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. If you want me, you know where to find me. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony.
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