"Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. Sections and pages had been pasted together, and all through both Testaments a word had been blotted out. I’ve had enough of it. 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. Besides, you've secrets which must not be disclosed.
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