IN a miserable part of London, far away from all the fashionable quarters and thoroughfares, yet almost close to a large railway station, is a long, wretched-looking street, with here and there shops on either side—if indeed shops such places can be called-consisting of boards resting on the pavement covered with old boots, shoes, pieces of tin, leather, backs of books, empty medicine bottles, pill boxes, dirty cord, string, decayed apples, hard dusty-looking dry figs, nuts, sour oranges, salt herrings, broken pots and pans, knives with broken blades, and lots of handles without blades, rusty bird-cages, old mouse-traps, old clothes, old pieces of soap picked up from the dust-heap, ends of cigars, matches, old pipes, and many other articles of about much the same value are displayed for sale; whilst the owners of all this heterogeneous stock, with their family, live, or rather exist, in a dreary cellar, only seeing the light of day, or getting a breath of fresher air, as they scramble up from the dark Rag. B IO The Miserable Cellar. ness within, standing either on a box, or if fortunate enough to possess one, a tumble-down chair, whilst they push their heads through the aperture left between their dwelling-place and the next storey, as they look eagerly out for purchasers of their stores. Now if you had been passing up or down this street about two o'clock one cold October day not quite a year ago, you would I am sure have hurried along, anxious to get out of such wretched quarters, unless you had stopped for a moment or two attracted by two little heads and small white faces peering above the board in front of one of these miserable cellars, longing to catch the attention of the passers by, and with much difficulty stretching out their bony red hands as they endeavoured to place what they considered the most tempting of their goods in a more prominent and enticing position. Ragged, dirty, ill-conditioned looking little creatures they were, but as quick, earnest, and sharp in their desire after gain as many double their age. "Rag," whispered the brother to the sister, "look at that 'oman a'miring of our apples; just shove 'em a bit more round, so as to show the betterer side.-No," catching hold of her hand, "don't go an' turn 'em jist under her nose; she sees what ye're arter an' off she goes; yer not half sharp to-day-what's up?" Nothin's up as I know of, 'cept I'm that hungry I could eat anythin', an' we mustn't meddle with all this; it's for other folks an' not for us." Here the poor little drawn face puckered up. "Don't, don't look i' that fashion, Rag. What iver are yer arter? Here, munch that," and the boy drew a |