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. ‘You make a game with me, I think. There were two of them. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. I merely mention these circumstances to show the accuracy of my information. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. “Cheer up, Annabel. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that.
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