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. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. I'll go with you. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. " "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. “I could not have stayed in Paris and waited for news. “But your sister,” he said.
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