‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. Byrom,—a poet of whom his native town, Manchester, may be justly proud; and his features and figure have been preserved by the most illustrious of his companions on the present occasion,—Hogarth,—in the levée in the "Rake's Progress," and in "Southwark Fair. It is her duty to tell me, and I would not have her think that I had been trying to work upon your sympathies to learn her secrets. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably.
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