"Let us fly from this frightful place. That is why I would not marry this man whom I did and whom I do care for a little. 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. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. Now she knew why the soldiers had not caught him. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder.
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