was, nor ever
will be again; the truth, however, is the truth--a convict I have been--a
convict at Sydney Cove."

"And you have served out the period for which you were sentenced, and are
now returned?"

"As to serving out my sentence," replied the man, "I can't say that I
did; I was sentenced for fo