Victor Daley, then a happy, wondering Irish lad, drifted out to Australia. His head was full of old tunes and fragments of poetry; his pocket was nearly empty. The sunshine and freedom of Australia delighted him, and, in careless, vagabond fashion he enjoyed the fleeting pleasures of the day with little thought of the morrow. A good companion, " a fellow of infinite jest," life to him was a gallant spectacle, which he loved to look at and did not take seriously. Worldly success never tempt...