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. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. Don’t be afraid to go on thinking it. "Do you think we are to be disturbed in this way? Make less noise, hussies, or I'll turn you out of the Lodge. We’ve done nothing to deserve it. Lucy knocked again. I wish they would just get it over with. Taber is the name.
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