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As the evening drew on he began to feel an anxiety he had not taken into his account; namely, where he could pass the night. He had been cast out at the inn, and had but one penny remaining of the waggoner's bounty. As the only choice he had, however, was either to walk the streets all night, or creep under some bulk to hide himself and try to sleep, he at length fixed on a hard pillow, on which, nevertheless, he could have slept, if undisturbed by the guard of the night; for crying the hour was a source of terror to him, though to all those who felt their safety thereby, it was the voice of gladness.
He passed the next day without food, for his last and only penny had fallen out of his pocket, and had been picked up by some one before he had discovered his loss. Hungry, weary, faint, and deeply dejected, he was ashamed to beg, and knew not who to ask for work: when, on passing a gentleman's door in the Minories, in this deplorable state, he resolved to knock at it, his mind telling him he should be benefited thereby. He
with much difficulty reached the knocker; but unable to support himself, he sunk down on the steps, and the knocker slipped so suddenly out of his hand as to occasion a loud rap, and the door was opened in a moment by the gentleman's cookmaid, a woman of a most unfeeling heart. Highly offended on beholding the low creature she had hurried herself to wait upon, she threatened to spurn him away, if he did not immediately remove himself. At this menaced harsh treatment he endeavoured to get out of her way, but was unable to do so. At this moment the master of the house arrived, whose name was Fitzwarren, a mercer and merchant, with his daughter. Mr. Fitzwarren was all benevolence, his young daughter all compas-
