in the discharge of a light and gentlemanly occupation, to be acquired by the outlay of three shillings' worth of postage stamps. Walter Joyce sent the postage stamps, and received in return a lithographic circular, vary dirty about the folded edges, instructing him in the easiest method of modelling wax flowers! That was the final straw. On the receipt of that letter, or rather on the reading of it--he had taken it from the stately old looking-glass over the fireplace to the box where of late he usually sat--Walter Joyce gave a deep groan, and buried his face in his hands. A minute after he felt his hair slightly touched, and looking up, saw old Jack Byrne bending over him. "What ails ye, lad?" asked the old man tenderly. "Misery--despair--starvation!" "I thought so!" said the old man calmly. Then taking a small battered flask from his breast and emptying its contents into a clean cup before him--"Here, drink this, and come outside. We can't talk here!" Walter swallowed the contents of the cup mechanically, and followed his new friend into the street. CHAPTER VII. A NEW FRIEND. When they stood in the street, with the fresh night-wind blowing upon them, the old man stopped, and, peering anxiously into his companion's face, said abruptly-- "Better?" "Much better, thank you; quite well, in fact. There's no occasion for me to trouble you any more; I----" "What? All gaff, eh? Old Jack Byrne sold, eh? Swallowed his brandy, and want to cut--is that the caper?" "I beg your pardon, I don't quite clearly understand you, I'm sorry to say"--for Walter knew by the tone of his voice that the old man was annoyed--"I'm very weak and rather stupid--I mean to say, in--in the ways and the talk of London--and I don't clearly follow what you said to me just now; only you were so kind to me at first, that----" "Provinces!" muttered the old man to himself. "Just like me; treating him to my pavement patter, and thinking he understood it! All right, I think, as far as one can judge, though God knows that's often wrong enough!" Then, aloud, "Kind! nonsense! I'm an odd old skittle, and talk an odd language; but I've seen the ups and downs of life, my lad, and can give you good advice if I can't give anything else. Have you anything to do to-night? Nothing? Sure I'm not keeping you from the Opera, or any swell party in Park Lane? No! Then come home with me and have a bit o' pickled salmon and a glass of cold gin-and-water, and let's talk matters out."