"Your name is Spurlock?" "It is. "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still. “She must be warned. You have the ideas. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. 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. ‘The more I hear about this Leonardo,’ Lucy said severely, ‘the more I want to meet your Melusine. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. " "Lord bless us!" ejaculated Wood, "how shocking! No, I did not know that. If not, I'll take a cheerful glass with you at the City of Oxford, on my way to Tyburn. "If I escape, I will reward you.
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