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"I understand, Sir," replied Davies, drawing a little aside. ’ ‘Pah! You can never be Valade. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. "Let the gentleman take his own course," said Jonathan, mildly. ’ Mrs Chalkney lifted her brows. 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. She contrived to break down the barriers of shyness at last in one direction, and talked one night of love and the facts of love with Miss Miniver. ” “My dear young lady,” the official said irritably, “this man would not have your name and address in his pocket without an object. Blood and bone, body and spirit, she is selfish through and through. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. "I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily.

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