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Paul Pry The Reformer of the Age

01/01/1849

Printer / Publisher: G. Johnstone 
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 32
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Paul Pry The Reformer of the Age

Date of Article: 01/01/1849
Printer / Publisher: G. Johnstone 
Address: 12, Russell-court, Brydges-street
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 32
No Pages: 4
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NEW 3Pfs. SERIES. PAUL M FRY 9 " IX IS A VIRTUOUS ACTION TO EXPOSE VICIOUS MEN."- DRT » » N. No. 32.— NEW SERIES.] [ PRICE ONE PENNY. PUBLISHED WEEKLY. WHAT magic lies in this short sentence," behind the scenes." The young author beholdsin this the ultimatum of his ambitious dreamings— of his heart- racking hopes. The histrionic as- pirant sees El Dorado, name, fame, and the world in adula- tion at his feet, could he be once " behind the scenes." The young and trembling debutante, who has practised parts in the drawing- room, and was only in front of the house, had the most confused ideas possible, regarding " behind the scenes." What is the fact? Here you can see every evil passion that can agitate and to rture the weak human heart;— envy, hatred, and malice. Lust parades itself, with every bold accessory. The seducer and the seduced meet there: the most lofty and the most debased intelligences come in contact together, and at times the latter is capable of contaminating the former, for the power of virtue behind the scenes, the examples of the good, are as impotent as a feather is to fell a giant. " Virtue" in the mouth ofthe heroine of the domestic drama, is a figure of speech— a clap- trap, it explodes in a round of applause, and the ballet drives every fancy to the winds, in order to make room for its own peculiar train of imagery. Behind the scenes of the great theatres, the operas, & c., those who have influence by wealth, are allowed to be initiate. Here old men with flabby cheeks and shrunken hams, are seen to stand at the wings, gloating like satyrs at beauties which the bold and knowing ladies of the ballet know how to expose. In this college of impurity, where the palled pas- sions are pandered to by ways and means that one would have supposed obsolete long ago, amours so fearful, so detestable, io horrible, occur, that it must be a bold hand that dare write what is known of them on paper. We can point out dukes, lords, and marquesses, who hold high places— on whose vices are supported by the working men of England, who, having fallen in senility, still are vUitants " behind the scenes;" aud there are managers so obsequious and accommodating, as to permit their most at- tractive ladies to make their dressing rooms a resort for assignations. It is the disgrace of the profession that a laxity of morals must be considered one of the chief recom- mendations of an actress. The aristocracy cannot afford to patronize virtue, as vice is so expensive, and infinitely more alluring. Our artist has this week done fall justice to bis subject, and as there is no exaggeration about it, so is nothing want- ing to render the sketch complete; and we now beg the BEHIND THE SCENES. reader to turn his attention to one horrible, scandalous state of things that is an outrage upon human nature. Every ballet- girl is not vicious— women are not necessa- rily devoted to sensuality, though those heartless scoundrels — your men about town, seem to think so. What opinion they may have of their mothers, we do not know. Now suppose, as is the case but too often, that poor parents have brought up their young child with a decent res- pectability, through many dire struggles, and amid much penury— that she is good, kind, and virtuous, yet in spite of every exertion, they fall lower and lower, and their darling treasure must be exposed to the temptations of the world. She can get no work to do— the remuneration being abso- lutely suicidal— the ballet of a theatre wants a few members, a theatrical friend can introduce her,— the timid girl must undergo a moral death. Her modesty is shocked by bold glances and obscene impudence— her decent pride is in- sulted, and the pure blood must be poisoned in her cheeks, when she puts on the immodest costume for the stage. Her degradation commences. For she is beautiful. Her modesty heightens her beauty, her pudicity inflames where the boldness of her companions repels. The beauty of this chaste and innocent girl is soon remarked by the habitues of the place, and each one marks her out to be his victim. Each one fails. And now comes a tragedy. Some one or other, more determined than the rest, has made up his mind for conquest, and will not be repulsed. His shameless offers are indignantly rejected, and this spurs him on the more. He says he loves her, he perhaps believes it for a moment, and this gives fervency to his tone. His manners are changed, and he insults her no longer. This sets the young girl thinking. It is delicious to be loved. In her young, bitter, poor life, to have one kind heart think of her— beat for her, oh! it is everything to her. She sees not the difference between them. The whole has the aspect of romance, its colours heightened by hope. At last she falls! She is no longer chaste; but she loves. She is beloved. She will be made a wife. She has been imprudent, but as he is yet unsated, he still swears and vows he loves. He adds everything that can wring and torture this poor innocent heart with anguish. She awakens at last to find herself be- trayed, left, forsaken. Oh! the unutterable pain of that hour. She is not loved, her heart is trampled. She is debased and lost, and becomes finally like one of the rest, hard, callouSr and bold, MARONE; or, THE WINE OF LOVE. CHAPTER VI. ( Continued from our last.) Gaffln recovered in an instant: all his ferocity and dogged courage returned. Enraged at being thus struck by one that he almost despised at first sight, he rushed in suddenly upon him, and with such power that his terrific hits would have cut his opponent to pieces, had Passion not been pre pared for him; and possessing quite as much if not more science, the youth received him a manner that confounded, alarmed, and severely punished the ruffian. With a sudden sweep of his right arm downward, he broke Gaffin's guard, and with his left planted another facer, which this time made him spit out a couple of teeth; and then, with incredible strength, he caught his head in chancery, and in- flicted such a shower of blows upon him, that the bruiser was fain to cry out for quarter; then, and not before, Passion desisted. " There," cried he triumphantly, " you see I can use my mauleys too, my lads; and if you have any wish " " No, no," exclaimed Gaffin deprecatingly, " I ain't got the slightest wish whatsomderer,— but, hallo! you've sent your pal to sleep, I s'pose;" and he pointed to the prostrate form of Blowfire, still on the ground, while from his broken head a thin stream of blood was trickling. They raised him up, and tieing a handkerchief round his head, he began to recover his consciousness. " Where am I?" asked Blowfire, looking around him. " Vere are you?" exclaimed Gaffln with ironical bitterness, " vy, you're in Queer- street, ain't you? Hadn't you better feel if you ain't in bed? I vonders vere I am," he added, as he placed his hand on his disfigured jaw. " Am that you, Gaffin?" demanded Handsome Jack. " I b'lieve so," was the reply, " but ain't quite sure." " Why, how you whistles !" said Blowfire, with a little sur- prise at the altered tone of his comrade. " Veil, d— n it, I s'pose you'd whistle too, if you'd got a smack of the mouth enough to knock all your ivories out," was Gaffin's spiteful answer. " Why, wot's the matter? where's the cove?"— but as he turned round to look, Passion, with arms folded, stood coolly confronting them. " Now, my lads," asked he, " what does all this mean? Is this the way you ehow a passing traveller his road?" 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE " Veil, s'help me!" ejaculated Squizzly, amazed at the prowess of the lad, for so he seemed to them, and astounded at his audacity; " I never heered the likes of that. Vy, you goes and smacks Blowfire here, till you splits the pavement with his blessed head, and then pitches into Gaffin till he's licked stiff and then you says—' Wot do you mean?'" Passion could not help laughing. There was, after all, something comical in the whole affair; but how was it to end?— this was settled by Gaffin remarking, with a grin— " Well, if it isn't the queerest lark I ever see. I say, sir, you can use them bunches o' yours, and prettily too; but as it is a lark, and on'y a bit of a turn- to, without any spite or malice, why, let's have a drain, and blest if I don't myself lead you to the Abbey." Blowfire grasped his arm hurriedly; but Gaffin growled out, " Hold your precious jaw, will you? or I'll give you a rattler over it. I say, arter we've had a drain, burn my body, if I don't see the gen'l'um there myself." There was a rude sincerity about the ruffian that Passion at once believed; and trusting in the fortune of the hour, he said, " Well, lead on, and I'll stand as much as you can drink." " All right, foller me;" and as Gaffin spoke he led the way with alacrity, while 1' assion unconcernedly walked with them, taking care, however, that none of them should get behind him; and as the ruffians were evidently afraid of him, they treated him with proportionate respect. All at once, as a louiler blase came howling round the street corner, the guide, dashiDg down an arched alley, led them into total dark less. Passion, as he entered, grasped Blowfire by the arm, and said, in a deep, impressive whisper, that reached the ears ot the three, " If I see a movement of treachery, I'll strangle you on the spot!— now, go on. Perhaps," he added, to him- self, " I may meet him I seek for." " There slia'n't be a hair of your head touched," said Gaf- fin. in the same whisper; " and I've sworn it:"— and pre- santly there followed two or three taps at tbe end of the passage, and a voice growled out, " Who's there?" " Captain Queernobs," whispered Gaffin, " and a cove for the lumber- ken," meaning Passion, as introducing him. " From Millilolling?" demanded tho voice. " A swell to take a sight,— open, and be d— d," said Gaf- fin impatiently; " here's Captain Hatcham ( meaning Blow- fire), with his nut leaky, and the Buffer- napper (' dog- stealer, videleeit., Squizzly); here we are, and ain't it nuts?" As Passion heard some passages of this whispered dia- logue, he conceived that he was about entering into a worse danger than the one he had escaped from; but having confi- dence, strange to say, in Gaffin's word, though he had so se- verely beaten him, as the door opened, he with the others entered. They were in a lighted passage, rude, dirty, and narrow; but a confused sound of voices broke from within, which shelved there was a large assemblage of some kind or other; and Passion doubted not but that he should soon be in the presence of those whose desperate depredations were the ter- ror of Westminster,— the ruffians, assassins, burglars, and thieves of the Almonry. The huge bravo who admitted them was of hideous face and burly form. On his sensual lips there was a grin of welcome, for the assurance of Gaffin made him comprehend that there was some money forthcoming, either by fair means or foul, and he therefore made a bow of welcome to the stranger, as he took down a filthy candle to light them into the den. A few paces farther, the light gleamed through a strong door, and this being pushed open, a reeking odour of spirits, smoke, and vile cookery, came with such force upon the re- fined olfactory organs of Passion, as almost overpowered him; but excitement and curiosity overcame his scruples; and during a loud and vociferous chorus, which was howled out as a burden to some obscene ballad, which a crippled beggar who sat in a chair had just ended,— he entered the room. The moment Passion was seen, there was a general move- ment; but the presence of Gaffin and his associates reassured them, and there was an uproarious welcome from all sides given to the young stranger, who at once determined to make himself at home. He stood an insta'it in the midst of the floor, and gazed around upon a scene which, like the " state" of Cleopatra, " beggared description." We will, however, essay it. A large, lofty room, buried in the midst of a stack of streets, alleys, and houses, held about fifty individuals, of both sexes, and of the most revolting appearance. The walls were plastered, and again replastered with dirt, on which were scratched verses of songs, comical figures, gro- tesque outlines, figures in every variety of torture, mostly terminating in the gallows. At one end, a huge fire- place contained a glaring mass of coals; but where or how this chamber was ventilated Passion could not conjecture. In the wall were fixed sundry brackets where large tallow candles were stuck, with here and there one placed in a black bottle on the tables. The floor had once been boarded, but was now broken in many places, and the interstices filled up with dirt, earth, and small stones, so that it was at least smooth. The guests were seated in groups in small boxes, like those of a coffee- house, so that private conversation might be held on matters of business by any who chose: on the table were basons containing stew and food of various kinds, from the composite " olla podrida," or hodge- podge, to the " buster and bees'- vax," in the form of bread and cheese, while liquor went about in plenty, and of all kinds, though in its quality it was execrable. There were faces of the most villanous description. The lame, the distorted, the crippled, and the man in full pos- session of his limbs. There were there asse nbled too, in every stage of every fearful disease, and the sight would have sickened the heart of any man but Passion, for in some unexplained manner, there had come upon him a burning curiosity which nothing could disgust, and nothing could allay. While he was becoming used to the scene, aad gradually indurating his sensibilities to that which was revolting, a young amazon, with a round fiery face, dull and heavy eyes, and brain nearly addled with drinking, holding up a steam- ing rummer of fiery gin to the young man, said in a bold hoarse voice: " Drink with me. Drink with Bet Trundle, and say you like it!" The first proposition might have been assented to, though not the latter, but l'assion, conrtrary to all expectation, took it from her hand, placed it to his lips, and drank it to the very dregs without a single expression of disgust. This feat was rewarded with an almost universal applause, and G. iffin followed by the youth took a seat in a vacant box, while Blowfire and Squizzly sat opposite. - Passion liad ordered a bowl of liquof to be placed on the table from where the girl had taken the glass she brought to him, and though she manifested a great inclination to sit beside the young man, a significant hint from Gaffin, who now became virtually the he ad, checked her, aud she re- turned to her place. " Well this is nice, blow- me," observed Handsome Jack, as the landlord bore in hot- water, gin, whiskey, pipes, tobacco, and other articles conducive to the orgie, " instead of twisting one another, as this young gen'lman begun with me— Mister Squizzly take and blow a clond will ye?" and he thrust the tobacco and the pipes towards him. The drinking proceeded in their box, and on all sides in fact, as before, the noise of oaths, contradiction, quarrel, and the song still mingled together, for the potations which the drunkards were now quaffing, began to make inroads upon them, and being, as it weite in their own domains, all restraint was flung to one side as a contemptible prudery. In the meantime, the box next to the one in which Passion a: id his new friends sat, contained two men, whose conversation, earnest and low in tone, excited the curiosity of the youth in an eminent degree, and while Gaffin was busy conversing with his companions across the table, Passion, who did not shun the liquor, leaned his head slightly on one side to the edge of the box, so that he could catch what was said. He was the more stimulated because in the course of the whispers he heard one man utter the name of Marone, it roused all Passion's curiosity. " I hear they was a'most starving," one man was con- tinuing, " and that's just what this fellow wanted, for aught I know. Tell'ee wot Nobbly Jem," continued the speaker, " I'd as soon slip a feller's wind, or crack a crib, or do any- thing mortal! but cuss me, if this here ain't cruel." " Well, wot does he go to do it for?" demanded the querist. " Why for spite, for revenge to be sure,— he wanted to starve her if he could, and to— s'elp me—" muttered the man with a compunction of conscience interrupting himself, " I couldn't do it." Passion listened with all his soul, in order to know what it was that this ruffian— this hired cut- throat, could not do. " Wot couldn't you do?" asked Nobbly Jem. " Why push her into sich a fix, as the young girl, with her sweet proud face, should be only fit company for Bet Trundle, and them tother gals,— there! that's what I couldn't do." " Wot'shis name?" Nobbly Jem smoked his pipe with a sublime unconcern, but the reader will comprehend that his questions followed each other in logical sequence. " Whose name?" asked the other. ' To be continued in our next.) " DISTRESSING OCCURRENCE!" The sudden— the unaccountable disappearance of Mrs. Edwin Yarnold from the East end of London, has caused a gloom to fall over Whitechapel and its neighbourhood, which it will take some time to remove. The " second " notice, by- the- bye, we had of this, was a little paragraph that appeared in the Stage Manager, and we may add, one of the be= t theatrieal papers of the day. Tha first was from the broad tongue of rumour, aggravated into a rotundity of tone by the Jeremiad of Mr. Kerschner, with whom we sincerely condole. Strange things have been said— At the West end, so far as we ever heard, Mrs. E. Y. bore a most estimable character. She was admired on the stage, not for her greatness of conception, or her grandeur of acting, but for many little minor things that are notdescrib- able. She was kind, affable, and lady- like, but we have lost her!— Whither can she have gone? Strange things have been said of part salaries— no sala- ries— money matters, & c., but we know nothing about them. We " wish to know." Mr. Kerschner before Whitsuntide, it is " reported " paid £ 450 ' down ' for a partnership in the concern, and began to hug himself with the idea that there might be pickings to be had at Whiteehapel. But it is said that Mrs. E. Y. took all the proceeds of Whitsun- week, and was suddenly— missed! What can have happened ? " If the fair manageress will return to her disconsolate company, and kindly soothe the aroused, the irritated, the alarmed feelings of those so interested in her welfare— she will be considered as valuable an acquisition as heretofore," Such would have been about the substance of what we anticipated might have given work for the bill- stickers. Webster has not engaged her— no, nor Maddox: he is said to have gone down to Liverpool, to try it on with Macready: ( If Rush had not been hung, what a fortune he might have made)— and where to hunt for the lost one we do not know. Can any body tell us ? There is something exceedingly Sombre in any thing that is unaccountable, everybody will confess; besides in addition to this, so many " poor " bodies may have reason to lament the loss of their guardian angel. For some time back we have not remarked that all the newspapers have been overflowing with Pavilion ' pieces' of advertisement. Are we to have advertisements of a different kind then in the journals? It is only by the most stupendous exertions that we are able to glean news from this distant quarter at all. And, we assure you, reader, we do not tell you one half— no, not one quarter what we have heard. And we hope we shall be compelled to say that it is all a fiction— a falsehood— a coinage of the brain. But what does Mr. Kerschner— what do the actors— the actresses— all connected with the theatre say? In the meantime the rumours regarding those missing, extends to more than one party, Perhaps everybody has left town, if so, the next Ramsga^ e, Margate, Boulogne, or or other steamer may land our fair absentee on the fertile and verdant shores of Hungerford. We shall still lament and " wish to know," till further notice. BRAY.— We, the inhabitants of Bray, are truly desirous to know how long Messrs. C— ts and party, who have taken up their temporary residence here, intend to practice their favourite art of swallow- shooting. We certainly are of an opinion that they have only recently become possessed of a gun; for wc are not only aroused in the morning from our slumbers, but we are actually prevented from taking our re- pose at night by their outrageous practice. We are not at all afraid we shall sustain any great loss by the birds they attempt to assassinate, for we are. happy in thinking that but few I ecome their victims. If they cannot altogether forsake their pursuit, it will be a great consolation if they wilt abstain from practising it on Sun. lays. LETTER- BAG. MORALITY AND PROSTITUTION. DEAR PAUL,— I have to address you upon a subject which has occupied many thoughtful men of the day, as you will perceive from its heading. For some time back, in Parliament and in committees, bills for the Suppression of Seduction and Prostitution have been badgered about, and have been like to fall to the ground, on the plea of morality! a singular idea that a brothel must be necessary or essential to the morals of a people. . In Catholic countries the legislature protect them, and consi- derable profits are derived, at Rome, from this impure source; do they intend to do the like here? In England, we have attained great facility— thanks to the higher, nobler, aristocratic class, who are so fond of import- ing foreign vices, and maki'ig them their own; thanks also to the taste of the middle and the parvenu class who are fond of aping and imitating the wicked extravagancies of those above them in either rank, station, or wealth— in England, I say, W'e have attained great facility in giving vice a charac- ter, in localizing' it, in bringing it in contact with all that is great, and philanthropic, and religious, A tender mother can barter her daughter to a paramour, if the rites of the church make them man and wife— that is, if they make the man a brute, and the woman a harlot. What matter? the mother has old bills cleared off, her daughter is titled though unchaste, and yet a great deal of all this is done under the fine old plea of morality. Vice and prostitution have opened, within this last half- century, a road to commercial enterprize that would startle the statisticians of the day. It has, on the first look, a kind of absurdity about it, and men pass over this important material of money- making, disbelieving in its existence. They will not think it true, that a man may become a mil- lionaire in keeping the door of a brothel; that a traffic in this impure business leads to investments in the funds, in the establishment of chapels, the endowments of churches, and in keeping a country- house, a town- house, and a box at thc opera ; and the orthodox law makers will not make their crimes capital, under the plea that men must have an outlet for their unrestrained passions. It is scarcely credible, that a mercantile emporium for the propagation of vice in its most attractive mode exists at the West end of London, that sends its agents about the country and to the Continent, in order that a choice should be perpetu- ally kept on hand. I am making further enquiries into the subject, and shall report, through your pages, the result. It will be the most fearful revelation that has been made of the largely ramified iniquity which exists in the heart of a so- called Christian city, with that healer of all evils under the sun— Exeter Hall— within reach. If our sinners were black, they might bestir themselves; as they are white and too near home, these pure gentry want novelty to spur them on. Perhaps they too are implicated. We shall see. I remain, Dear Paul, ABOUS. ( To the Editor of Paul Pry.) Poole, Dorsetshire. SIR,— Being one of the " softer sex," I, of course, feel great delicacy in nddressing a letter to you; but when you have read it carefully, you will readily excuse the boldness I have assumed. Sir, a young man, by the name of B— n, has paid me marked attention for a long, long time; and although he has had many excellent opportunities, yet he has never once mentioned the time when he intends making me his own. I have been anxiously longing, day after day, for the " eventful word"; but, alas! I have been always doomed to disappointment: and when he leaves me at night, all he does is to give me a few kisses, whieh, you must know I am quite tired of. I placed into his hand your elegant description of " The Nuptial Couch," thinking that would inspire him with a longing desire to enjoy the like bliss ; but the stupid fellow did not seem to appreciate any of its sweet delights. Now Sir, I think if you were to advise him to marry me at once, he would hearken to it, for whieh I will make you a handsome present, as he has plenty of tin. My Father will paint and decorate our house most superbly. If, dear Sir, this does not urge the match, I fear I shall be compelled to resign him, and stick up to Angel H— s. I am, dear Paul, Yours' faithfully, E— n W— s; = as SHOPS AND SHOPMEN. Perhaps among the most illiterate, ill- natured, and upstart class of the tradesmen of London are some linen- drapers that we know of and their assistants. The tricks detected in this branch of trade are of the grossest, the most felonious kind; while the insolence, the gentishness of their young men exceeds anything that we know. Miserably defective in education, they begin in business young, their masters keep them at it from early to late, and the only hour or two they can get, in the evening, is spent in the saloon, the theatre, or the casino. With such acquired tastes— with such crude notions— with such cringing, fawning- servility on the one hand— and a capacity for vulgar abuse on the other— what can be expected from them? In order to bear out our charge, and show that we are not calling men names without a good reason, we beg the reader's attention to the following:— Mr. Thos. Rivett, a haberdasher, in High- street, White- chapel, was charged before Mr. Arnold, at Worship- street, with assaulting, and using opprobious language towards Mrs. Randall, the wife of an auctioneer, and her sister- in- law, Mrs. Jones, also a respectable married woman. The charge was one of a most aggravated kind. Without provocation this ignorant ass ordered them out of his shop, as low- bred characters, and on his i epresentation they were watched home by two policemen, but these ladies, very pro- perly, were resolved to vindicate their respectability— and did so. Mr. Arnold suggested the propriety of a public apology, deficient in good manners as m propriety, this individual refused to do so. One charge was dismissed, for the other he was sentenced to pay twenty shillings, or be committed for seven days. The fine was paid. Further comment on this would be superfluous, it speaks for itself, He is the type ofa large class, and the respectable portion of that class ought- to repudiate the stain he threw* upon them. 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE PAUL ADVISES Mr. C— y, of Market- place, Hackney- road, the new oil shop, not to expose that fine hoard, on which is written, Candle Maker to her Majesty, and whether it is through the Influence of F— y, that he has obtained the patronage of her Majesty. Does he recollect the breach of promise case? W— m L— ff, alias old Bill, carman at Mr. G. T— r, not to let his tongue ran on so fast, also to remember the black eye he got some time back. Miss Polly L— g, not many yards from Red Lion street, to attend more to her work and lessons and not to be seen so often at the window beckoning to the young men as they pass by. E. E— y, of Bridport- street, Alpha- road, and lawyer's fagg at B— t and T— n, Lincoln's Inn Fields, not to be so con- ceited upon his paltry ten shillings a week, and not to think any girl would be such a fool as to fall in love with such a snob, also to pay more attention to his mother, and not visit the Coal hole and Cyder cellars quite so often as he says he does. The pale faced large tie young gentleman, seen at the Academy in Webber- street, not to be so jealous when his dark nymph addresses some other young man, for all girls like to plague the men. Suppose friend Paul told L. M. a tale about the girl. Ted B— d, the would- be- thought baker of Riley- street, Chelsea, to go to sea again or get some suitable employment, not be always relying on his poor widowed mother for sup- port. Mr. W— d, the fat man of Blandford- street, not to holler at his wife in the middle of dinner time, and not to talk and play with every girl that passes his house. The Misses A. and R. L— n, at the little haberdasher's- shop in the Cambridge- road, Bethnal- green, not to ridicule other people but mind their own business. M— a C— II, the milkman's daughter of High- street, Stoke Newington, not to be seen kissing P— d, at the Institution. Beware, Paul warns you to be more circumspect and not to follow your sister's example. Mrs. R. the blooming widow of the Vauxhall Bridge- road, not to be seen walking out with the men of an evening, but attend a little more to her young family. Miss H— x, the baker's daughter of Garden- row, London- road, not to use so much paint to her cheeks, nor lace so tight, as we can assure her people do not admire her figure so much as she thinks. G— e C— k, of Harwood- street, Camden- town, not to goto the Barleymow, troubling his head with othor people's busi- ness, but stop at home and attend to his snobbing. Miss B— y, of Albion- place, Rotherhithe, not to encourage the boys round tbe door; of a night look to your father's business Miss B. C— e R— d, the country servant of all- work, at G— t's, Laurence- lane, Cheapside, when she goes on a Sunday evening again, to see her carrotty sister Rachel, in the Black- friars- road, not to go witha rat- a- tat- tat at the private door, it don't look well of a country bumpkin. Mr. C— r, barber, of Broad- street, near the Jolly Gar- deners, Lambeth- walk, not toannoy his neighbours by scrap- ing on that old fiddle, and leave off bragging) of his wife having twins. E— r T—, of Andrews place, Horsemonger- lane, not to flash about in the eight- bob- and- a- tanner French spring hat, but to think less of himself and pay his debts, also not to let that poor young woman be deluded, who lives at 39, at a certain street not far from Kennington- gatc. Mr. B— y, of South Lambeth, the little, shabby, petty- fogging lawyer, or whatever he calls himself, not to go about Lambeth, asking for drink of tradespeople and boasting that he has two hundred a- year left him: do you think they are such gulls as to believe you, King Dick? That ignoront, chattering, bouncing postman, of South Hackney, G— e T— 11, alias Miles's Boy, not to peep into people's letters that he has got to deliver in Grove- street, Hackney. W— m H— n, not far from Carter- street, Walworth, not to strut about and make such a fop of himself, as he is nobody after all. W. B— n, of New- street, Shadwell, not to entice girls into his uncle's premises for improper purposes, such pleasure seldom compensates the pain felt in after- life; and to fre- quent the Green Dragon somewhat less. S— n W— d, of Wandsworth- road, not to slander so much aud not to be quite so mean, also to take care that cruet- stand don't walk some evening. Paul Pry wishes she would not prize that portrait so much. H— t, the barmaid, at the Dolphin tavern, Huugerford- market, not to paint and powder herself so much. T. C— s, the conceited Chandler's- sliop keeper, of K—' s II— d- court, Shoe- lane, not to make such an ass of himself when attending the Saturday night raffles for a cheap Sun- day's dinner, at the Crown and Anchor, likewise to employ a Scale- maker to adjust his scales. Miss F— n, alias Carrots, the running housemaid of Sey- mour- street, Portman- square, not to scandalise her neigh- bours or she will lose the £ 100 a year that was promised her some time back, also to leave off drinking. Mr. D— y, of High street, Kensington, to stay at home with his family and not drink till all is blue at the King of Prussia. You are a very fine " gent " to decline selling Paul Pry. E. M— r, of Bridge- court, Westminster, not to use the rouge brush so much, and eschew medicine taking. Do you know aught of a Woolwich Captain ? J— n O. H— n, not to make such a fool of himself when up at that snobbish assembly called the North London His- trionics, and also not to kick up a row with the members because they won't lend him their boots and trousers, to ap- pear on the stage at the Gough- street Theatre. Miss J— e S— t, alias M— s of Stewarts lane, Battersea- fields, not to be so fond of boreing her friends witb her eter- nal stupid chatter about the young men who are in love with her, when the only feeling she is capable of inspiring is mirth, as it is sickening at her advanced age also to cut the New- gate twist, she may be sure of remaining a Miss as its not very likely she will ever go off. How about the mats ? Mr. H— t, of Southampton- street, Camberwell, not to fre- quent the butcher's shop, nor to pay marked attention to 1 the eldest Miss H.; Paul knows you to be a married man. If you do, you may make great discord in your family music. KENT.— Joe M— r, of Thomas- street, Woolwich, not to go out with the girls so much on a Sunday night after Chapel, to mind his own business, and not be so proud of his white handkerchief. The Chanters of St. Mary, Greenwich, not to make such horrid grimaces. The balloon- faced dyer of Deptford and the barnacle- maker, not to roar like two town bulls; the squeaking gardener and the full- moon faced gas- man to be less conceited; and also Dick the dealer in paper, and follow faced Charley to take the same advice, as they are all be- neath mediocrity. It is a pity the vicar should waste his money by paying them such enormous salaries. Miss A. W— s of Artillery- place, Woolwich, to walk in a more becoming manner and not hold her head up quite so stiff. Mr. T. R— s, of Down, to go home to his wife a little earlier of a night. Sleeping in the night air is anything but wholesome. Mr. J. W— r, to stay at home and not go after the girl at Lee, and let the Miss B— s alone. Mrs. D— n, alias Mrs. Goldacre, opposite the Union Flag, Chatham, not to keep her house open all night to the annoy- ance of the neighbourhood. Look after your hubby, old girl. Mr. W. J— s, of Bull's- fields, Woolwich, not to be so con- ceited, and refrain from belying his brother. Miss J. G— n, of Bath place, Blackheath, not to stop from home after ten o'clock at night, with the lincndraper's boy of the same place. Pay attention Miss to yonr paternal re- lative and turn your mother's mangle. How about the little groom at the Livery- stables? Paul saw him the other day. Look out Miss. The Misses II—, and A. H— d, of Mulgrave- plaee, Wool- wich, not to be so conceited, especially Miss A. TEDDINGTON.— M. H—, at Mrs. H—, of Teddington, to attend to her spiritual duties a little more and less to her temporal wants. Is it the pious young man near the post office or the honest jack- tar she is after? BRIGHTON.— The female servant, at the large house, in Dorset- gardens, opposite the lamp, not to be seen talking to the young man in the velvet coat. He has a sweetheart already. Paul knows all about it. SURREY.— The young lady, Mrs. M. O. P— tt, the pig- poker's daughter, of Ripley, to leave off annoying the young widower and flounce a little less. The bait won't take there, so wait your time. Miss Lucy. The landlord of the Three C— s, Wandsworth, to behave well to his wife and give her more meat to eat. Do not take any notice of your servant, as such conduct would be anything but becoming. Miss S— h W—, of Middle Mill- lane, Kingston, not to be so proud, and not be seen so often with the carpenter. Mr. B—> alias Dido, of Upper Mitcham, who has lately married an old woman of eighty, to look after the girls at Wandsworth. Why did you sell your Jerusalem pony? it would have served you uncommonly well to prance backward and forward to the lucifer- match- man at Camberwell. Mr. M— e, of Fig's Marsh, Mitcham, not to stick himself up for a gentleman. Is it gentlemanly to frequent beer- shops? Paul thinks not. How many half- crowns have you to pay for pap? Mr. W. B— n, at Mr. J. C— s, of George- street, Richmond, to be civil to all his baking customers, and not pout his upper lip so much. It won't last for ever, old boy. Do you know anything ofthe brick- field? K. G—, of Mortlake, to recollect that pride goeth before a fall. W. C— h, alias Dinger, of Fig's Marsh, Mitcham, to keep his tongue within his teeth and not scandalize all the females of the place. Did you ever get a sound thrashing from a married woman, Coaehee? BERKSHIRE.— T. C— k, publican of Bisham, when he says that a pig is to be bowled for in his alley, to let it be done, and not get a party of our Marlow youths into his alley to bowl for beer. A perfect pig- in- a- poke- affair, Master , Tommy. P. C— e, the snob of Bisham not to strut about the street with his Sunday trousers on or boast of his bass singing, and also to discard his shocking bad four- and- nine. C— a, the flashy apprentice at Mr. W— s, Staines, to think a little less of himself, for dress how he will he cannot alter the monkey breed. G. B— y, of Bisham, not to decline using the house of his next door neighbour because he owes a beer score. S. J—, the conceited snob of Bisham- green, not to boast so much ot earning 27s. per week. How about the 10s. the other week? And if you take a lady into Quarry- wood, be careful old boy, for the man is looking at you. BUCKINGHAMSHIRE.— J. W— s, the butcher- boy, of Slough, not. to run after all the girls in the place, and more particularly we advise you to beware of the yellow gloves, or the consequences may be fearful. BRIDPORT.— Miss P—, at the Inn, in East- street, not to die with love of W. B. the young book- keeper next door. The two young dressmakers at the boot and shoe ware- house, not to walk out night and morning, without carrying their fashions with them. C. T—, the alabaster girl of Folly- Mill- lane, not to imagine herself a lady because she is governess of a child's school. You shall have a young man when you are less proud. The well- known fop at Mr. B—' s, draper, East- street, not to think so much of himself. We can assure him as he has lost one young girl, it's no use wearing the donkey hat to gain another. The servant- girls of the town, to keep the brass work of their front doors a little cleaner. NORWICH.— Mr. E. S— 1, jun. Dyer- street Mills, not to give himself such airs, and not to wear a fawney which his friends have proved to be brass, and particularly to take more care of his green coat, and not let his relative have it so often. YORKSHIRE.— E. B— 1, of Bowlalley- lane, Hull, to pay les's attention to the females, or he may have an additional 2s. 6d. per week to pay which he can ill afford. C. H— s, to say less about his rubbishing compound. Do you think it possible a broken- down grocer can understand medicine? Little B— t, of tho fruit- market, Sheffield, to have a little more self- confidence, and he will still be a nice, modest little man for a small party. NEWCASTLE- UPON- TYNE.— R— n and H— r, of Morley- Sti- eet, not to give the washerwoman any unpleasant jobs, nor be out of temper with this good advice. GLASGOW.— Miss J. D— d, of Adelplii- strect, not to paint her cheeks. J. D— n, not to be seen walking on the Green with Miss J. J— n quite so late of an evening. IRELAND.— Serjt. W. J— s, Cloumel, not to be seen so frequently in company with Miss M— t R— ch. How about Miss O'G— dy old fellow? PAUL WISHES TO KNOW Whether that conceited pawnbroker's shop- boy, Charles, of London- terrace, Hackney- road, has discontinued those bad practices which he has been so guilty of lately, if not, Paul advises him to do so. Why Miss C. L— e, of Bury- street, Bloomsbury, is always looking out of window and thinking every young man falling in love with lier. GREENWICH.— Whether W. S— p, of the Torbay Tavern, intends to give the poor girl he has left in London any as sistance. Paul knows she's hard up. What Bob L— y, the Nelson- street gent, has done with' that fast going mare Jenny Lind. We think he has turned her out to grass, as we know she is very bad upon her pins. Paul will feel obliged if he will let him know if such is the case. THE FRAIL SISTERHOOD. PI VOINE. CHAP. V. ( Continued from our last.) A KISTEET. The amiable personage we have just described gave a rapid glance throughout the theatre from his eyeglass, and addressed right and left, to every recognized face, a slight salutation, both vain and patronising. " The animal'" said Paul to Alfred, " he thinks himself then quite certain of the success of his play, since at the end of the first act he shows his peacock's tail." " I would give a trifle to hear them hiss." " Faith! ' tis very possible they may hiss! The pit is not already so very well disposed, and without Pivoine, I really know not what would have happened by this time." The orchestra cut short the observations of Alfred, who was about to reply, and the curtain rose for the second act of Madelinette. We are at the Prado, during a night of a masked ball. Twelve or fifteen figurantes, do their utmost, to represent the joyous and excited crowd that whirls and bounds to the stormy notes of the quadrille des pierrols. In the back ground, passes and repasses, sombre and silent as the ghost of Banquo, an individual of suspicious mien, and wearing an air of tbe most lugubrious aspect. This is the officer of the law who is watching for his prey. The principal personages of the piece, we mean Arthur, Frederic, Robinet, Madelinette and Rosine, arrive on the scene. The plot slackens and becomes entangled. The two mad young girls, again resort to the most auda- cious mystifications, as regards the poor Robinet, who fancies himself adored. To be brief, when daylight appears, it so happens that, by means of a change of dress which he supposes indispensable to the success of his gallant projects, it is Robinet who is laid hold of by the bailiff, whilst Arthur returns home, per- fectly free. The act finishes, as a matter of course, just at the moment of the arrest of the unfortunate creditor. When the curtain again rises, we find ourselves at the house of Robinet, who has at last contrived to get himself liberated. But in his own house Robinet aspumes his real name of Bigorneau— he ceases to be a bachelor, to find him- self really and for many years past, in the power of a woman. Chance, or rather that Deus ex maehina, the Providence of so many vaudevilles, brings into the house of the usurer, Madelinette and Rosine. The grisettes discover, in Bigorneau, the former youth who had courted them both, which renders the position of the old husband rather delicate. Arthur and Frederic ar- rive in their turn. The former has been completely edified as to the real social position of his pretended friend. Robinet caught between two fires, loses his wits. But this is not all, for by an imprudent word that escapes the usurer, Madeli- nette recognizes him as the man who robbed her father of his fortune. Robinet- Bigorneau fears the correctional police and is afraid of his wife. By menacing liim therefore at one moment to conduct him before a magistrate, at another to reveal to Madame Bigorneau his conjugal irregularities, they bring him to an arrangement. He restores to Madelinette a large portion of the wealth j he has despoiled her of. He tears up the bill of exchange I signed by Arthur. He is abused, reviled, mortified, and in I despair. The two lovers are to be married in a week. Ma- | delinette, or rather Pivoine, sings the final couplet— the i applause is sufficient to bring down the roof— the curtain ! falls. i " The author— the author!" | " Pivoine— Pivoine !" they cry from all parts. I Arsene Bachu is ready to burst in his stage- box. The ] curtain once more rises. The name of the successful debu- i tante is proclaimed; and Pivoine rc- appears, escorted by the manager, in a black coat. At this moment the door of Era Diavolo's box is suddenly opened, and for the second time the head of an old woman insinuates itself. " It is time!" said a voice in the artist's ear. " To do what?" he enquired in astonishment. " The bouquet! quick, the bouquet!" Fra Diavolo seized the enormous bouquet, which had been delivered to him at the commencement ofthe play, and which in his pre- occupation he had completely forgotten. He seized it, we say, and threw it on the stage, at the mo- ment other bouquets were showered from every side, and just as Arsene Bachu dropped at the feet of the actress a complete sheaf of moss roses and camellias. For a moment Pivoine remained undecided. Her irresolu- tion was short. She disdained the flowers scattered around her, passed with an indifferent air the enormous sheaf of roses and ca- mellias of the stupified Arsene, picked up tbe bouquet thrown by the artist, and quickly disappeared through a side scene, launching at Fra Diavolo a look that we can only compare to the arrows shot by the Parthians as they retreated. CHAPTER VI. A RETROSPECTIVE GLANCE. A few words before commencing. There is a reproach that has been more than once ad- dressed to us respecting our previous works, and which, to all appearance, will also be made against the romance we now publish. The reproach we allude to is that of immorality. This accusation, appearing to us most indubitably unjust, we shall reply to it once for all, and in a very few lines. An immoral writer, at least we think so, is he who aims at misleading tbe faith and principles of those who read his works. We have elsewhere made, on this head, our profession of faith, and— whatever repugnance we may have in quoting ourselves— we will copy it here:— " Certainly," wc said, " we arc not of those who deny Providence, and proclaim, iu its p'ace, chance, destiny, or fatality. " As," according to our view of it, " there are but two roads to choose from in this life, that of doubt and that of belief, we prefer to humble our feeble renson than to throw ourselves into the destructive paths of a desperate scepticism, and we endeavour, humble in our faith, to see everywhere the hand of God, even when it seems to allow human desti- nies to drift without a pilot. " Certain romance writers, calling themselves Socialists, publish opinions totally contrary to ours, and in hooks-, whose literary merit it is not for us to appreciate, but which 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE have, for their part, led us into the abyss in which we are rolling, strive to make themselves the partisans of fatality, unceasingly placing side hy side good and evil, vice and virtue, and making tke bad principle systematically triumphant. " Now," we repeat it, " where they see chance, we, on the contrary, see Providence. With them we admit the facts, but we would draw from them conclusions quite different." Thus much to our point. Now, it is very true that we have frequently brought on the scene singularly vicious personages, and that the morals depicted by us were not entirely irreproachable. Where is the harm? The greatest merit of a romance writer, is it not to re- produce nature exactly, and to paint true pictures ? Must we then confine ourselves rigorously within the spheres of true virtue, and only choose types worthy of the Monthyon prize? But in such case destroy vice in this world, abolish all illegitimate love, kindle in hearts chaste and pure flames, lighted on the altars of Hymen, and romances will become virtuous, like society whose image they would daguerreo- A type. Until then do not be terrified, and cease to exclaim against immorality, for, by your own account, Gil Bias, Tom Jones, Clarissa Harlowe, Manon Lescaut, and the Comedies of Moliere would be immoral works! There still remain the details at which some few pruderies are scared. Permit us to treat this latter charge very irreverently. We admire not those persons who exclaim with Tartaffe.- " Cover that bosom which I dare not look at! By sights like this our souls we wound, And by such means do guilty thoughts abound!" And we reply with Dorine .— " You then are soon the victim of temptation, And on your senses the flesh soon makes impression. The flame that burns you is to me unknown, And in desires Pm not so prompt I own. So did I view you naked, from top to toe, Faith, and your whole skin would not delude me so!" ( To be continued in our next.) PAUL AMONGST THE PUBLICANS. " BUNGS, HAVE AT YE AM,!" PAUL IN THE PLAYHOUSE. DRURY LANE. On Monday, a German version of Mozart's divine opera Don Juan, was performed for the second time at this theatre, with a fire, an energy, and a completeness we have never seen excelled. Remembering what we had seen Lablache and Fornasari do in it at the Italian Opera, we were the more gratified in witnessing the splendid impersonation of the libertine, and his follower, Leporello, by Herr Pischek and Herr Formes severally. Madame Spatzer, who had made her debut ( which was most favourable) as Donna Anna, Madle. Romani as Elvira, and Madame as Zerlina, with Hernanns as the commandant, completed the cast. There is more nerve and energy in the German version than in the Italian, which, on comparison, hasan emasculation about it, not otherwise remarked. There is more breadth of comedy, which loses nothing of drollery in the hands of Herr Formes. Herr Pischek looked the gay libertine to the life, and sang with amazing force and vigour. He was encored in almost every air, while the fine and rich quality of Fomes' barritone voice, told with wonderful effect in many of the most majestic passages. In the last scene, the trem- bling terror which breaks his voice, has an almost indescri- bable effect. Lablache used to be great in this, but he must share his laurels with his German rival. HAYMARKET. On Monday and Tuesday, we have had a repetition of the Macbeth of Charles Kean, but certainly not the Macbeth of Shakspere. The new tragic play by Lovel, is announced for next Monday night. We suspect that this is one of Mr. C. Kean's monopolies. There is much virtue in the power of money, for a man may be able to make a part his own, quite original, and so on, without fear of rivalry. Whether there be any pecuniary obligations or not existing between the two principal gentlemen at this theatre we do not know, we have heard something of the kind; but that a new sys- tem of things, different to all that has hitherto been, exists at this establishment, is well known, and it should be amended as speedily as possible. PRINCESS'S. There is here little or nothing new, and the only change is a repetition of stock operas which have been worn thread- hare. Mdle. Isaurat has made what is called a favourable impression, but it is evidently a very evanescent one. ADELPHI. We used to think Wright the prince of buffoons; but in the farce produced on Monday, he was outdone by tbe buffoonery of Mr. Paul Bedford. These " real Adelphi hits" are expressive of a very diseased mentalism on the part of the audience. We assuredly do not envy them the treats that are dished up for them. MARYLEBONE. Mrs. Mowatt's unaccountable indisposition still continues. The Wonder is played, and the Witch Wife is again deferred for another week. This must be rather annoying to Mr. Spicer, the author. STRAND. How they manage at this theatre is a mystery to us; and what puzzles us still more, is the tenacity with which old men will cling to the stage, how they dwell upon the applause of the public, and how its absence is enough to throw them into despair. Dotage and imbecility are incompatible with any correct representation, and when a man has lost the power of distinct articulation, so that no word can be com- prehended, the cause of people's laughter must be pitiable in the extreme. Yet this is not seen. Mr. Farren, senior, still continues to monopolise parts, that he should now really begin to give up. We have always held him in esteem as an artist, but he surely would not have us believe him to be better now than ever he was ? It is a preposterous idea. Henry Farren, between length and sentimentality, makes but a questionable mess of parts he injudiciously selects, while Leigh Murray, if he thought less of himself, and could make others think more of him, would be excellent as a walking gentleman, but as to tragedy— oh, no! The new drama of Honesty the best Policy, was much laughed at. QUEEN'S. At the Queen's, the hearts of the " three- penny gallery" are nightly rejoiced by the awful improbabilities of " Seven Dials," and St. Giles's is evidently rising in the market. AMERICAN. Mr. Forrest, the immaculate— the injured— has parted very unceremoniously from his wife. He has thrown up an incompleted engagement, which has proved a total failure, his " rowdy" friends having deserted him, and gone to exile on the banks of the Hudson, where he has a country house. " THE BLUE BOAR'S HEAD," KING STREET, WESTMINSTER.— G. LANCASTER. Paul, iu the course of his diurnal peregrinations, has visited many strange localities. Even the courts ( and alleys, too) of St. James, and its opposite extreme, St. Giles, have not escaped the vigilance of his lynx optics. With his re- doubtable parapteu, he penetrates all those recesses which consider themselves the most secure from all such intruders. With respect to publicans, and, indeed, not only that class of sinners, but the race of mankind generally, there seems to be a spirit of contrariety pervading the whole mass. Paul has made it his peculiar study to watch the proceedings of the Bungs of London, and he hopes, by timely expostulation, to be enabled to effect a thorough and beneficial reform in those establishments which stand the most in need of it. As Paul before observed, he has visited many strange localities, and in the majority of instances every house has belied its title. He has visited the Angel, and a perfect virago has he found; the Bosc has smelt any thing but sweet; at the Crown he got a bonnetter; the Hand and Shears he was obliged to cut from, to escape a smashing from a smasher; the Windsor Castle turned out to be a hovel; the Hero of Waterloo a disagreeable, pug- nosed wretch, whose proboscis looked as if a nine- inch waggon wheel had passed over it; the Shamrock was kept by an. apathetic Englishman; the Bag of Nails ( a corruption, by the way) was a mean crew; the Duke of York an honest man; and so on, ad infi- nitum. After the house of York, perhaps our readers will premise ought to succeed the house of Lancaster. With that establishment it is now our province to deal. In this instance ( for there is no rule without an exception) the pub- lican and his sign arc synonimous— the Boar's Head. We recollect ( par parenthese) some time ago being in the bar of the house of which we are now speaking; on that occasion, there hung near the clock, ( and we believe it does so still) a painting representing a hoar's head, which attracted a lady- customer's curiosity. After alternately looking at the land- lord and the painting, she innocently asked him whether that was his portrait. The remark at the time was considered a fair joke at the expense of the host, but nothing more was thought of it, as he was aU that could be expected— a jolly fellow. Now, in the present instance, such an enquiry as to the likeness would have been altogether superfluous, for the present host hears the similarity to the painting, in his own appearance and manners. Our hero, he of the " stable mind," was originally a gentle- man's coachman, and it was in that capacity he managed to captivate the heart of his present meek, imbecile, and dirty- faced partner, who possessed a comfortable income. Although not a perfect Adonis, he succeeded in his design of marrying her; and she is best acquainted with her own happiness. If Lancaster is in want of what our neglected friend Attwood, the comedian, has been in vain seeking after— a position, we could soon procure him one; viz.— a pitchfork and a dung- heap. In that position we are sure he would not be out of his element, for a more shocking specimen of the genus Bung, it has seldom been our misfortune to encounter. Previous to his taking the above establishment it was frequented by all the respectable tradesmen of the neighbourhood— but now, mark the change! The present patronisers of the Boar's Head, are composed of dirty courtezans, recruit ing sergeants, cadgers, coal- heavers, bagatelle sharps, and in fact, by all the characters that are requisite to render it one of the lowest and worst conducted houses in West- minster. We paid a visit the other night, and endeavoured to persuade ourselves that there was a decent parlour up- stairs. Upon entering the door of the above- named room, the first objects that met our astonished gaze, were Sergeant P— n— n, and a low, dirty wench. These being the only two persons in the room, and seeing the confusion consequent upon our intrusion, we withdrew down stairs and entered the tap- room, where there was a little cripple ensconced be- side a girl who was his partner in a game known by the fre- quenters as Coddem. Is it a wonder after witnessing such scenes as these that the house is deserted by respectable per- sons— persons to our knowledge who have frequented it for ten or twelve years? We will now conclude our observations by informing our readers of a very striking peculiarity of our friend, the Boar. Occasionally, when in a drunken fit, he betakes himself to the tap- room, where, indulging in such language that is not to be found in Johnson, Ash, Bailej', or Walker, he becomes suddenly very generous; calls upon his wife— who, in his absence from the bar, is rendering herself obfuscacious by taking sundry drops of gin—•" to draw more beer, gin, or any d d thing in the house;" and so con- tinues amidst the uproar of a room- full of savages, who, of course, are eager to embrace the opportunity of regaling themselves so cheaply. The evening's amusement does not, in these instances, bear a morning's reflection. He gets up — scratches his head— takes a glass of something as a com- posing draught— thinks— scratches his head again, and looks for the double- pointed chalk, which, having found, to the best of his ability doSs he score. • We have often heard that brandy was called " cold tea," but, until recently, we were not in possession of the fact that bread and butter, and gin, were synonymous. Take advice from Paul, George, and reform your house and its fre- quenters. We shall be in that quarter again, shortly— so beware, lest we go to greater lengths. CORRESPONDENCE. %,* Every letter for the future, containing advice, must be ac- companied by six postage stamps. FRIENDLICUS.— You have evidently mistaken us. We do not, in our Advice J, for one moment mean to say, when we advise " such and such an one" not to be guilty of " so and so," that they are in the habit of committing the pec- cadilloes referred to;— quite the contrary. Knowing, as we unfortunately must know, the villainous schemes re- sorted to by soulless rascals to seduce young and inex- perienced wives from the paths of virtue, we immediately raise our warning voice, and bid the too- confiding fair beware of the precipice she may be tempted to o'erleap. Holding as we do, like Mr. Solomon, communication with all parts of the globe, it must be presumed that our insight into the state of affairs, both at home and abroad, is by no means confined. We would, therefore, beg our readers, both one and all, to understand us perfectly when we state that, in advising them not to commit themselves, & c., we do not mean to infer that they are in the habit of doing so. ICEAN should send his real name and address. We cannot think of inserting your letter, unless we are convinced of the truth of its contents. If you can make it convenient to call at our office, and bring positive proof with yon, we will undertake to hold the scamps up to scorn. R. C.— We have received your communication, which we should have inserted but that we have heard Mr. P. has been anything but fairly dealt with. We shall call in ; and, if we find no improvement, it shall be inserted. %* We some time since received a note, signed " E. B. Bank, Dartford," which we should, in fairness to the pre- sumed writer, have inserted, but that we discovered the post- mark to be Deptford Broadway, and consequently doubted the genuineness of it. SOUCHONG.— In writing such letters you should not forget to write your real name and address, as Paul always likes to make inquiries on such matters. TO OUR SUBSCRIBERS. This is to give NOTICE, that on the Anniversary of this our august Journal— that is, when it shall have reached its Fifty- second Number— we intend to present to every Subscriber who shall produce his or her last Twenty- six Numbers, a Magnificent Picture of " HER MAJESTY'S FAMILY CIRCLE," taken from Winterhalter's Painting of the same, and now in possession of Her Most Gracious Majesty. The superb plate shall be worth at least, in the Trade, ONE GUINEA !! ! TRY ERE YOU DESPAIR.-- HOLLOWAYS PILLS. CURE OF ASTHMA.— Extract ofa letter fron Mr. Benjamin Mackie a respectable Quaker, dated Creenagh, near Loughall, Ireland dated September 11th, 1848.— To Professor Holloway.— Respected Friend: Thy excellent Pills have effectually cured me of an Asthma which afflicted me for three years to such an extent, that I was obliged to walk my room at night for air, afraid of being suffocated if I went to bed by cough and phlegm. Besides taking the Pills, 1 rubbed plenty of thy Ointment into my chest night and morning. ( Signed) BENJAMIN MACKIE. CURE or TYPHUS FEVER, WHEN SUPPOSED TO BE AT THE POINT OF DEATH.— A respectable female in the neighbourhood of Loughall was attacked with Typhus Fever, and lay for five days without having tasted any description of food. She was given over bv the Surgeon, and preparations were made for her demise. Mr. Benjamin Mackie, the Quaker, whose case is referred to above, heard of the circumstance, and knowing the immense benefit that he himself had derived from Holloway's Pills, recommended an immediate trial, and eight were given to her, and the same number were continued night and morning for three days, and in a very short time she was com- pletely cured. N. B. — From advice just received, it appears that Colonel Dear who is with his Regiment in India, the 21st Fusileers, cured himself of a very bad attack of Fever by these celebrated Pills. There is no doubt that any Fever, however malignant, may be cured by taking, night and morning, copious doses of this fine medicine. The patient should be induced to drink plentifully of warm linseed tea or barley water. CUBE or DEOPSY IN THE CHEST.— Extract of a letter from J. S. Monday Esq., dated Kennington, near Oxford, December 2nd, 1848. — To PBOFESSOB HOLLOWAY.— Sir,— My Shepherd for some tim « was afflicted with water on the chest, when I heard of it, I immediately advised him to try your Pills, which he did, and was perfectly cured, and is now as well as ever he was in his life. As I myself received so astonishing a cure last year from your Pills and Ointment, it has ever since been my most earnest endeavour to make known their excellent qualities. ( Signed) J. S. MUNDAY. THE EARL OF ALDBOBOUGH CUBED OF A LIVF. R AND STOMACH COM- PLAINT.— Extract of a letter from his lordship, dated Villa Messina, Leghorn, 21st February, 1845.— To PBOFESSOR HOLLOWAY.— Sir,— Various circumstances prevented the possibility ofmy thanking you before this time for your politeness in sending me your Pills as you did. I now take this opportunity of sending you an order for the amount, and at the same time, to add that your Pills have effected a cure of a disorder in my Liver and Stomach, which all the most eminent ofthe Faculty at home, and all over the Continent, had not been able to effect; nay, not even the waters of Carlsbad and Ma rienbad. I wish to have another box and a pot ofthe Ointment, iu oase any ofmy family should ever require either. Your most obliged and obedient servant. ( Signed) ALDBOROUGH. CUBE OF A DEBILITATED CONSTITUTION.— Mr. Mate, a Storekeeper, of Gundagai, New South Wales, had been for some time in a most delicate state of health, his constitution was so debiliated that his death was shortly looked upon by himself and friends as certain; but as a forlorn hope, he was induced to try Holloway's Pills, which had an immediate and surprising effect upon his system, and the result was to restore him in a few weeks to perfect health and strength, to the surprise of all who knew him. He considered his case so extraordinary that he, in gratitude sent it for publication, to the Sydney Morning Herald, in which paper it appeared on the 2nd January, 1848. A few doses ofthe Pills will quickly rally the energies of both body and mind, when other medicines have failed. These celebrated Pills are wonderfully efficacious in the following complaints. Ague Drospsy Inflammation Sore- throats Asthma Dysentery Janudice Stone and Gravel Bilious Com- Erysipelas Liver Complaints Secondary Symp- plaints Female Irreg- Lumbago toms Blotches on ularities Piles Tic- Douloureux the skin Fevers of all Rheumatism Tumors Bowel Com- kinds Retention of Ulcers plaints Fits Urine Veneral Affec- Colics Gout Scrofula, orKing's tions Constipation Head- ache Evil Worms of all kinds of the Indigestion Debility Weakness from Bowels Consumption Scurvy whatever caase Sold at the Establishment of PROFESSOR HOLLOW AY, 244, Strand, ( near Temple Bar,) London, and by most all respectable Druggists, and Dealers in Medicines throughout the civilized World, at the following prices:— Is. ljd., 2s. 9d., 4s. 6d., lis., 22s., 33s. each Box. There is a considerable saving by taking the larger sizes. N. B.— Directions for the guidance of Patients in every Disorder are Rffxed to each Box. EXTRAORDINARY SUCCESS OF THE NEW REMEDY. — UPWARDS OF 17,000 CURES WITHOUT A SINGLE FAILURE. ~ rvR. WALTER DE ROOS, 1, Ely- place, Holborn- hill, London U earnestly invites every one suffering from those dangerous dis- eases arising from Solitary Habits, Excesses, and Infection in all their stages and varieties, which from improper treatment so frequently end in Skin Ernptions, Grave], Inflammation of Kidneys. Pains in the Back and Loins, Stone in the Bladder, and ultimately DEATH!— to avail themselves without delay of his important dis coveries, by which he is now enabled to treat with the utmost COT tainty of cure every stage and variety of this calamitous class of dis eases. It is a distressing fact that Secondary Symptoms, which is a species of lingering DEATH, are too frequently the result ofthe old method of treatment; but, thanks to science, he is now, after 22 years of study and experience, in possession of a remedy by which he guarantees a perfect and lasting cure. This fact, has already been manifested in upwards of 17,000 cases ; and as a stronger as- surance he undertakes to cure, without hindrance to business, the most inveterate case in comparatively few days, or RETURN the MOMEY. All those deemed INCURABLE are particularly invited. Country patients will bo minute in the detail of their cases, as that will render a personal visit unnecessary.— Advice, with medicines, £ 1. Patients corresponded with till cured. Hours, 10 till 1, and 4 till 8 ; Sundays, 10 till 1.— Post Office Orders payable to Walter de Boos, M. D., 1, ELY- PLACE, HOLBORN- HILL, LONDON. Read Dr. de Roos' Celebrated Work. Just published, 64th Thousand, 144 pages, Illustrated with numerous Coloured Engravings, in a sealeci envelope, from the Author, in English or French, 2s., or free by post for 32 Stamps. THE MEDICAL ADVISER. An Essay on the Obligations ol Marriage; the Treatment and Cure of all those Secret Disorders arising from early Excesses and Infections, with pla in directions for the removal of every disqualification. " This work is indeed a boon to the public, as it has the two- fold advantage of plainness and being written by a duly qualified man, who evidently understands his subject."— Daily Times. The following are our appointed Agents:— London: W. COLE, Bedford- street, Oxford- street, Mile End.— Deptford: F. L. LYONS, 8, Broadway.— Greenwich : H. HILL, 9, Market- place.— Bristol: COOK, Sims- place.— Manchester: HEY- WOOD, Oldham- street.— Leeds: A. MANN.— Glasgow: W. LOVE Nelson- street.— Derby: BBOOKES, St. Alkmund's- churchyard.— Leicester: BILLSON, Bellgrave- gate.— Beverley: WARD, Butcher- row.— Banbury: BUNTON, Cherwell- street.— Sheffield: ROGF. BS, Fruit- market.— Brighton: TOCBLE, 57, Edward- street.— Newcastie- on- Tyne: FBANOE & Co., 8, Side.— Bradford, Yorkshire: W. COOKE , Vicar- lane. Printed and Published bv the Proprietor, G. JOHNSTONl, 12, BusieU- wrort, Bryds » s- » tr « t, Strand,
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