At last I tried a dramatic agent, and got on the music hall stage. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. “Lucy, I have to talk to you. 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. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. ” “Did it come—in Paris?” “I do not know,” he answered. “I was really interested in his stuff.
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