For hats that fail and hats that flare; Toppers their universal wear; A man scores always, everywhere. ‘You were his daughter. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. 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 only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. "The shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats.
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