rywhere they are not
wanted. If you want to go near the river there are heaps of
houses where there isn't no such rush of people as at my
place."

This firmly determined me to reside at Mrs Clay's, a desired member of
the household, or perish in the attempt. Alack! I had plenty time to
spend in such a trifle, for I was but a derelict, broken in fierce
struggle and hopelessly cast aside into smooth waters, safe from the
stormy currents now too strong for my timbers. That I had means to lie
at anchor in some genial boarding-house, instead of being dependent
upon charity, was undoubtedly food for thankfulness, and when one has
burned their coal-heap to ashes they are grateful for an occasional
charcoal among the cinders.

No other place near the river but Clay's would do me, though the
valley had much to recommend it at that season, when grapes, peaches,
and other fruits were literally being thrown away on every hand. So I
repacked my trunk, and the 'busman who had brought me took me once
more along the execrable streets, past the corner pub., near the
railway station, and, it being late afternoon, the railway employes,
as they came off duty, were streaming towards it for the purpose of
"wetting their whistle" after their eight-houred day's work.

Leaving the misguided fellows thus worse than ignorantly refreshing
themselves, and the tin kangaroos showing that the breeze was from the
east, I travelled farther west to a summer resort in the cool
altitude, there to await from Mrs Martha Clay a recall to the vale of
melons. That I would get one I was sure, and so little was there in my
life that even this prospect lent a zest to the mail each day.

I had neither relatives nor friends. Fate had apportioned me none of
the former, and fierce, absorbing endeavour had left little time for
cultivating the latter, while pride made me hide from all
acquaintances who had known me standing amid the plaudits of the
crowd--strong and successful; and fiercely desiring to be left to
myself, I shrank with sensitive horror from the sympathy that is only
careless pity.

TWO.

AT CLAY'S.

The long hot days gave place to cooler and shorter, and there was none
left of the beautiful fruit--peaches, apricots, figs, plums,
nectarines, grapes, and melons--which, for want of a market, had
rotted ankle-deep in some parts of the fertile old valley of Noonoon
ere I received a communication from Mrs. Clay.

"If you