ABSTRACT
Horne was adrift. At no time had he so lacked roots and purpose. He was cast out in an alien community which had no place for a poet, and in which he, as a man, had failed. At the same time he had no incentive to return to England. The one stabilizing thought in his mind was the hope, fast receding, of making a small colonial fortune. But since, thanks to the incidents at Waranga, the governor was reluctant to employ him further (though as concession he provided Horne with a letter of exoneration), Horne did not even have the prospect of a salaried position. He returned to Melbourne, to the comfort of Chisholm's friendship, a frenzied search for work, and intellectual idleness.
