reads of wretches who have carried secrets in their bosoms
for years, and blurted them forth at last. I, shut up here without
companionship, without sympathy, without letters, cannot lock up my
soul, and feed on my own thoughts. They will out, and so I whisper them
to thee.

What art thou, thou tremendous power Who dost inhabit us without our
leave, And art, within ourselves, another self, A master self that loves
to domineer?

What? Conscience? That is a word to frighten children. The conscience of
each man is of his own making. My friend the shark-toothed cannibal whom
Staples brought in his whaler to Sydney would have found his conscience
reproach him sorely did he refuse to partake of the feasts made sacred
by the customs of his ancestors. A spark of divinity? The divinity that,
according to received doctrine; sits apart, enthroned amid sweet music,
and leaves 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 hour of the waking twelve. If differing from
the judgment of the majority of mankind in regard to familiar things be
madness, I suppose I am mad--or too wise. The speculation draws near to
hair-splitting. James North, recall your early recklessness, your ruin,
and your redemption; bring your mind back to earth. Circumstances have
made you what you are, and will shape your destiny for you without your
interference. That's comfortably settled!

Now supposing--to take another canter on my night-mare--that man is
the slave of circumstances (a doctrine which I am inclined to believe,
though unwilling to confess); what circumstance can have brought about
the sudden awakening of the powers that be to James North's fitness for
duty?

HOBART TOWN, Jan. 12th.

"DEAR NORTH,--I have much pleasure in informing you that you can be
appointed Protestant chaplain at Norfolk Island, if you like. It seems
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 small, but
you have a house and so on. It is certainly better than Bathurst, and
indeed is considered rather