No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. 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. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper.
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