We are not called upon to enter into the history of his struggles. He maintained a sort of precarious existence, now working at this, now working at that; for he was a Jack of all trades, and could torn his hand to anything, but certain of no continual employment. How he went through it all, still paying Miss Gray, still keeping up a decent appearance, contracting no debts, the pitying eye which alone looks down on the bitter trials of the poor, also alone knows. The poorer a man gets, the more he thinks of wealth and money; the narrower does the world close around him, and all the wider grows the world of his charms. The shop, which had only been a dormant idea in Richard Jones's mind, now became a living phantom; day and night, mom and noon it haunted him. When he had nothing to do--and this was, unfortunately, too often the case--he sought intuitively the suburb where Rachel Gray dwelt; ascertained, over and over, that within the mile circuit of that central point there did not exist one grocer's shop, and finally determined that the precise spot where, for public benefit and its own advantage, a grocer's shop should be, was just round the corner of the street next to that of Rachel Gray, in a dirty little house, now occupied by a rag and bottle establishment, with very dirty windows, and a shabby black doll dangling like a thief, over the doorway; spite of which enticing prospect, the rag and bottle people seemed to thrive but indifferently, if one might judge from the sulky, ill-tempered looking woman, whom Jones always saw within, sorting old rags, and scowling at him whenever she caught him in the act of peering in. It was, therefore, with no surprise, though with some uneasiness, that coming one day to linger as usual near the place, James found the rag and bottle shop closed, the black doll gone, and the words, "To let" scrawled, in white chalk, on the shutters. Convinced that none but a grocer could take such a desirable shop, and desirous, at least, to know when this fated consummation was to take place, Jones took courage, and went on as far as Rachel Gray's. Jane, the grim apprentice, opened to him, "There's no one at home," she said. Mr. Jones pleaded fatigue, and asked to be permitted to rest awhile. She did not oppose his entrance, but grimly repelled all his attempts at opening a conversation. He entered on that most innocent topic, the weather, and praised it. "It has been raining," was Jane's emphatic reply. "Oh! has it? What's them bells ringing for, I wonder." "They aint a ringing; they're a tolling." Mr. Jones, rather confused at being thus put down by a girl of sixteen, coughed behind his hand, and looked round the room for a subject. He found none, save a general inquiry after the health of Mary, Mrs. Gray, and Miss Gray. "They're all well enough," disdainfully replied Jane. "Oh, are they! I see the rag and bottle shop is shut," he added, plunging desperately into the subject.