During the winter of 1892-93 and the spring of 1893, thousands of men had flocked to Chicago from all parts of the United States, owing to the reports of work and good wages, and the expectation of a boom in the city in consequence of the Fair. Building operations in the fair-grounds, men necessary to instal the machinery and the exhibits, Columbian Guards, and the employees of the concessionaires, absorbed thousands of them; and thousands more were absorbed outside the fair-grounds in rushing up the hotels, saloons, &c.; but still they came. After the Fair was once in full swing, instead of there being employment for more, thousands were being turned off daily. Besides, the Fair was not turning out the financial success that had been expected. Added to the thousands who came to the city looking for work were other thousands who had only come to see the Fair, but, getting “busted,” had to remain and look for work to earn money to get home. Then, to make matters worse, in the summer and fall of 1893 came the tremendous business depression and panic all over the United States, which broke many banks and hundreds of business men in Chicago and elsewhere. Even in the spring and early summer we felt the forerunner of this. I have to relate all this in order to explain the conditions I stepped into, and the reason why the struggle was exceptional at that time for any one, and more especially for a young married Englishman whose training-ground had been an English public school. The latter, as I will explain later, is the very poorest training that a man could have to meet American conditions, and in many ways it inculcates ideas and ideals that militate against one’s chances—at least, in one’s earlier struggles. I first tried to secure office work, but found that I, with absolutely no business training, was in competition with book-keepers and stenographers of fifteen and twenty years’ experience, who were also out of jobs; besides, these men were Americans, and knew all the ropes thoroughly. I have sat or stood (more often the latter) for two hours in a hall in company with 150 or 200 men all come after _one_ vacancy. Any one who has not been through the mill in dire need of work can hardly imagine the agony one feels when a callous office-boy comes in from the sanctum, and with a grin hangs up a sign, “Position filled.” I used to get up before 5 A.M. to buy the early morning papers, rush home to make a list of the vacancies I thought I could fill and the hour at which application had to be made. Often two or three advertisements would name the same hour, and I would have to choose between them, but always with the feeling that I had picked the wrong one. To some places I could walk, but as Chicago is a huge town, I had to take cars to many of them, and car-fare eats up money. It was certainly disheartening to go day after day to five or six places and see the sign without even having a