On his return, Moore learned that the inn—indeed, the very bed in which he had slept—had become notorious; for Thurtell, the well-known murderer, had been taken from it by the police some time before. Moore was horror-struck, and determined to seek fresh lodgings. He was fortunate in finding very suitable ones in Wood Street, and thence he set out to find a situation. It was hard work the search. People laughed at his north-country accent, and rustic air and clothes. In one day he entered as many as thirty linendrapers’ shops. “The keenest cut of all I got,” Moore used to say, “was from Mr. Charles Meeking, of Holborn. He asked me if I wanted a porter’s situation. This almost broke my heart.” Fortunately, Mr. Ray, of Flint, Ray, and Co., had heard of the arrival of the Cumberland lad; indeed, he had been looking out for him, and he offered Moore £30 a-year, which the latter gratefully accepted. At that time Moore gave no promise of being worth much more. His first appearance is thus described:—“On incidentally looking over to the haberdashery counter, I saw an uncouth, thick-set country lad, standing crying. In a minute or two a large deal chest, such as the Scotch servant-lasses use for their clothes, was brought in by a man and set down on the floor. After the lad had dried up his tears, the box was carried up-stairs to the bedroom where he was to sleep. After he had come down-stairs he began working, and he continued to be the hardest worker in the house until he left.”