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. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. "Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed Gerald with a grin. ” Resigned, she rosined the bow and tightened the loose strings. God, we suck.
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