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. ‘Certainly you are imbecile. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. Diamonds! You shall have all that you can carry away, sacks full if you like. "By the powers!" he added, turning his lantern full upon the face of the captive, "he's a nice gennteel-lookin' kiddy, I must say. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. Fifty sent home. And if I cared to have him come every day, why shouldn’t he? I find him very amusing and very useful as well.
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