WAS E'ER A ROSE WITHOUT ITS THORN?
EIGHT. POSSUM GULLY LEFT BEHIND. HURRAH! HURRAH!
NINE. AUNT HELEN'S RECIPE
TEN. EVERARD GREY
ELEVEN. YAH!
TWELVE. ONE GRAND PASSION
THIRTEEN. HE
FOURTEEN. PRINCIPALLY LETTERS
FIFTEEN. WHEN THE HEART IS YOUNG
SIXTEEN. WHEN FORTUNE SMILES
SEVENTEEN. IDYLLS OF YOUTH
EIGHTEEN. AS SHORT AS I WISH HAD BEEN THE MAJORITY OF SERMONS
TO WHICH I HAVE BEEN FORCED TO GIVE EAR
NINETEEN. THE 9TH OF NOVEMBER 1896
TWENTY. SAME YARN (Cont.)
TWENTY-ONE. MY UNLADYLIKE BEHAVIOUR AGAIN
TWENTY-TWO. SWEET SEVENTEEN
TWENTY-THREE. AH, FOR ONE HOUR OF BURNING LOVE, 'TIS WORTH AN AGE
OF COLD RESPECT!
TWENTY-FOUR. THOU KNOWEST NOT WHAT A DAY MAY BRING FORTH
TWENTY-FIVE. BECAUSE?
TWENTY-SIX. BOAST NOT THYSELF OF TOMORROW
TWENTY-SEVEN MY JOURNEY
TWENTY-EIGHT. TO LIFE
TWENTY-NINE. TO LIFE (Cont.)
THIRTY. WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS, 'TIS FOLLY TO BE WISE
THIRTY-ONE. MR M'SWAT AND I HAVE A BUST-UP
THIRTY-TWO. TA-TA TO BARNEY'S GAP
THIRTY-THREE. BACK AT POSSUM GULLY
THIRTY-FOUR. BUT ABSENT FRIENDS ARE SOON FORGOT
THIRTY-FIVE. THE 3RD OF DECEMBER 1898
THIRTY-SIX. ONCE UPON A TIME, WHEN THE DAYS WERE LONG AND HOT
THIRTY-SEVEN. HE THAT DESPISETH LITTLE THINGS, SHALL
FALL LITTLE BY LITTLE
THIRTY-EIGHT. A TALE THAT IS TOLD AND A DAY THAT IS DONE

INTRODUCTION

Possum Gully, near Goulburn,
N.S. Wales, Australia, 1st March, 1899

MY DEAR FELLOW AUSTRALIANS,

Just a few lines to tell you that this story is all about myself--for no
other purpose do I write it.

I make no apologies for being egotistical. In this particular I attempt
an improvement on other autobiographies. Other autobiographies weary one
with excuses for their egotism. What matters it to you if I am
egotistical? What matters it to you though it should matter that I am
egotistical?

This is not a romance--I have too often faced the music of life to the
tune of hardship to waste time in snivelling and gushing over fancies and
dreams; neither is it a novel, but simply a yarn--a _real_ yarn. Oh! as
real, as really real--provided life itself is anything beyond a heartless
little chimera--it is as real in its weariness and bitter heartache as the
tall gum-trees, among which I first saw the light, are real in their
stateliness and substantiality.

My sphere in life is not congenial to me.