The only, or what seemed the best thing I could do, was to return to the lodging-house, and there await the event. After a long weary day spent in vain search for my lost companion, I carried this idea into effect, and went back to the lodging-house. As I anticipated, Stormy had not returned to it. The landlady was a woman of business; and fancied, or rather believed, that my responsible protector had deserted me, leaving her with a boy to keep, and a bill unpaid. She asked me if I had any money. In reply, I produced all I had. All but one "picayune" of it was required, for the payment of the score we had already run up. "Now, my lad," said she, "you had better try to find some employment, where you will earn a living. You are welcome to stay here to-night, and have your breakfast in the morning. You will then have all day to-morrow to find another home." The next morning, after I had swallowed my breakfast, she came to me and bid me an affectionate "good bye." It was a broad hint that she neither expected, nor wished me to stay in her house any longer. I took the hint, walked out into the street, and found myself in a crowd, but alone, with the great new world before me. "What shall I do?" was the question set before a full committee of my mental faculties, assembled, or awakened, to deliberate on the emergency of the moment. I could be a newsvendor no longer: for the want of capital to invest in the business. I could return to the ship, and perhaps get flogged for having run away; but I was so disappointed in the treatment I had received at the hands of the captain, that nothing but extreme suffering could have induced me to seek protection from him. The restraint to which I had been subjected on board the ship, seemed partly to have emanated from Mr Leary, and for that reason was to me all the more disagreeable. I wandered about the streets, reflecting on what I should do until both my brain and legs became weary. I sat down on some steps leading to the door of a restaurant. My young heart was still strong, but beating wildly. Over the door of a grocer's shop in front of me, and on the opposite side of the street, I read the name "John Sullivan." At sight of this familiar name, a glimmering of hope entered into my despairing mind. Four years previous to that time, the grocer with whom my parents used to deal had emigrated to America. His name was John Sullivan. Was it possible that the shop and the name before me belonged to this man? I arose, and crossed the street. I entered the shop, and inquired of a young man behind the counter, if Mr Sullivan was at home. "He's up stairs," said the youth. "Do you wish to see him in particular?" I answered in the affirmative; and Mr Sullivan was called down.