She was a witty woman who divided autobiographies into two classes... autobiographies and ought-not-to-biographies—­but I am sure she never attempted to write one herself.  There is so much in one’s life that looms large from a personal point of view about which other people would care little, and the difficulty often arises, not so much about what to put in as what to leave out.

How much my personal interests had widened during my absence from home could be gauged somewhat by the enormous increase in my correspondence after my return.  American, Canadian, English, and Continental correspondents have kept me for many years well informed on reform and kindred subjects; and the letters I have received, and the replies they have drawn from me, go far to make me doubt the accuracy of the accepted belief that “letter writing has become a lost art.”  A full mind with a facile pen makes letter writing a joy, and both of these attributes I think I may fairly claim.  My correspondence with Alfred Cridge was kept up till his death a few years ago, and his son, following worthily in the footsteps of a noble father, has taken up the broken threads of the lifework of my friend, and is doing his utmost to carry it to a successful issue.  My love of reading, which has been a characteristic feature of my life, found full scope for expression in the piles of books which reached us from all parts of the world.  It has always been my desire to keep abreast of current literature, and this, by means of my book club and other sources, I was able to do.  Sometimes my friends from abroad sent me copies of their own publications, Dr. Bayard Holmes invariably forwarding to me a presentation copy of his most valuable treatises on medical subjects.  Mrs. Stetson’s poems and economic writings have always proved a source of inspiration to me, and I have distributed her books wherever I have thought they would be appreciated.  Just at this time my financial position became brighter.  I was fortunate in being able to dispose of my two properties in East Adelaide, and the purchasing of an annuity freed me entirely from money and domestic worries.  Perhaps the greatest joy of all was that I was once more able to follow my charitable inclinations by giving that little mite which, coming opportunely, gladdens the heart of the disconsolate widow or smoothes the path of the struggling worker.  Giving up my home entirely, I went to live with my dear friend Mrs. Baker, at Osmond terrace, where, perhaps, I spent the most restful period of a somewhat eventful life.

The inauguration of a Criminological Society in Adelaide was a welcome sign to me of the growing public interest in methods of prison discipline and treatment.  I was one of the foundation members of the society, and attended every meeting during its short existence.  My one contribution to the lectures delivered under its auspices was on “Heredity and Environment.”  This was a subject in which I had long been interested,