Sidney had taken a room in Islington, and two rooms on the floor beneath him were tenanted by a man who was a widower and had two children.

In those days, our young friend found much satisfaction in spending his Sunday evenings on Clerkenwell Green, where fervent, if ungrammatical, oratory was to be heard, and participation in debate was open to all whom the spirit moved.

One whom the spirit did very frequently move was Sidney's fellow-lodger; he had no gift of expression whatever, but his brief, stammering protests against this or that social wrong had such an honest, indeed such a pathetic sound, that Sidney took an opportunity of walking home with him and converting neighbourship into friendly acquaintance.

John Hewett gave the young man an account of his life.

He had begun as a lath-render; later he had got into cabinet-making, started a business on his own account, and failed.