JULY A YEAR: OF THE OLD AND THE NEW WORLD.

» T w » author of" Last of the "Waikatos •" J Etches," by Joe Ferhboot ; ''Htjnied Hub- ■ iso"(BOiESQua Novbe,), <io , &o.] ; Chap, I, THE OLD WORLD. feE year was drawing nigh its end, and fould soon fade into the inevitable pftet ; it ■0 commenced in youthful spring, and | ,adcled full of promise into gorgeous summer, ffreathed in smiling loveliness, blushing like v beautiful bride, and clad in tender leaves jnd flowers of many-coloured hues, perfuming the air with scents of sweetest odour, -whilst countless insect myriads and feathered choris ters sang it 3 praises in joyful sounds, and so j{lived till in the natural order of things this lovely being, by slote degrees, became mature Autumn, which in mirn gave up its choicest fonts and shad its russet garb, and now bshold, wrapped in a rugged mantle of snow and ice, bleak and barren Winter appears upon the scene, and it is Christmas Eve in the great world City of London. It wss a bitter cold night, everything everywhere was fast being frozen up, and even old Father Thames was getting hia great highway completely blocked with huge masses of ice that closely jostled each other right; across the river and scraped against the sides of the numerous craft that lay in the stream and alongside the river banks. OJd people talked of the time when a fair was held and a fat bullock roasted on the ice f in the middle of the Thames, and predicted that the "same could soon be done again. How merrily the chimes (the metry Christ mas chimes) rang out from many steepled churches on that bitter cold Christmas Eve, and pealed the glad tidings that the anniver sary of the birth of the Saviour of mankind wafflftt hand. A strong biting blast straight from the ice regions of the North swept over the Metropolis, making the warm- coated to button up tighter to keep out the intense cold that chilled even them to the marrow and the warm housed drew up nearer to the blazing fire. It was so cold ; and what of the many uncoated, unhoused, unfed, uncared for? What became of them on that freezing Christmas Eve ? God only knows whit they suffered. Many of them perished in raerrie England tre the morrow's dawn, starved and frozen to death.: and what else could be expected, said the great Alderman Plumper, ram full eveu to the very throat of the good things of this world. What else could be expected when even a policeman, well fed and great-coated, was found that; night on his beat frozen to death ? One half the world knows not, and most likely cares nob, how the other half live and die—especially is this the case in London, where many live for years without even knowing the name or occupation of their next door neighbour, so that it is not to be won dered at if the inhabitants of Piper-street were ignorant of the facb that in the midst of thtm a family was starving ; and if they had known, it would not have nvide much differ ence, for they were nearly all rnGre or less suff ring from the same complaint, and could have rendered no assistance to the starving ones. „ Piper-3trcefc is situatei at the East-end of London, in the Parish of Poplar, close to the East and West India Docks. v.'nee upon a time, within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, Poplar had bean a suburban village surrounded by green fields and hedges, and Piper-street was an orchard, where luscious pears, apples, and plums luxuriated, 'But nothing luxuriated there now, excepting poverty and disease. No vestige of the j green fields and orchards now remains. First of all the docks came—acres and acros of green fields were dug out, and the river lst in year 3 and years ago, and huge ships loaded with freight from all parts of the world floated and disgorged their cargoes on the spot where the plough, onco turned up the furrow, J and cattle grazed amongst the buttercups and daisies. Then after the docks there came an immense army of book makers, bricklayers, aadl carpenters, who soon covered the whole country round with houses, and so it came to pass thab one fine day it was found out that Poplar was joined to, and formed part and parcel of the great city. Piper-street was a low locality. The houses, were low, and let at a low rent, whilst the inhabitants generally were looked upon as a low set—consisting mostly of dock labourers and costermongers, several of whom increased their scanty earnings by breeding pigeons or fancy dogs, that would kill any number of rats in a given number of juinutes. In the warm long summer even- j mgs, the pigeon fanciers would sit with their le?3 dangling out of the first-floor windows, Whistling and calling to tb.3 flock of pigeon 3 that hovered over the thoroughfare the live long day. Hi for Plover ! Ho for Nancy ! to the great delight of the boys. ' But all thas sort of thing was over long ago, and the birds and their owners were now seldom seen. At the corner of Piper-sfcreet wa3 a small grocery shop, which supplied most of the inhabitants of the street with groceries. It Wag kept by one Thomas Caddy, and he had painted over the door, in large letters, T CADDY, and over it a picture of a veritable Tea Caddy, which he thought a good joke, and likely to draw custom, by attracting attention. Mr T. Caddy was rather given to corpulency; had a large round lead, and a very red face, from which a bottle-nose of a bluish tint projected several inches. Certain people resident in the neighbourhood used to affirm that he was addicted to drinking brandy, but that could not he, as it was generally known that he Was a teetotaller, in proof of which he was possessed of a large silver-plated teetotal Oedal, which he displayed in his shop win dow dangling from the neck of a small \ Wooden Chinaman that stood up grimly from amidst an ocean of sugar, tea, raisins, figs, Duts, &c, all of which condiments John vhinaman was popularly supposed to be the cultivator of. Mr Gaikly was a bachelor, |*d lived alone. For some reason or other, best known to himself, he had a great horror °f Women, and objected to have Anything of 'he female kind about his establishment. A story was current abroad that once upon a «Di 3he had a cat, which for a long time he fondly imagined was a Tom ; he called it "igger because it was black N, but, lo ! one horning the nigger had six little niggers. | After that, the Nigger, and the six little were seen no more, but it was Noticed at the time that Mr Caddy's nose Was of a darker blue for several days after. pOn this particular Christmas Eve Mr Uddy was seated in front of a warm fire in a small parlour, the door of which being °pen overlooked the shop. He was smoking a long clay pipe, the smoke from "which he Puffed iv clouds towards the ceiling. After a flttle while he went into the shop and sur *«yei it with an evident air of satisfaction. At Wag decorated as became the festive sea '.'O of the year : bunches of holly with 'asters of bright led berries were festooned Jr *ound, and across the ceiling and beside %uaual gas-burners he had six different poured Christmas candles that guttered Way in the window aad on tile counter. He

also had amongst the raisins and sugar along side the Wooden Chinaman, the words, "A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year," the letters artistically and cunningly arran ged with almonds, but to the most of his customers and the resides of Piper-street SiS* ' -f e idea of havias a mer?y omibt^ag, an(3 after that happy New X<;ar, was a very remote possibility although there was no harm in the wish of Mr Caddy as it did not cosb him anything. After leaving the warm fire the" shop felt cold, so Mr Caddy reached from one of the shelves behind th-.' counter a square black bottle, on which was'labelled in large letters, Orange Bitters. He pulled out the cork, and was in the act of putting the bottle to his mouth when a sharp-featured lad about thirteen years of age entered the shop. Mr Caddy hastily replaced the cork, gaye a slight cough, and put the bottle back on the shelf again. "Well, young shaver, and what do you want, eh?" said Mr Caddy, turning round on the youth, " come to pay the two shillings and sixpence three farthings your fathev owes, eh." " If you please, Mr Caddy," said the lad, his teeth chattering with the cold, " father's very sorry, sir, but, he has not been able to get anything to do, and wanls you to lab him have sixpenny-worth of oatmeal, for we havn't had anything to eat; all day," and the wretched ill-clothed, starved, chilled lad wiped away with his ragged cuff" the tears that trmkled down his bine cheeks. " Oh, hn, that's ib, the old fifcory, nothing to eat. Why don't you go to the workhouse ? What's the workhouse for ? for what have they clapped another halfpenny in the pound on - the poor's rates. For, eh !—why, good Heaven's ! you people will drive me to seek . protection in the Court. That's what you'll do ; butyer won't, d'ye see, yer won't, nob if Thomas Caddy know's it." " If you please, sir," sobbed the lad, " the workhouse is full, and they can't give auy more relief." " Well, that's nothing to do with me, and I shan't give yer any mere credit uafcil the two shillings and sixpence three farthings is paid, so go and'teil yer father that." The lad turned upon his heel and left the shop. Directly the youth bad gone, Mr Caddy returned to the orange bitters, which he carried with him into the little parlour that overlooked the shop. He then reached a tumbler and some sugar from a sheif, poured about a wine glass full of liquid from the bottle labelled orange bitters, sweeteaed it with a teaspoonful of sugar, and then marly filled the tumbler with hot; waterfrom the kettle that was singing oa the hob. " Ha they'd drive me to seek protection in the Court," said Mr Ciddy, as he swallowed the contents of the gla^s in one draught. " But they woa't," ho added, as he placed the tum bler an I sugar on the sheif again. i If anyone ol.se had been in the room Avith Mr Caddy their olfactory nerves would have been greeted by .1 strong odour having a re markable resemblance to brandy, but there was nn one elso present, and a few whilF.-> from Mr Caddy's long pipa soon obliterated any smell thas might have been lurking about.

Chapter 11.

SUPPLY j\NTD WRMAKTJ.

On the ground floor of ~No. 9, Piper-street, starved ilicharilKe[son(bytradca shipwright), and his two children, a girl of ten years, and i a boy about thirteen. There were no other ! | occupants of No. 9 except ths rats and mice, for it was the moat dilapidated houeo in the street, and to have resided .on the first floor would have been almost equal to living in the street, f»r the reason that the slates on the roof were partly off, allowing the | weather to have free access. This serious defect was mainly owing to the fact that the previous tenant to Richard Kelson had con tracted a bad habit of refusing to pay the landlord his rent, and declined to leave the j premises,so as a last resort, the landlord was compelled to take the roof off I.he house, which had the effect of clearing them out after they had stood a steady downpour of rain for a fortnight. The roof was never put quite right again, most likely for the reason that it was by no means improbable but that it might some day be required (o be taken off again. Ilichard Kelson was a skilled workman, but the innovation of iron vessels had ruined his trade, and thrown himself and thousands of others out of employment.?ryj For six months there had been no work to be obtained in the yards, and now the middle of winter had come upon him and his little ones in all its severity ; their mother had died some months before broken-hearted. Nurtured carefully in her youth, the tender plant, un fitted to cope with the battle of life in all its sternest aspect, succumbed, and Richard Kelson could nob at times help feeling thank ful that she had been spared the dreadful hopeless misery that dow compassed them about. He, like his wife, had once seen happy days, when fortune smiled, and the coming Christmas used to be hailed with joy. He was not afraid to fight the battle of life, if he could have had fair play; he was a good soldier, and could use right well the weapons of his trade. His hand had not lost its cun ning; or its right arm its strength; but supply and demand had stepped forward, and said you shall not do battle for bread, you must starve ; you and your little ones, it's all right; for have not our wise-acres — laisez faire politicians— said, "Oh, supply and demand adjusts the market, adjusts everything ?'' How easy to shift the respon sibility off their own wise shoulders, and shove it on to supply and demand ; but ifc won't do, Mr Wise-acre, something more than that can and must be done, and not being able to keep your eyes shut any longer, you already discern the fact that supply and demand will not do everything; will not provide for the mighty army that is now growing and growing every year, increas ing like the moss that circles first; round the branches, and then attacks the parent trunk until at last it is dead, yields no more fruit, and only fit to be gathered together and burnt. There is only one chance left for you, Mr Laisez Fair —out at once with your political pruning-knife, and use it unsparingly. Cut away all the rub bish that now is stifling the tree and branches, and let it have a chance to live. Let it breathe, give it more air. If you will not do that, why then it becomes a grave question what shall be done with a Government that cannot legislate not even a little successfully for its people, but allows them to starve by the thousands. And that important question, "To be or not to be," will have to be answered, and that before very long. If it so should happen, my respected, most noble, right honourable, far seeing British statesman, that you become demented, and know not what to do with your great army of unfed and unclothed, why straightway go to one of your colonies and there you will hear the wilderness, millions of millions of acres, crying aloud for help—all the more loud because of the death stillness with which it speaks. Can you give that help? Can you turn those howling wildernesses into smiling gardens of peace and plenty ? You can. And then, knowing that you can, will you not send your great starving army to do the great, the glorious work, that is waiting for them. Send them, Mr British Statesman, do not let them die.

In front of a cheerless fire that vainly en deavoured to diffuse a glow of warmth through the wretched apartment sat Richard lielsou. H:s daughter Alice, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little damsel, Jay on a rough bed stead in a corner of the room ; a blanket and an old counterpane, with a few sacks thrown over all, comprised her bedclothes. All their furniture and baddiag had long,since been > sacrificed to satisfy the cravings of hunger, and the few rass that now remained ill sufficed to keep out the dreadful cold. "Father," said the child in a low, weak voice, "lather I feel so cold and hungry. When will Dick bring something to eat ? He west for something didn'c he father ?" ' Richard Kelson sta.ted from his seat by the fire, and moved beside the child, taking her little child hand into his own for warmth. a. " Yes, my girl, he will be here directly. He comes now ; I hear his footsteps, and the sound of footsteps on the hard frozen street was quiGkly followed by the door being opened, and the lad that we met at Mr Caddy's stepped into the room. It was liichard. Kelson's son Dick. It needed no words from Dick to tell his father that he had been unsuccessful. His face too plainly told the tale as it met the anxious glances of his parent. " Father, he refused." The wretched man, with a cry of despair, ; buried his face in his hands and sobbed. , Then suddenly stattiug to his foefc with I glaring eyes, clenched teeth and outstretched ; arm, his hand clenched so tight that j his finger nails caused a livid mark on : the palm. This son of England cursed his country, its Government, and its laws. Ding dong, ding dong, clang ; how the wind seemed to throw the sound, through the chinks and crevices and down- the chimney until the room seemed to vibrate with the volume of sound, but it was caught up again directly, and whirled far away into thd bleak night as if it was miles away. Ihe bells 1 seemed to have struck a chord of hope in the | breast of the unhappy man, for bidding Dick i remain with hia sister until he returned, he ! put on his hat, tied an old comforter j round his neck, and hurried out into the I street. As the door slammed with a loud I noise the chimes again burst joyously into | the room and fairly surrounded the two i miserable children as if there wa9 no such thing as misery and starvation in existence.

Chapter 111.

j . CHEAP JOHN. Tho Parish clock chimed the hour of eight as Richard Kelson turned into High-street, Poplar. He lingered not, but struck west wards at a smart pace. Ho had decided what he was going to do ; he would go to the Shoreditch railway terminus. It was Christ; mas Eve, and crowds of passengers would be arriving by the trains from the country to spend Ghriotmas in London. Of a cerbaiuty, somothiny; could be earned there. Men he kne.v did nothing else but loiter about the railway stations, and on this evening the trains would be more crowded than usual : sc surely there was a trille to be earned carry iug a trunk or bag. Buoyed up with this hope —clinging to it like a drowning man at a straw — Richard Kelson continued on his way along the Commercial Road into Whifce chapel, and then after passing down several lye-streets, he emerged into Shoreditch. To describe the streets of London on a Christ ma 3 Eve v/ould till a volume of itself, and cannot be attempted here. The starved shipwright took lifctle pleasure in ihe glitter and glare of the crowded shops and streets he passed through, the lights from which illuminated the sky to such an extent that the reflection over the great city appeared as if it were from a large fire, and could bo seen for over twenty miles away in the country. Crowds of cabs and omnibusses, filled with pasaengei'3, were arriving at tuo station «is JKicharcJ Kelson passed through the great | iron entrance gates, and ho narrowly escaped being run over by a huge red painted van, with the Royal Coat of Arms painted on its sides. It was the Post Office van carrying letters for the mail train, which wa-3 going to start in a few minutes. "Hi, here you are, take my bag, look sharp." In a twinkling the shipwright had .hoid of the bag, the stout owner thereof gasping along at his side. What a good job he was fat, or he might have carried the bag himself. Richard Kelson had earned six pence, and he looked wistfully at it as he stood on the crowded platform. JN ro chaace of another sixpence just yet, for a bell rings, the station doors are closed, and he must wait till the mail train has started. The letter-bags are rapidly handed into the railway van, passengers are wishing each other good bye, and to be sure and write soon; only another minute and the train starts. Tho engine is already getting impatient to fly on its iron course, through I the dark night, and hisses as if it would burst, throwing up all round dense clouds of steam that hangs about the glass roof of the station; another bell rings, and the mail guard waves a green flag, at the same time blowing a whistle as only a boatswain or railway guard can do. A cry from the porters warns those on the platform to stand back. The engine gives a shrill screech, and the mail train glides away into the dark black night, till nothing is seen of it but the red lamps behind the train, and even they are soon lost sight of as the engine increases its speed. A train from the country would not be due for half-an hour, so Richard Kelson went into the street again to pass the time, ' and at last got some food. He now had sixpence—that was something ; and every now and then he kept feeling in his waist-coat pecket to know if it was all right. I Although starved he did not feel hungry. He 1 was past that. He felt sick at heart and faint. He would buy a penny roll; the re maining fivepence he would keep for his i children, in case he earned no more. Across the road, and opposite |the railway station, a number of people were gathered round a man mounted on a barrow, and who was holding forth. The shipwright crossed the road and joined the crowd, who were listening to one of those peripatitic tradesman, half gipsy, half coster mo ager, commonly known aa Cheap John. He was rather a short fellow, with strong prominent features, and a well oiled black curl peeped out on each side of his head from underneath a shabby white hat, the exist ence of which was prolonged by the assistance of a black cloth band. Round his neck he wore, tied loose, a red handkerchief. "Hi, hi, here we are, sold again and got the money," he vociferated, as he handed a pocket comb to a lad that had just speculated. "Now then, now or never, as the respectable old party said yen she strangled her old man. The next article that I 3hall ay the honor of selling you will be a—a—no not that, t'other parcel/ This was said to a small boy who was hand ing him the articles for sale. " Ha, that's it a packet of splendid knives and forks. Nobody wants the packet 5 then we must part with 'em, one arter tother, as the Frenchman sed yen he jelletined all hia re lations. There-" and by a dexterous movement he displayed in his right hand held somehow between the thumb and 'fingers, half a dozen knive* and forks, glittering in a half circle. " Now lam here to sell everything and everybody if I can so you shall have tins ere knife and fork for next to nothing-sixpence for a splendid knife and fork ; the reason that I can afford to sell them so cheap is because I dont

mind telling the present kumpauy because you looks so wery respectable, ?.nd there's no Peeler handy, but the fact is the man tbat I got them from steeled em, that he did, and as I don't mean to pay him for 'em ; I gene rously gives you ladies and gentlemen the benefit.

A loud laugh from the crowd followed this witticism, acd a young woman, with a small head, and carrying a large baby in her arms, purchased a knife and fork, and was followed by two or three other buyers. No more trade with knives and forks being likely, Cheap John next produced a parcel of cheap metal spoons, which he opened and displayed in a somewhat similar fashion to the knives and forks.

" Now then, a silver spoon for threepence ! I am bound to ruin myself; laid a wager with my friend the Dook o' York that I would ruin myself in six months. Sea my friend the Dook, •It kant be did,' Pea I, ' It can ;" and so here anybody, everybody, take 'em, siller, I do not wally threepence. Threepence ' for a silver spoon, leastwise if they're.not silver they are as near as can be, for they were made next door to a silver smith's shop, and the only difference in the All Mark is that these ere spoons as a donkey on 'em instead of a lion, and as long as the donkey don't speak, vy yer kant tell the difference. Fow, please, don't orl buy—" at once he was going to say, bat at that instant a hoarse humming noise peculiar to large numbers of people hurrying to a t'iven point was heard, and the cry of '' Fire ! Fire !" was shouted out, and being caught up here and there, was carried by tha night wind along the street. "Halloa ! here's a nice old mess I'm into now—as the monkey said yen he tumbled hed first into a barrell of treacle," muttered Cheap John to himself, as he found that he was deserted by his audience, and standing alone with his silver spoons.

Chapter IV. THE WRK IX EAGLE SQUARE.

A fire had broken out in a private house in Eaale Square, hard by to Shoreditch. Multitudes of people were thronging from all quarters towards the Square, guided to the spot chiefly by the dense volume of smoke that was ascending. The fire had only just been discovered, and was as yet confined to the lower part of the house, where it had evidently originated. The Square, in every available nook and corner, was soon packed with human beings, and it was as much as the few police already on the spot could do to keep the front ranks of the crowd from being pushed bodily against the burning house. A lou-1 shout from the crowd denoted th.'.t the first sheet of flames had broken out. It shot up from the kitchon below the level of the street, and curling upwards fairly licked the whole front of the building. There appeared fo be no one in, for no attempt was being made by anjone to save the fur niture or goods. The occupants of the adjoining houses were ram'dly removing their furniture and effects, most of which were pitched headlong from the upstair window into the street below, where they lay shivered into frag ments. The fire had now got a firm hold, and crackled with a noise resembling volleys of musketry. The square was full of smoke, and burning sparks commenced to fall amongst the crowd. A noise of great shout ing and rattling of wheels is heard, and the cry arises, "Make way for the engines; make way." But it is no easy matter to clear away, for the crowd are packed tight in the square, literally jammed, and then ensued a scone of riot and confusion inde scribable. Oath?, screams, and yells re sounded from the panic-stricken crowd, mingled with hoarse cries of " Fire," as th y vainly struggled against each other to m.ike way. Men. women, and children were luthlessly knocked down, and tram pled on The engines were at last brought to a standstill. The horses were dragged oat by the now mad infuriated crowd. The firemen, in sheer self-defence, had to fight their way with the engine poles, smashing and knocking down tho mob right and left.

Whilst this horrid scene wa3 being enacted in the middle of the square, tho mob close to the burning house learned that an old lady was in one of the up-stair room? —the front

one. She would bo burnt, for see the smoke now bursts fitfully under and over the front door. A gentleman is seen in the front rank of tho crowd frantically imploring help. The door is forced open by the united strength of a dozen strong men, but they stagger back again choked and blinded by the riease volumes of smoke that meets them

"My mother ; oh'! my mother! will no one sava her : she will be burnt alive." The gentleman runs wildly, wringing his hands. To go into the house now seems almost certain death. No one dares to run so great a risk. But yes, see, the crowd i* parted, and a slight figure in a ragged coat and a red comforter hanging from his neck, suddenly dashes across the pavement and disappears into the burning building. An immense cheer, like the roar of a mighty wave, greeted this denoted act of bravery. At last the engines managed to be dragged near enough to commence playing on the burning building, and the rapid thump, thump, of the engine pump-handles, accom panied by a sing-song o£ many voices, told that volunteers were numerous. Intense ex citement prevailed amonest the crowd as to the fate of the man that had rushed into the burning building. A fireman had attempted to follow him, but he reeled back, fell on the pavement, and was dragged away insensible. All eyes were centred on the upstairs front window, Where was the old lady ? Ex cited cries of "There he is" arose as dark shadows from the fitful flames danced across the window. A full red light, succeeded by a bright flame of fire, leaped and roared through the doorway. A deep groan of horror welled up from the bosom of the spec tators. The lower part of the building was now in flames ; the whole edifice would soon be a blackened shell. The flames casb a ter rible glare in that upstairs front window. It is suddenly darkened by a shadow from within, something is moving like a man's arm; it beats wildly against the heated window panes, which give way with a crash, and amidst a loud cheer from the multitude in the square below, a figure falls senseles3, leaning over the window-sill. It has hold of another figure wrapped in a blanket. The Fire Escape is at hand, its tall ladder cuts its way through the blazing sparks that fill the air and fall between the rings. Cheer upon cheer greets it as it moves up to tne burning building—it is quickly drawn back again as a huge sheet ©f fire roars towards it. The canvass bucket is pulled rapidly to the top of the ladder, and the Fire Escape Conductor is in it, on a level with the upstairs front window—like a hero giant he looms in the bright glare —there is a sudden lull in the flames—the ladder glides swiftly up to the buiMing, ( and is almost directly pulled away again, but there are no figures at the windows now They are saved.

Chapter V. DIOK AND ALLEY.

The reader will now kindly return with us to Piper-sfcrect and to Dick, left by his father to watch over his little sister. I was ne new thing for them to be lef

together whilst their father was away look ing for work—so they* were not afraid, i A piece of wick stuck in an empty sardine tin iillecl with grease, did duty for a candle, and flared smokiiy away with an unsteady flame on an old table which stood in the centre of the room.

" Dick," raid the tm all soft vricf oflittle Alice. "Dick, come- and sit beside me." " Take hold of my hand like that," and the cbild placed her hand in that of her brother as he sat down beside her.

" I feel so strange to-night, Dick." Yes, I know you're hungry, and so am I, and father tco. I saw a hoy (a fat boy) in the street to-day with a large piece of bread and jam in his hand. T thought once I'd take it away, and then I thought it would be wicked, so I didn't. I asked him to give me a piece but he would not. ]Sobody gives us anything now, because I suppose we want it. Don't you remember Alley when we had plenty ; people used to give us no end of things, and especially at Christmas. Uncle Robert used to come and see us in those days. You were a wee little thing then Alley, but he never comes near now. When mother died he would not come to the funeral. I've heard father say he don't come to see us because we are pcor now, and he has plenty of money. If ever I should have pltnty of money I wouldn't like to J»e like Uncle, for h« will never get an-yone to love him as you and I would Alley, not if he was to pay them heaps and heaps of money." " Poor uncle," sighed little -Alley, "I feel so so-ry for him. Don't you Dick ?" " Yes I do," answered the lad, "for he has no one belonging to him but father, you, Alley, and me.

" Dick ! Dick!" "What, Alley !" said the boy startled by the tones of his sister. " Don't you see a bright light in the corner of the room? There it is, yonder."

"No, I don't. Why, what's the matter with you Alley?"1 "Nothing the matter Dick, but there it is again, and I can see mountains and rivers aud the bright light is now the sun shining, and, Dick, listen there's music." " Why, Alley, you're light-headed ; that's the chimes a playing. Now go to sleep," and Dick pulled the old sack tighter round hia sister, and sang to her, in a low tone., an old Christmas carol that he remembered, to have learned some years before till she dozed gently off to sleep. Then Dick moved from her side to the window, and peered out into the dark night, with the stars peeping out here and there like diamonds, and towards the north-west, in the direction of Shoreditch, he observed a red glare in the sky that he thought might; oca tire, but then he couldn't be sure. It might only be the reflection from the streets, so he left the window and sat down on a box in front of the fire, which he commenced to fan into a blaze with his cap. Then he placed some more pieces^ of timber on the lire to get dry, for it was drift-wood that he had been collecting during the day down by the river side when the tide was out, and was very wet. Then he huddled himself close up to the bars of the grate to get as near the warmth as possible, and thus he sat thinking of the happy Christmas he had a year ago, and of the loved one that was with them, and his young mind could not fathom how such a change in their happiness could take place in only a year. Then he wiped away with his ragged jacket sleeve the scald ing tears that welled up from his heart and ioiled like beads down his cheeks. He got up several timoa and looked out of th j win dows, but the sbars had disappeared, and it was pitch dark, excepting the red glare iv the north-west that was still there. Once he ■opened the front door, aud peered down the street, but there was no signs of father ; and the bitter wind made him ■ close it quickly again. Then, faint and weary with coid aud hunger, he laid his head on the table and siepf, and as he fell asleep the parish clock struck twelve.

At the last stroke the chimes burst out louder than ever, peal on psal vibrated through the delapidated old building, and proclaimed the advent of Christmas mom, but it did not rouse the lad ;he slept. The bells at length ceased. The damp fire in the grate gave up its last spark, and the greasy wick smoked itself to death. All is still, the hoarse roar and rumble of countle33 vehicles that arises from the great city during, the day is hushed ; the only sounds that are1 heard at intervals are the drunken shouts of some late revellers, or the steady tramj; tramp of the policeman as lie passes dowi the street on his beat. /

Chapter VI. NO ONE AT HOME,

Dong ! the clock strikes one. It is ai swered by distant bells that sound lile echoes. 'Tis bitter cold ; the window-panb are coated thick with frost, whilst poms and rivers are freezing inches deep. A. mantle of ice has fallen over the earth, aid clutches everything in its deadly grip. Suddenly a sound of distant wheels rat lino- over the ice-bound ground is hearf. The noise sounds louder and louder until ,t last a cab turns into Piper-street and stojs at JSIo. 9. A man so muffled up that le looks like an animated bundle of clothe:, scrambles down from the box, where he hs been sitting beside the driver. " No. 9 wariit it Bill t" asks the animated bundle of tfe driver. . "Yes, that's it." Then the animate! bundle knocked loudly at the door with L short stick, which he held ia bis hand—tlj noise resounds up and down the street— art a policeman, attracted by the sound, Walk! up, and asks, " What's the matter ?" "Why, as I've brought a party home, a was hurt at the fire last night in Shore ditch " and the animated bundle knocked a the door louder than before, but there wa; no answer. , I " Why, I'm blessed, if there's anybody a home " growled the animated bundle. Ti policeman went to the window of the cal and turned on his bull's-eye. The light fa; upon an object covered with a blanket and} horse rug, lying on a heap of straw at ti bottoms of the cab. The upturned faa although exposed to the full glare of to powerful bull's-eye, moved not a muscf, neither were the eyes affected, but w/e fixed as if in death

" Why, the man's dead," said the polp man, as 'ho turned the handle of the ib door to opea it. 1, "No he ain't dead, it's a faint; tp s what it is. He did it twice afore, (he sent as told us to bring him home, givine uarf a soy in case he should want enny tog. So I got a bottle of brandy," . and'the animated bundle, after sundry tugsaflome thing that was sticking out of his oat pocket, produced a bottle of brandy. I "Why you ought to have taken p to the hospital," said the policeman. / So the gent wanted to, bat he wUdnt hear of it, and the doctor said " hefarn t hurt serious—burnta bit about the ais and less, and weak like." I Having got inside the cab, the apated bundle lifted the injured man, who f none other than Richard Kelson, partivPi and applied to his mouth the bottle (f randy. The powerful stimulant took/^ed ia te effect, and the shipwright openffp; eyes. " There's no one at home,"/ a the am"

iujured man,as he lay back again on the straw thoroughly exhausted with paiii and weak- I ness.

It was an easy matter to open the win- ' dow, for the fastening had long since dis- j appeared, and it was not considered •worth | while to replace them, for the tenants never • had anything worth stealing • so there was no fear of ""any one effecting an entrance fora felonious purpose. The policeman entered through the window first, and then opening the street door admitted the animated bundle, when. the light of the policeman's j bull's eye was thrown across the room, the j figure of lick, with his head laying upon his j arm, fitst met their astonished gaze. " Why, damme, the boy's froze," said the "animated bundle as he placed his hand on Dick's face, and, Lor' help me; " why, damme, if there ain't another—a gal," he exclaimed, as he espied little Alley, with her long tresses hanging over the old rugged sack that covered her.

Bill, the cabdriver, having, after some trouble, extricated himself from innumerable bands of straw that encased his legs, had descended from his box, and now made his appearance. "What'sthe matter—susanside ?" he said, as he caught sight of Dick. " I seed a susanside onett; cut his throat he did. No! things is froze ; that what they is. What's -to be done, Mr Policeman ? I'm blowed if we shan't be orl on us froze, if we stay here much longer ; and I've to take my cab back again to Shoreditch, afore I gets home." "Ha I that's it ; wot's to be done now ?" echoed the animated bundle. " A fire, two froze kids and a injured man, ain't so bad, even for a Christmas Eve "

" Better take them to the station, and see the Inspector ; there's a fire there. Put the youngsters in the cab with their father ; it ain't fur," said the officer, and he lifted poor little frozen Alley, sack and all, in his strong arms, and carried her to the cab, whilst the animated bundle and cabby carried Dick between them, and having placed one under each of the cab seats beside their father, who was in a state of como, the animated bundle scrambled after cabby on the box seat, and the cab rattled away over the frozen stones towards the police station.

The Inspector on duty at the police station was &. humane man, and when he heard the particulars of the case, had the sufferers conveyed into' a warm room beside a roaring fire. He then roused his wife up, who lived on the premises, and they placed Dick and Alley in warm b-itb.3, ami wrapped them up in blankets, so that their stiffened and frozen limbs gradually relaxed, and by degrees they came round again, especially after partaking of some warm gruel, with just a little men poured into it. Richard Kelson was also enabled to take some, and then they were placed into comfortable beds, and soon fell off to sleep.

Chapter VII. MR. FRANKLYST.

It is Christmas morning—tho feeble rays of a wintry sun vainly endeavours to pierce the snow clouds that hang like a shroud over the earth. Now and then a gleam of sunshine sparkles and glistens on house windows and church spires, but it carries no warmth with it, and soon disappears, evi dently abandoning the attempt as hopeless. The church bells are ringing merrily for morning service, and the streets of the great city ara filled with families, with troups of small children, carryiag large bibles and prater books, going to chiirch, and other families going out to drive ; but the families residing in Piper-street are not noted, for their religious proclivities, and wonld gladly accept an invitation out to drive if such an unusual offer was made ; in default thereof, stayed at home, thankful if they are able to procure a few scraps for dinner. At No. 5 there was a real Christmas pudding, and report had it that even brandy sauce would be forthcoming ; but report often lies, and most likely did so in this instance ; but the pudding itself was a fact, for Mrs Beetroot, who knew No. 5, assured her .neighbours that she seed 'em a making on ifc, which dis closure caused much jealously to exist in

Piper-street on that Christmas morn, and

whilst Mrs Beetroot was discussing the sub ject -with her neighbour at the street door.

they were startled out of their propriety by the sudden appearance of a private carriage, with a live coachman in real livery, dashing into the street, and stopping at No. 9. There was a general rush of unkempt hair and un shaven beards to the row of windows and doors up and down the street. Such a thing as a real carriage and a liveried coachman in Piper-street was a sight to be remembered, and to be > talked about, and eager was the excitement to have a look.

A gentleman sprang ont of the carriage, and knocked at No. 9. There was no answer. He knocked again with the same result. Seeing Mrs Beetroot he walked towards her, and asked if Richard Kelsou lived there.

"Well, sir," answered Mrs Beetroot curt seying, "he did live there, but I heard as how he was hurb at a fire, and a cab came with him last night and took him and his children to the perliee station."

Placing sixpence in her hand, the gentle man returned" to the carriage, which drove rapidly away in the direction of the police station, followed by the ardent gaze of the inhabitants of Piper-street.

" Tommy ! Tommy !" screamed Mr Beetroot in a shrill voice directly the car riage had turned the corner of the street, whereupon Tommy, a short youth atbired in cord trousers, blue cloth cut-away coat with metal buttons, waistcoat to match, and a muffin cap of blue cloth with a red rosette on one side of it, made his appearance. Tommy belonged to the parish charity school, and was by far, and any, the best dressed indi vidual in the street, of which circumstance his mater familias was exceeding fond. " Here,, take this ere and get sixpennorth of gin at the White Horse, and be sharp or you'll be late for church."

Tommy seized a jug and scampered off dowa the street, whilst Mrs Beetroot, with a sigh of satisfaction at the prospect of gin, invited her neighbour to step in and have a glass with her.

The private carriage soon arrived at the police station, and the gentleman before mentioned stepping abruptly into the charge room somewhat disconcerted Sergeant Trun cheon, who was twirling his thumbs, after the manner of absent lovers, and with his feet resting on an iron fender in front of a roaring fire, was deep in the mystery of some criminal ea3e that he was getting up. He, howevez, jumped -ay abruptly, and was all attention,.as t-Ltey s.vy in the" army.

''Kichard Kelson," he• answered in reply to a question frooa that gentleman, "yes, sir, Richard Kelson and ius two children v»*v?e brought him in a cab sir, at sir," and the sar^eauf. rushed*'to a large boot: ihaS was lyiiig cpen in the cleA, "at. fir, 1.30 a.m. sir," Kichard Kelson sir, Buffering from burns at a "re in chore-ditch, and Ms two children.

" Yes ! yes 1" interrupted the gentleman, are they here now sergeant.

" Yes, eir, in a xnomentsi?," and Sergeant Trencheon disappeared and returned almost immediately with the Inspector's wife who had acted, the. good Sainavitac to the attp wright and his t«ochildren. Sbe reqa<jated the geallooian to step upstrdrs, wbero opan

ing a door they stood in the presence of Eicbard Kelson and his two childien, who vere yet in bed. She then retired, and directly the did so, the gentleman took off his hat, and a chair to the bedside cf the shipwright, sat down. '.' Kelson," said the gentleman in tremu lous tcne, "you are aware that you have rendered me a gteat service, and in so doing risked jour life. You saved my dear mother. It is only rigLt, end it is only just, that I should endeavour to repay you as far as I possibly can. lam grieved to learn that yourself and little ones are in indigent circumstance!?, but I will not speak on the subject further now for you are in pain snd want rest. .At present you must place yourself entirely in my hands until you get all right again. And so these are my little charges," said Eichard Kelson's benefactor, as he went over to where Dick and Alley were lying. What's your name, my little man."

" Dick, sir, and that's sister Alice," answered Dick.

"Well, Dick and Alice, I am George Franklyn, and you must look upon me as your friend ; and you will try and love me, will you not ?" " We will, indeed, sir," answered Dick and Alice in one voice; '• for," said Dick, "we have had no one to love, except father, since mother died, and Uncle Bobert stopped coming to see us." " JRobert —Eobert Kelson, I know that name. I lmow aMr Eobert Kelson, of the fiim of Bandannah, Son, and C 0.," Baid Mr Franklyn, " but he is a wealthy man, and cannot, of course, be any relation." "My brother, sir," said Richard Kelson, in a voice of deep emotion.

•' Your brother !" exclaimed Mr "Franklyn, turning towards the shipwright, "your brother! and is it possible that he is aware of the state you are in ?"

" Good heavens ! what a parody is this word ' brother.' Why, he must be a—"

" Hush, sir," fully murmured the injured shipwright ; "with all his faults, he is still my brother, my only brother ; one, that in earlier and happier days I have fondied and played with, and —" but the poor emaciated man could say no more, but with a deep sigh fainted. Mr Frauklyn alarmed at the state of Eichard Kelson, hastily dashed some water on his face, which was covered with thick beads of cold perspiration, and then called loudly for help. The Inspector's wife speedily made her appearance, and with the aid of some simple remedies, brought 'Richard Kelson to himself again, and then Mr Franklyn departed, saying that he would call for them again, '' and take them away with him."

Chapter VIII,

RICHARD KELSON" FINDS A NEW HOME,

Before Mr Franklyn returned with. the

carriage. Dick and Alley were up and dressed in their ragged wardrobe, and Alley had been to Piper-street to get her pet lark. She found the poor thing with its little head still under its wing, as it had been all the night before, when its mistress made her appearance, it roused up, and fluttered against the bars of the cage, apparently, however, with great difficulty, and it was a hard matter for it to swallow the few crumbs of bread which Alley produced from her pocket, and threw into the cage.. There was nothing else in the miserable home of any value to her, or in fact to any one else, so she s!artsd back to the Police Station, where she arrived just before Mr Franklyn returned. •Richard Kelson was carried to the carriage, and placed on one of the cushions that covered the wide seats, and there was plenty of room on the other seat for Mr Franklyn. Dick and little Ally, with the lark in its cage on her knee, and then they started off, but not before Mr Franklyn had made a liberal present to the Inspector's wife for her care *ofJ;he shipwright and his children.

Mr Franklyn had made arrangementa with a Mrs Tarbucket, the wife of a sea captain, wno lived in Wade's Terrace, East India Road, to board and lodge his charges, and thither they drove. It was not a great distance from Piper-street, so they soon reached the house. With great forethought Mr Franklyn had engaged a man to assist in carrying Richard Kelson out of the carriage, and when the carriage stopped he touched his cap and opened ths door, and then, with the assistance of the coachman, the sufferer was soon carried upstairs and wrapped in' warm blankets in a comfortable room, made more cheerful by a, fire that blazed in the grate; and then having satisfied himself that his poor friends were' comfortable, Mr Franklyn wished them good-bye, but only for a few days, as he would then come to see them again.

Mrs Tarbucket, or Mrs Captain Tarbucket, as she delighted to be called, was one of those individuals of whom, alas J there are too few in the world, that make everybody feel comfortable and at home when in-her presence. She had one son—a grown up lad, but he was at sea with his father on a voyage to the West Indies. The only other person in the house was a West India black girl, rejoicing in the festive and appropriate name of Dinah, who was maid-of-all-work.

Under the care of Mrs Captain Tarbucket, Richard Kelson rapidly improved, while Dick and Alley were treated as if they were her own children. The pet lark also brightened up considerably, and was even in danger of being fed to death by the over jealous Dinah, and on -washing days he would pipe up for a while and hop about the fresh turf that Dick would bring home for him as if it was the middle of summer. Upon these occasions Dinah would stare open-mouthed, exhibiting a row of ivories-that looked like the keys of a pianoforte, all the while he was singing, as if he was some wonderful species of bird that had just been discovered. A doctor, at the request of Mr Franklyn, had attended the injured shipwright, who"' in a week's, time, was enabled to come down stairs with the aid of Dick on one side and a stout stick on the other, and as they would all sit at tea in the cosy little parlor, with the red curfcains|drawn close, and a bright fire throw a cheerful light across the room, and the still more cheerful face of Mrs Captain Tarbucket rivalling the kerosine lamp in pleasant brightness, no one would have re cognised in the three lodgers the starved shipwright and his two children, looking now so clean and neat, dressed in new warm clothes forwarded by their kind benefactor. The immediate past to them seemed like a hideous nightmare which made them shudder nt t h o bare thought. When tea was over, Mrsf Captain Tarbucket would sometimes relate to them some of her experiences at sea, for she had been several vpjagea with her husband. She had been to America, to the West Indies, and once to New Zealand. Richard Kelson seemed deeply interested when she talked of New Zealand. He wa9 never tired of hearing fibonfc the beautiful climate of the North Island, where it never snowed and the trees wer«i evergreens where peaches grew wild on, largo trees, and work and food seemed so plentiful that want was never known. Could such au Island exist, It seemed like a fairy tale from the " Arabian Nights."

Chapter IX. VAEEWELL TO ENdLAND.

Whon Kichard- Kelson was so far recovered yJ that he could move about without the aid of X *■

SUPPLEMENT TQ THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAft