nt of both husband and wife when letters
were received that did not contain the much-desired postal orders. And
so passed a genius; but a dipsomaniac! A man of brilliant parts and a
fellow of infinite jest, who never did justice to his great powers, but
who crowded a continuous succession of tragedies into a short life. I am
glad to think that I did my best for him, even though I failed. He has
gone! but he still has a place in my affections and occupies a niche in
the hall of my memory.

I very much doubt whether I am able to forget any one of the pieces of
broken humanity that have companied with me. I do not want to forget
them, for truth to tell they have been more interesting to me than
merely respectable people, and infinitely more interesting than some
good people.

But I am afraid that my tastes are bad, and my ideals low, for I am
always happier among the very poor or the outcasts than I am with the
decent and well behaved.

A fellow named Reid has been calling on me repeatedly; an Australian
by birth, he outraged the law so often that he got a succession of
sentences, some of them being lengthy. He tried South Africa with a like
result; South Africa soon had enough of him, and after two sentences he
was deported to England, where he looked me up.

He carries with him in a nice little case a certified and attested copy
of all his convictions, more than twenty in number. He produces
this without the least shame, almost with pride, and with the utmost
confidence that it would prove a ready passport to my affection.

I talk to him; he tells me of his life, of Australia and South Africa;
he almost hypnotises me, for he knows so much. We get on well together
till he produces the "attested copy," and then the spell is broken, and
the humour of it is too much for me, so I laugh.

He declares that he wants work, honest work, and he considers that his
"certificate" vouches for his bona fides. This is undoubtedly true, but
nevertheless I expect that it will be chiefly responsible for his free
passage back to Australia after he has sampled the quality of English
prisons.

My friends and acquaintances meet me or rather I meet them, in
undesirable places; I never visit a prison without coming across one or
more of them, and they embarrass me greatly.

A few Sundays ago I was addressing a large congregation of men in a
London prison. As I stood before them I was dismayed to see right in
the front rank an old and pe