I shall count it a privilege. ‘Damnation!’ Confused, he released her, and in an instant she had darted away and was running down the garden. " "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. "What does he say?" roared the long drover. 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.
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