CHAPTER I. DYING INJUNCTION-SEARCH FOR ElIPLOYhlENT RESULT. H AT EV E R standing the locality W called Gresse Street, Rathbone v Place, W., may have held in the past, it is difficult now, from outwlird appearance at - least, to conjecture. The houses, it is true, are large, and the doorways surmounted by - heavy porticos, which may at one time have been considered el ant, but the ravages of time and the want-of repair have now i. brought them into so dilapidated a condition, that they will hardly hold together, and 1 l . 4 they can no longer be considered in any lvay ornamental. Nor is the street redeemed by its approach. A narrow turning out of Rathbone Place brings the wayfarerabruptly upon it. The stones are overgrown with grass, and the one end, through which there is no thoroughfare, is evidently innocent of any heavier traffic than an occasional costermongers barrow. And yet, looking up at the four storeys into which the houses are divided, the beholder cannot help conjecturing that at some past period the street L must have led somewhere, and the houses been inhabited by well-to-do tenants now, alas they wear on their faces an acknowledgment that each floor is let out to a separate lodger - the row of bells on the front indicates as much-and the open doorways show that the staircase is common to all. Patches of paper on the window-panes, evidently intended to keep out the draught, and little boards hanging in the area or from the window sills, with Mangling done . I Pinchiltg Poverty. 3 - here inscribed upon them, pretty clearly show the position of the inhabitants. Pinching poverty exhibits itself on all sides. There is no occasion to knock at the door of NO. 17, for it is open, and three flights of rickety stairs lead to a landing, with doors on two sides of it. A female, dressed in shabby black, is very quietly entering the front room and as she opens the door, an anxious look is cast to the other end of the apartment Her face is very pale and very thin, and looks pinched and careworn. At one time it must have been good-looking, and even now, were it not for the death-like paleness and a nervous twitching about the mouth, it would still be handsome. . Mrs. Miller had had her share of troubles, . and but for the little fellow who now lay asleep at the other end of the room, she might have been tempted many a time to end them. She married very young, and c had one-child, a boy. Her husband was a hard-working mechanic, who managed during his lifetime not only to give her a - com-fortable home, but also to make it a happy one. The story of her troubles is simple enough, and common enough too. Her husband died and, saving the furniture in their little home, and a trifle put away, she was left penniless. Her boy was then about ten years old but youilg as he was, the remembrance of his fathers last illness was destined never to be erased from his memory. He cannot forget, the day before that parent breathed his last, standing by the bedside in the darkened room. Johnny, my boy, listen to me. I shall not be with you long I am fast drifting to another world, and you will be left with your mother alone. Never forget, my darling, you will be all she will have to look to for comfort on this side the grave. I know you understand me... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.