It’s Providence. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. “How have you been lately, Lucy? You’ve been such a stranger. She said you HAD some money. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. Later.
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