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But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. “Well,” said Capes, at length, “we’ve to go down, Ann Veronica. ’ ‘Yes, but I’m afraid I am far too interested to stop mixing myself in your affairs,’ Gerald said ruefully. He had chosen his time well. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard. Gerald at once lowered his voice to that intimate level again, and leaned towards her. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. 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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