Botanical Gardens, Ballarat, N.S.W.
Though I have seen much of the world and had many downfalls, the atmosphere of my boyhood and its ideals remains. I still have deep faith in God’s merciful Providence, in the friendship of men, and in the earnest love of women. The old heroes of my dreaming boyhood still move with me as I travel on; the kindly eyes of earnest men and women shine through the mists of my memories and sweeten with light my dreaming existence; not till I die will they die. I love to hear the laughter of children; their innocent voices and little wails of grief express to me cries from the great heart of music, till I fancy I can see the flowers growing over their inevitable graves. In that feeling I love all men and women; and those who have sinned have my unknown sympathy as well as my unknown love.
Could I have my own way I would lead a vast army to demolish the mighty cathedrals and churches of Europe, and to rob the wealth of the altars, selling the debris and giving the proceeds of the glorious battle in the cause of true religion to the thousands of starving little city children, providing covering for their tiny emaciated bodies. God would be my best friend in fighting for his helpless family and providing comfort for deserted women and fallen men. There is more true unselfish religion in saving a butterfly’s life than in moaning for many years in a cathedral pew about your next lease of life.
But to return to my travels and troubles.
I well remember that stowaway trip. The boat was bound for Sydney. We had beautiful weather, and when I was a legitimate member of the crew I did not regret my headlong dip into the stokehold. My comrade and I were treated well, and my violin brought me respect and applause when I played in the saloon concert. My fiddle has always been a dear friend, and wailed passionately on my behalf when I have been in disgrace. I don’t think I could find a more trustful and soulful companion if I started off to tramp the world again to-morrow.
As we were flying through Sydney Heads we received a message from the captain. He wanted to see my comrade and me on the bridge. He was an elderly, short-bearded man with kind eyes. “Well,” he said, “I shall have to hand you two over to the authorities when we get in. Have you anything to say for yourselves?”
“No, sir,” I said; “only we are sorry for stowing away, and wish to thank you for your kindness to us under such circumstances.”
He said “Um,” and then stopped walking to and fro to say: “Have you got any money?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “We’ll go ashore and clear as soon as we get alongside.”
“I’ll let you off this time.”