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. She didn’t choose her man. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around. I have worn it for weeks and weeks. He now tells her that she is free, no longer a slave. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep.
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