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. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. “No man can realize,” she said, “what that pit can be. I must obey. I studied violin with a teacher when I was younger,” she said. There’s no logic in these things. ’ ‘I could have done so at the first and saved you the pain,’ she told him merrily. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. ” “Now look here, Ann Veronica,” said Mr.
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