I don't believe his name is Taber. Mr. 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. “To tell you the truth, it has seemed just lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. She got a bun and some cocoa in the little refreshment-room, and then wandered through the galleries up-stairs, crowded with Polynesian idols and Polynesian dancinggarments, and all the simple immodest accessories to life in Polynesia, to a seat among the mummies. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous.
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