” He leaned back in his chair as though wearied. My thanks, by the by. Yon must be mine to-night. Practically all. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. 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. ” “Then she has never been my wife.
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