story of Clerkenwell. Mr. Kirkwood occupied part of a house in
St. John's Lane, not thirty yards from the Arch; he was a printers'
roller maker, and did but an indifferent business. A year after the
birth of Sidney, his only child, he became a widower. An intelligent,
warm-hearted man, the one purpose of his latter years was to realise
such moderate competency as should place his son above the anxieties
which degrade. The boy had a noticeable turn for drawing and colouring;
at ten years old, when (as often happened) his father took him for a
Sunday in the country, he carried a sketch-book and found his delight
in using it. Sidney was to be a draughtsman of some kind; perhaps an
artist, if all went well. Unhappily things went the reverse of well. In
his anxiety to improve his business, Mr. Kirkwood invented a new kind
of 'composition' for printers' use; he patented it, risked capital upon
it, made in a short time some serious losses. To add to his troubles,
young Sidney was giving signs of an unstable character; at fifteen he
had grown tired of his drawing, wanted to be this, that, and the other
thing, was self-willed, and showed no consideration for his father's
difficulties. It was necessary to take a decided step, and, though
against his will, Sidney was apprenticed to an uncle, a Mr. Roach, who
also lived in Clerkenwell, and was a working jeweller. Two years later
the father died, all but bankrupt. The few pounds realised from his
effects passed into the hands of Mr. Roach, and were soon expended in
payment for Sidney's board and lodging.

His bereavement possibly saved Sidney from a young-manhood of
foolishness and worse. In the upper world a youth may 'sow his wild
oats' and have done with it; in the nether, 'to have your fling' is
almost necessarily to fall among criminals. The death was sudden; it
affected the lad profoundly, and filled him with a remorse which was to
influence the whole of his life. Mr. Roach, a thick-skinned and rather
thick-headed person, did not spare to remind his apprentice of the most
painful things wherewith the latter had to reproach himself. Sidney
bore it, from this day beginning a course of self-discipline of which
not many are capable at any age, and very few indeed at seventeen.
Still, there had never been any sympathy between him and his uncle, and
before very long the young man saw his way to live under another roof
and find work with a new employer.

It was just after leaving hi