E1LARGED SERIES IT IS A VIRTUOUS ACTION TO EXPOSE VICIOUS MEN.'— DKYDEN. No. 27.— NEW SERIES.] [ PRICE^ ONE PENNY. LONDON B 11 OTHELS. THEIR KEEPERS, SUPPORTERS, CAUSES AND EFFECTS, AND PROBABLE ULTIMATE EXTINCTION. WHAT a wondrous picture is our far- famed metropolis, London! What a variety of sensations doe3 the mention of its name call up! What lights and shadows it presents to the dispassionate observer! and among the latter what fear- fully dark hues occasionally obtrude. Be it our melancholy task now to deal with one of them; and that one of the blackest shade, as intimated at the head of this article. Alas for poor human nature, it had indeed, need be strong to withstand the manifold, the specious, the glittering tempta- tions held out fon its attraction in London. Although in in Paris vice holds undisputed sway, in London it is more powerfully, though more secretly dominant. There the houses of resort for uDhallowed pleasure are under some kind of surveillance, but in London it is far different. We do not exaggerate when we say there is not a street, court, lane, or alley, where there does not exist at least one notorious brothel, or house of ill- fame, well known to the public au thorities, yet winked at, and allowed to spread its pestiferous influence abroad, Week after week, and month after mt nth, since we re- sumed our duties as " reformers of the age," have we en- deavoured to put the unwary and foolish on their guard against the various allurements held out to their attraction and ultimate ruin, by exposing in their truest colours the most notorious public places, " saloons," " dancing rooms," and low " taverns," which exist as but preparations for the brothel; and we have been cheered in our endeavours by the self- approving knowledge that we have laboured to show the ignorant rampant vice in its more hideous features, that it might be abhorred and shunned. Still, though it is not our " nature's plague to spy into abuses," nor " shape faults that are not," much remains to be done, ere Paul, the Hercules of the 19th century, has cleared the modern Augsean stables of the vast accumulation of filth, which has been, by little and little, storing up, since, some few years ago, when he last suspended his labours. Previous to giving an expose of the keepers and supporters of brothels, we will comment upon the illustration which this week heads our article. The scene therein depicted is one of very common occurrence but, nevertheless, in this instance, came under our personal cognizance. The engraving shows four characters, each of which will be noticed in turn,— the " laiy of pleasure," the " brothel keeper," the " bully,"— sweet trade!— and the poor, drunken, ignorant dupe. The scene is placed in that noto- rious rendezvous, the " Vinegar Ground," Old- street Road, the most stinking of all the abominable resorts in town. After what is called a day's spree, our friend on the floor found himself, at two in the morning, at the notori- ous " Number Nine,"— a public house in the road just named, which is surrounded inside and out, from morn- ing till night, and from night till morning, ( a literal fact), by the depraved girls from the adjacent " ground." The good natured fool entered to " treat" two or three of the miserable harpies, and they having soon discovered that he had some money, good clothes, and a watch, were not long in persuading him to accompany them to' a house " round the corner," where they proposed " laying in state" — a ceremony we may one day describe. Nothing loth, the drunken ass consented, and ere he had been within doors five minutes, the above little drama was cnacted. As soon as the poor wretch had divested himself of his clothes and trinkets, the " lady" to whom he was paying particular at- tention, to use a vulgar phrase " stepped it" with them— the " bully" then appeared as her " injured husband," and the brothel keeper, with a well assumed air, was surprised at the disturbance. One of " the force," in the pay of the house, was soon in readiness, and the poor devil expelled, to make the best of his way, drunk and denuded as he was, to his home, or anywhere else the- fates might lead him. Readers, this occurs EVERY NIGHT in the " Vinegar Ground," and in many other places in London besides. Return we, however, to the main subject. The keepers of brothels are almost invariably of that class of females termed " unfortunate" — wretches whose constitu- tions, fortunately for themselves, but truly unfortunate for public morals, have withstood the ravages which a long career of debauchery and vice usually entails. They are riot unfrequently cast- off mistresses, who having saved a little money, yoke themselves to some unprincipled vagabond, and worthily continue to make their living by the prostitution of younger and prettier women than themselves. We now come to the supporters of these nefarious dens. Who are they? Principally greenhorns, who arc allured by the fascinations of the painted harlots who " from dewy eve till morn" ( pardon the transposition, dear reader, but it is very apposite), throng every causeway in this Modern Babylon, from Mile End to Bayswater— from Holloway to Walworth. Another, and pretty numerous class of sup- porters, are those creatures called " husbands," and are by courtesy denominated " men of pleasure!!" who too fre- quently desert the wives they have sworn at the altar to love and cherish, for the novel pleasures afforded by an inter- course with these abandoned women. Another class, and the last wc shall name, are those " used- up" debauct>> es who frequent these houses to gratify their erotic propensities by a variety of means which we dare no more than hint at, but which are as common and plentiful as blackberries in their season. The " bully," or, as he is sometimes termed, " fancy man," now claims our attention. His province has been hinted at in our remarks on the illustration: he generally ap- pears on the scene when a victim is pounced upon who does not seem inclined to bleed so extensively as he is wished. He assumes any character most suited to the emergency;— brother, husband, landlord, or anything else likely to quiet the dupe. He is frequently some vagabond belonging to a respectable family, discarded for his irregularities ; who amuses himself at his leisure moments by cheating at cards, or some other gentlemanlike and lazy amusement. He is often a good- looking fellow, and always a despicable coward. He earns his pocket- money by the prostitution of the female to whom he attaches himself, and who, strange to say, fre- quently has a real affection for him. We have now described the principal personages who usually figure | in a London brothel— the features are the same from East to West, but the methods of extorting money from the victim vary according to the locality. The ques- tion now resolves itself— Why should these places be suffered to exist? Is the Legislature to blame? After mature re- flection, we must say, we think so; as, without doubt, it possesses the means at once to annihilate the atrocious evil. But will it do so? Never! While the god Mammon holds triumphant sway over this our " Christian England," so long will brothels, and all their concomitant evils luxuri- antly vegetate, and bring forth their bestial fruits. Eor centuries, the princely revenues of the Dean of West- minster have been derived from this polluted source; and, wc blush to record it, not a few of the " dignitaries of the Church" have been the staunchest patrons and supporters of these iniquitous sinks. The unfortunate women are too frequently not to blame. Some, probably enslaved by vice, have embraced a life of prostitution from choice; but, in the majority of instances, it is man's inhumanity that has driven them to the vile calling that they pursue. We wage no war with them, but with the system. The " Vinegar Ground," before alluded to, is one dense hot- bed, where the demon of prostitution, like Moloch of old, has his votaries offered up daily and nightly. A mass of facts on female prostitution, and the hellish doings of pro curesses and panderers, are in our possession; and our readers may consider this as the first instalment, as the whole of them will be made public from time to time. 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. THE FRAIL SISTERHOOD. PI VOINE. CHAP. I. THE WORKSHOP. « Olibins?" " Here, Sir." " What are you doing?" " Pounding black." " Interrupt your labour, and receive orders? " Ready, Sir." " Give me a pipe?" " Which?" " The fifth on the rack; small, black, short- tail." " Ah! Joconde? " No; Indiana. Just endeavour to remember the bap- tismal names corresponding to the different numbers; ' tis very easy:— No. 1, Meerschaum, Werther; No. 2, Turkish pipe, Soliman; No. 3, Calumet, O- jib- be- way; No. 4, Al- gerian pipe, Abd- el- Kader; No. 5, Clay pipe, Indiana; No. 6, Flash fire, Waterloo; then Regailette, then Biscornette, then Molock, then Mogador, & c. & c. Tis just as easy as saying good morning!" " I'll try what I can do to remember them." " Very good!" " Must I fill Indiana ?" " God forbid!" " Because"— " Because what?" " The tobacco- pot is completely empty of every sort of cuporal." " Ah! the devil!" " Shall I go and buy an ounce or two?" " Have you any money about you, by chance, Olibius?" " None." " Ah! how awkward!" " But I will change a five franc piece." " A very good idea: where are these five franc pieces?" " In your pocket, I presume." " Quite an illusion. Heaven is not emptier than the in side of my pocket!" " What's to be done, then?" " Just examine Werther and Soliman— there must be some fragments left in them." " Not a bit." " Where are the remains, then? Remember that you are responsible for them, Olibius?" " Lodoiska, the model who sat yesterday, took them away to clean his teeth, black his shoes, and make cigarettes with." By the powers, why he is like the late Messire d'Ar- tagnan. ' Tis very vexing!" " Very." " However, what would you? To great evils there must be great remedies; let us try fortune! Olibius, give me the speaking- trumpet ?" It is quite time, it appears to us, to explain to our readers who are the personages we have brought before them— per- sonages whose social position the preceding dialogue has not enabled us to appreciate in a sufficient manner. A word or two, in the first place, as to the place of action. We will commence after the fashion of the Vaudevilles. The scene took place in a workshop, on the sixth floor of a house of the Rue de Fleures, near the Luxembourg. A door, on the right hand, opening on tho landing; a window, on the left, opening into a sort of large hole, square and dark, which had the pretension to be a court. A glazed skylight instead of a ceiling. In the middle of the room, a clothcs- horse supported a canvas of some magni- tude. A little behind, from a cord attached to two nails, hung a torn blanket, by way of a screen. This curtain en- closed one corner of the workroom, and thus formed a sort of bed- chamber. Through the openings might be spied a truckle- bedstead, adorned with one single and thin blanket. In the opposite corner, on a stool, one of those marble slabs which painters make use of to grind their colours. By the side of this slab a small stove, and a dummy in a piteous condition, crowned with laurel, and attired in a red and tattered garment. The white- limed walls had no other ornament than a rack well furnished with pipes, of which we have already made honourable mention; some weapons of no value; and two or three tolerable sketches. A small deal buffet and four dilapidated chairs completed, with a box of colours, this not over- luxurious furniture. A young man, of six or seven- and- twenty, was seated before the clothes- horse, holding a palette and grinding- stick. This was the master of the studio, Robert Friquet, surnamed Fra Diavolo. We shall presently know the origin of this surname. The second personage, the one we have heard answer to the name of Olibius, was in reality named Jacolin, and ap- peared about sixteen or seventeen. An August sun, darting its fierce rays on the roof of the house and on the glazed skylight, turned the work- room into a stifling furnace ; so that the costume of Robert Friquet, or rather Fra Diavolo ( we will henceforth call him thus) was one of the simplest. This costume consisted of a shirt of very suspicious clean- liness, open at the neck and wrists; and of pantaloons, of large ribbed black velvet, tightly braced in at the waist, and smeared all over with daubs of paint. Red slippers, reach- ing above the instep, concealed the absence of anvthing like • stockings. The features of Fra Diavolo were handsome, and pre- sented a very remarkable specimen of the Italian type, although he was the son of a porteress of the Rue Co- quenard. But this porteress, whose husband was a tailor, had once been handsome-, and, a twelvemonth before the birth of her only son, she acted as housekeeper to a rich Neapolitan who lodged in her house. Stranger resemblances have been seen than this. Fra Diavolo wore long black hair, negligently curled round his face, of a dingy and leaden pallor. He had enormous moustachios, cavalierly cultivated; he also wore an immense shirt- collar, turned down over a narrow black ribband, leaving the neck quite naked. He was usually dressed in a velvet jacket— had a great affection for felt hats, wide in the brim, low in shape, very similar to a round tub. Lastly, he affected those melancholy twinklings of the eye, those striking attitudes, and those eccentric manners which make the astonished plebeian exclaim:—" There! that's an artist passing!" From all this had resulted for Robert Friquet the pseudo- nimic of Fra Diavolo, and one which he took in good part, and by which he was universally designated. Fra Diavolo was not wanting in a certain talent. He made very successful copies from the works of old masters; but, in consequence of a perversity common to all medio- crities, he believed in his genius— looked upon his copies as creations— and took his reminiscences for originalities. We shall presently mention the circumstances which had driven Fra Diavolo from the lodge of his mother into the profession of an artist. Olibius, a true- bred varmint, endowed with a very good figure, wore a blue and white shirt, coarse pantaloons of tick, and heavy shoes. A small Grecian velvet cap, cnce green— starred with spangles, once gilt— was jauntily stuck on one side of his fair and bushy head of hair. Olibius was, perhaps, the only man in the world who firmly believed in the talent and future prosperity of Fra Diavolo; consequently he had conscrated and devoted him- self to him, body and soul. He ground his colours, prepared his palette, filled his pipe, polished his boots; and, moreover, lived with him on a footing of fraternal affection and sincere equality. We will see him at work. " Give me the speaking- trumpet, Olibius," repeated Fra Diavolo," quitting his stool, on which he deposited his palette and guiding- stick. The obedient tiger searched in one of the obscure corners protected by the curtain of separation, and returned furnished with an iron tube, widened at one end. " There!" he said, presenting the tube to Fra Diavolo, who approached the window looking into the court, leant over, applied the tube to his mouth, and sent these words into space:— " Hoy! Ma'am Potard! hoy!" In about a minute, a feeble and cracked voice replied from the inferior regions:— " What is it now?" " Two pen'orth of tobacco, my dear." " And the money?" " I have nothing but gold. You will include it with some- thing else?" " Oh! very well." " The trick is done," said Fra Diavolo, quitting the win- dow, and declaiming: ' For birds, however small, God finds pasture; And his goodness he extends even to the painter.'" He then added: "• Olibius, prepare the letter- box, and quickly!" These words, the letter- box, had no doubt between the two young men a signification previously understood, for the youth immediately took a basket, attached to a cord of prodigious length. He quickly let out the cord, and a mo- ment after the basket touched the paving of the court. In about two minutes the voice of Madame Potard resounded: " Here's the tobacco you want, and something with it," she said. Olibius soon drew up the pannier, which reached the lid of the window no longer empty, hut containing a packet of caporal tobacco, and a sealed envelope. " What's that?" enquired Fra Diavolo. " ' Tis a letter, as it seems." " For whom?" " For you." " Let me see. Ah! it has the scent of patchouli! I am entirely ignorant of this hand- writing; but the superscrip- tion is agreeable." And he read aloud:— " ' To Mocieu, Mocieu FRA DIAVOLO, artist in painting, Rue de Fleurusse.' " What the devil can this be?" 5 " Faith, open it and you will see." The painter broke the seal. A folded note and a pink paper escaped from the envelope. " Bah! a box- ticket!" exclaimed Fra Diavolo, much astonished. " A ticket! for where?" " For Bobino. Just look: ' Luxembourg Theatre. Front Stage of the Dress Circle.' " " Long live the charter!" exclaimed Olibius. " We shall go to the theatre!" " I, yes: you, no:" replied Fra Diavolo, in a serious tone. " Is there only one place?" enquired the disappointed youth. " There are several." " Well, why will you not take me?" " Because I can't Olibrius." " For what reason?" " Read this." And the artist presented to his pupil the note he had un- folded, and which contained these words:— " Come alone— you must— I wish it." " What does that mean?" demanded Olibius. " It means," replied Fra Diavolo, curling his moustache in a most killing manner, " it means that I am on the road to luck! that ' tis a female who wishes to see me, and that it concerns a rendezvous!" ( To be continued in our next.) alone, waiting for her lord and master. Her eyes were like coals of fire, they shone so brightly; and her face was lovely to look upon— so lovely, that it seemed a rich boon to be permitted to gaze upon its beauty, in silence and wonder; but, to snatch the kisses which hung so temptingly from her ruby lips, would be a blessing too great for mortal man to expect. Experiencing the cheering influence of the fire, she suffered her dress to hang negligently aside, and exposed her fair and tender bosom, in which her breasts, like two young milk- white doves, lay nestling. Nineteen summers only had passed over her head, and their genial warmth had perfected lier charms. Like a beautiful bud, her girlhood had promised a lovely flower, and it had not promised in vain— and now, like a field of corn ripened by the hand of nature, she was ready for the sickle; and happy, thrica happy, he who was permitted to reap a harvest so rich and so luxuriant. A step was heard on the floor— Amelia started, and sprang into the couch, lying invitingly open; and, fearful and agitated with the peculiarity of her situation, she hid herself under the coverlet. The door opened, and the chosen one of Amelia entered:—" Oh! why dost thou hide thyself, my love, my dearest earthly joy?" he cried. " Come, let me press thee in my eager arms, and kiss thy blushing cheek? Oh! hide not those charms from him who is dying for thy love!" Gently he removed the covering, and beheld his lovely bride crouching timidly, like a young fawn, and trying to conceal those charms which a husband has a right to gaze upon. " Amelia!" he said in a suppli- cating tone— she raised her bright eyes to his, and her face and bosom were suffused with crimson;— the husband gazed with love and with pride on the fair being; he did not speak, but stooped down and kissed her lips, her cheeks, and her eyes; so enraptured was he with the charming sight. Never had he seen her so lovely. True, when, in the days of their courtship, he had sat by her side, and whispered soit tales of love in her willing ear— when he had seen the blushes rise, which told him, plainer than words could have done, that his affection was prized, and that she also loved, and loved him alone— and when standing before that altar, where she had become his wife, attired in her rich wedding- dress, ha had imagined no being could compare with her;— bnt now, when lying on that soft couch, her head half- buried in the pillow, and unadorned by anything save her own native beauty, he thought her lovelier than ever. He filled a bumper of generous wine, and, presenting it to his bride:— " Drink, Amelia," he said; " let us drink to the success of our loves!" What were the emotions of Amelia, when her husband was lying by her side, his arms encircling her delicate waist, and whispering tender things in her ear, such as a young husband only, at such a time, can whisper to a young wife? The maid ( for though a wife, she was as yet a maid) was at first timorous and fearful, but in a short time her timidity wore away, and the all- absorbing passion of love took possession of her;— she drank in his amorous words, and returned his ardent kisses— she did not now resist when he removed her robe, and the whole of her charming figure met his enraptured gaze. Her form was faultless, like a chaste and beautiful figure sculptured in marble, but lovelier far; for within that pure and transparent skin, the warm blood flowed through the veins, the heart beat, the pulses throbbed, the eyes beamed with love and pleasure, and every feature was animated by desire— but nothing sensual; it was pure and holy. Ah! how rapidly her heart beat, and her bosom heaved, when he pressed her in his arms, and their lips met in one long, burning kiss— the past was forgotten, the future was unheeded— the pre- sent was their only existence; and that was joy and pleasure unfelt or experienced before; it was a season of extacy, of perfect bliss. The cares, the pains, and the duties of the mother did not enter her mind during that first, ardent, and passionate embrace;— it was but short, for our happiness here below, alas! is fleeting— and, when her husband again kissed her cheek, she had passed through the mysterious rites of Hymen— she had lost for ever the title of maiden. Sensualist, mock not this simple tale of hallowed love; to its pleasures you are a stranger— you know it not— your love is mingled with fear, and pain too oft is the attendant of your pleasure. There was no fear here, for it was honourable love— and, as such, more desirable far, than the stolen sweets which you indulge in. PAUL AMONG THE PUBLICANS. THE NUPTIAL COUCH. A FRAGMENT. They had loved; they had plighted their troth ; and on that day they had joined their hands, and swore before heaven and in the presence of men, in future, to share each other's troubles and cares, and to participate in each other joys; he had promised to love and to cherish, and she to honour and to obey. They had entered upon the marriage state with a full knowledge of its importance and responsibilities, and henceforth they were to be as " one flesh," The wedding- feast was over, and the guests had departed — the thrilling melody of the music was no longer heard— the voices of the singers were hushed. Silence reigned in that hall, lately echoing with the song, the laugh, and the merry jest; the bridegroom still lingered below, and traversed, with agitated and impatient steps, the now- deserted apartment. The bride— the young arid tho beautiful Amelia— accom- panied by the bridesmaids, had retired to her chamber, and, assisted by the maidens, was preparing herself for the nuptial couch. A luxuriant carpet covered the floor of the apartment, and a large fire burned brightly in the grate; an aromatic odour pervaded the chamber, and the atmosphere was warm and pleasant, exciting the young and ardent spirit to love and pleasure. The maidens divested the blushing bride of her magnificent dress, in which her beauty had been so en- chantingly enhanced, and her charming figure so exquisitely displayed, that she had appeared like a bright star at the feast, the admiration of all the young men, and the envy of the maidens, who had been present at that gay and exciting fete; they removed from her head the coronet of pearls, and her long black hair ( now unconfined) seemed to exult in its liberty, and hung in rich disorder down her fair neck and white, rounded shoulders, Having completed their " labour of love," they kissed her soft cheek, and, whispering tender things of approaching pleasure, bade her good night. The young bride blushed like a child, so timid was Amelia, and yet so beautiful, arrayed only in a loose white robe, but slightly fastened round her neck— she stood by the fire, " Bungs, have at ye all!" THE DUCHY OF CORNWALL, CORNWALL ROAD, LAMBETH; H. P— NKH— ST. PAUL, in the course of his eventful career, has made many wonderful discoveries. Long, long ago, had he found out that this world of ours was densely populated with fools, and himself profiting by his discovery, he, true reformer like, gave his fellow men the benefit of his superior knowledge. With unflagging energy and zeal has he continued his re- searches, and accident has combined with his endeavours and brought about a new discovery. Previous to his dropping in at the above house, he merely knew there were such things as fools, now he can detail to his readers the outward and visible signs by which they, or, at any rate one of the kidney may be known. In this particular instance its outward appearance has somewhat the resemblance of an overgrown schoolboy, with a half dirty pinafore on. Closer inspection, however, removes the delusion. Mr. P's. outward man possesses the following distinguishing characteristics. Hair, curly; face, chiefly remarkable for an immense amplification of whisker, and an expression of low cunning; a dirty pair of not- to- be- spoke- aboutables, a blouse to which soap and water might be applied to its benefit, and a pair of highlvstarched gills'com- plete the picture. Let nobody after this say they don't know whereto find afool. The manners of this worthy areon a par with his appearance. He is par excellence, the " fast man" of the neighbourhood. His customers never appear to drink enough to please him, for during the whole evening he does nothing but hop about from the bar to the parlour, the parlour to the taproom, and thence to the bar again, with a never ending cry of " Give your orders gents, the waiter's in the room." This, and a habit of fraternising with his cus- tomers' pots and glasses, quite unasked, renders his conduct very offensive. He has also a disagreeable habit, when shut- ting up time arrives, instead of quietly desiring his patrons to retire, of rushing about, bawling at the top of his voice, and removing pots and glasses by wholesale, sometimes before they are done with. We advise him in a friendly way ' to alter his manners. The amusements to be found in this sanctum are bagatelle, ( a very good board, and generally well attended), cards, dominoes, skittles, & c., down to shove half- penny, at any of which our host will play, but is sadly chop- fallen should fortune go against him. The " gude wife" is a civil and obliging female, and the beverages of good quality There is an individual, who we suppose is called a potman, named N— sh, than whom wc think we never saw a more stupid fellow. " From morn till dewy eve" he appears to be either asleep, or under the influence of fourpenny; we re- commend him to brighten up, and for the present bid adieu to him and his master. PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 3 DISSIPATION ; OR, COURTIERS AND COURTESANS. A TALE OF FASHIONABLE LIFE. Then came his pity for her wretched lot, Bound to a husband who deserved her not, And, oh! how different would her life have been If linked with his, his bosom's worshipped qneen! He would have watched, with idolizing care, Each wish sbe formed, and every half- breathed prayer Then would their lives in flowery paths have passed, Each day as blessed as had been the last. Thus spoke Lord AI. FP. EI>, then, with timid sigh, And voice irresolute, and moistened eye: He drew still nearer, as he whispered low, " Such might have been our lot, such might be— now Here was a mass of sophistry and art To touch a girl's unthinking head and heart; Here was a web so marvellously spun, It might have meshed a spiritual nun. LUCY, however, fought the battle well; Her virtue rose indignant to repel The plausible inventions of that tongue, Which won her feelings even while it wrung. Proudly she bade Lord ALFRED to depart, Although there was a faintness at her heart— Proudly she bade him quit her sight for e'er, Although her sobs proclaimed that he was dear. He turned to go, but— as the Parthian wings In flight the arrow which hath deadliest strings. Making that flight thus fatal to his foes— A few short words he muttered as he rose, " Ffirewell, then, LUCY ! since a husband's claim, Despite neglect, prevails against my flame; That husband whom an opera dancer's charms Detain a willing truant from thine arms." LUCY sprang up as though some sudden knock Had galvanised her with electric shock. Her face and throat were crimsoncd o'er with rage, And you might trace, as in an open page, Loathing, disgust, and withering scorn, beside Vengeance, and all the sex's injured pride. Coldly she turned to ALFRED, who had stood Watching the omens of her stormy mood; Coldly she turned and mentioned him to sit Upon that couch— old Nick was under it- Then coldly by his side herself sat down, And with a stony gaze and savage frown Bade him recount, without disguising facts, All FATHEAD'S amorous and improper acts. ALFRED, of course, intent upon his scheme, Did more than justice to this pleasant theme. FATHEAD'S delinquencies and deeds of ill Were highly coloured with a painter's skill. The SKIPFERINI'S beauty he set forth— Sure point to raise another woman's wrath— Described the baronet's devoted ways, And with a sneer took special care to praise The generous spirit which he had displayed, And all the money for his mistress paid. She heard it all in silence, then her form Quivered and shook beneath the coming storm, Fiercely and wildly into ALFRED'S arms She flung herself; all purity's alarms Had fled; her moistened lips to his she pressed, Then whispered to him, while within her breast AU but her vengeance and her love were mute— " ALFRED! I'm thine!— avenge ine on tbe brute l" That very night Sir JULIUS, yawning, said, Just as he entered the Signora's bed— " ALFRED'S not been to night—' tis curious, that— I wonder what the deuce he has been at ?" Now came September, and Lord ALFRED too, And guns and pointers made a great to- do. Sir JULIUS was a tolerable shot, And so was RODOJIONT, though he cared not One half so much for partridge or for hare As for the beauties of his lady fair. Ere his arrival LUCY'S gentle hand With careful fondness everything had planned To make his room luxuriously sweet, An epicure's or Sybarite's retreat. And she was happy when her lover came, Her eyes emitted a yet brighter flame. " A change came o'er the spirit of her dream"— Smiles on her lips more frequently did gleam; Her step grew more elastic ns she walked, Her silvery voice more silvery when she talked; While countless trifles manifestly proved That he was near lier whom her young heart loved. To FATHEAD she became more soft and kind, As though her manner to atone designed For those infractions she committed now— And pretty often— of the marriage vow. When wives become excessively polite, Husbands, to you, and kiss you much at night, Command for dinner your most favourite dish, And all the sauces you prefer for fish; Take a warm interest in your sporting cares, The number bagged of partridges and hares, And bustle quite solicitous about, To place your cushions when you've got the gout; When their affections grow so very strong, Depend upon it there is something wrong. When you become so suddenly so dear, Depend upon it there's a dearer near— Some pleasant youth, who wickedly adorns Tour fevered forehead with a pair of horns I It happened, as it still lias happened yet, Impunity will carelessness beget. Our lovers grew imprudent as the deuce; ALFRED too often made some lame excuse To stay behind when FATHEAD- with his gun Was treading stubbles ' neath a broiling sun. Not that my lord was as impetuous still, As ere of lawless love he'd had his fill; He'd grown much cooler since possession came, Which mostly cools the most excessive flame; But when such lips invited him to bliss, How could he churlishly refuse a kiss? When, too— a thought with perfect rupture rife— That sweet beseecher was his own friend's wife! But LUCY was so thoroughly engrossed By that new life, which at the fearful cost Of chastity and virtue had been bought, She gave to danger not a single thought. Her passion was so palpably betrayed, ALFRED himself grew more than half afraid. The servants' hall thought matters looking queer; Valet and lady's- maid began to sneer; The d— d domestics were upon the watch, Some confirmation of their doubts to catch; And LUCY'S conduct, which was far to rash, Brought on, in time, a very pretty smash. One day the lovers, most imprudent elves, Were comfortably settled by themselves ; Sir JULIUS with his pointers was away— ALFRED had feigned a headache on that day, Though what he staid for should, or I mistake, Have rather made poor FATHEAD'S forehead— ache! They were alone in ALFRED'S room, the door Not even bolted, which I much deplore— Upon the couch, which doubtless just had been The calm mute witness of a glowing scene, His arms around her fairy form were flung, Down her sweet cheeks her unbound tresses hung; Her eyes were lifted with that witching gaze Of languor which ineffably betrays How wild a thrill of transport was thrown o'er The burning moments which had passed before. Her eyes were raised to his, and they expressed, While her fair head was pillowed on his breast, All the devotion of a heart that's given— The body, soul, fame, station, earth and heaven— A sacrifice to man, and, in return, Asks but a maddening kiss of his to burn, To blot, destroy, annihilate, efface Out from lier breast all other lingering trace, So that all feelings may grow dull and dim Towards Goi> and man— except her love for him! Her dress disordered, and raised somewhat high, Disclosed a leg of faultless symmetry; A foot and ankle whose delicious size, Like CINDERELLA'S, would enchant all eyes; No envious ' kerchief, and no collar's lace, Profaned her white neck in its swan like- graee; Her snowy bosom, Love's delicious seat ( Where all the Graces nestled in retreat), That so voluptuously heaved and fell, After the storm of Passion, with its swell, As ocean's waves, in their disquiet, rise And fall, e'en when the storm has left the skies— Her snowy bosom was not quite concealed, But by her dress was partially revealed, Save when Lord ALFRED every now and then— How very impudent are all these men!— Hid with the pressure of his hand its snow, Pressure that gave her cheeks a warmer glow Rivalling the rosebuds of that bosom fair— What business had his hand, I wonder, there? ' Twas a delicious tableau, one that might Cause some spectators very much delight; But yet a tableau whose voluptuous dyes Would be unpleasant to a husband's eyes! Oh cruel fate, that ever keep'st in store For sueh sweet moments some tremendous bore. Oh, cruel fate, to mar such touching bliss, And spoil a scene so very nice as this! As they sate there the door wide open flew, Sir JULIUS and the lady's- maid rushed through,. While, with grimace, and most portentous stare, Followed, as witnesses of this affair, Some half a dozen other servants, who Seemed much delighted at the pleasant view. The lady's- maid, in that triumphant tone That spiteful lady's- maids possess alone, Exclaimed, well pleased such evidence to show— " Sir JULIUS!— just look there! !— I told you so! ! 1" LUCY, of course, had left ber husband's hearth, With ALFRED, now her only prop on earth— Sir JULIUS into private forced to slink, Took for a consolation to strong drink ; He drank when first the morning showed its light; He drank at noon, he drank again at night; Sticking in short so steadily to it That one unlucky day he had a fit. The doctor came, but nothing could be done, For FATHEAD'S course of wickedness was run ; His glassy eyes glared wildly at one place, A fearful twitching of that bloated face, A choking rattle in his throat— one groan— And the coarse cuckold was as cold as stone I So much for FATHEAD ! let us follow now Our heroine— she'd left her spouse, you know, ' Neath RODOMONT'S " protection," whom she found A poor protector ere a year went round. Satiety, and then indifference came, And then disgust— so ends each lawless flame— Reproaches next, then taunts enough to rouse The humblest spirit; so she left his house. A " friend" of ALFRED'S kept her next, and then Another took her off his hands— these men In turns possessed her, and in turns were cloyed. Another and another one enjoyed That fallen angel, till at last she fell Still lower into the abyss of hell. Alas for woman! cherished, then oppressed, Sought to be spurned— now outcast, now caressed ; Loved for a moment in her beauty's bloom, Then left to seek the brothel or the tomb ! LUCY was fallen past redemption now, The very taint of Sin was on her brow ; All that was pure, ingenuous, and fair, Had left her bosom to its blank despair ; The glaring traces of each vile excess Left scarce a vestige of her loveliness. Pale— save when painted for her hideous trade— Haggard and withered, you had been afraid In that vile wreck of misery and crime To guess the LUCY of a former time. Darker and darker grew the harlot's doom, More fearful clouds were gathering in their gloom; Lower and lower in the ranks of crime, Deeper and deeper in the sensual slime Sank LUCY, till there was not left a trace Of lovely figure, or of beauteous face. Disease now came that pestilence accurst, The harlot's last destroyer, and the worst; That plague a holy GOD'S avenging hand Sends as a curse, a punishment, a brand.; And she was racked with pain in every pore, And half her body grew a hideous sore. They took her to the hospital at last— The Lock— where, on a humble pallet cast, They cut and cauterised her tortured frame, But nought availed, sharp steel or scorching flame ; And then the callous surgeon coldly said, While standing with his pupils by the bed, " Twas a bad ease !" disease had eaten in The very vitals of that child of sin ; And so, as every hour the ease grew worse, And nearer drew the end, they placed a nurse ( A gin- seared beldame with a watery eye) Beside the bed— then left the girl to die. Yes, there she lay, the LUCY wiiom ye knew In days of yore— oh, fashionable crew. Whose balls she graced, whose ears her accents charmed, Whose hearts— if brutes had hearts— her charms had Yes, there she lay, the LUCY whom we loved, [ warmed. From life and life's enjoyments all removed, Like some fair shrine, the glory of a land, Hideously levelled by a demon's hand ! Lord ALFRED thrived, although I needs must own He was a " bay- tree" that was not " cut down." His fatker died, and then—' twas lucky that— His eldest brother died without a brat ; So ALFRED got the Dukedom and estate And married next a fashionable mate ; The Lady MARY MARSTON men called her— The eldest daughter of Earl DONCASTEE ; A tawdry, heartless fool, all flounce and curls, Like all your London fashionable girls. ALFRED, grown quite " reformed," has cut the dice, And shunning — outwardly— all kinds of vice, Goes in the " season" regularly twice To church on Sundays, with most pious face— A fashionable church near Langham- place ; He hunts and shoots when country sports come round His wine and dinners have become renowned ; In short, he is— deny it if you can— What people call " a very worthy man." Vice in this world, you see, ' s not always vexed ; Let's hope it may be different in— the next. ****** Readers, farewell; my story's at an end ; I hope that I've said nothing to offend Your tastes or morals ; for all moral men, And women too, I wish to praise my pen. So, if I've pleased you, at some future day, Perhaps, I'll meet you with another lay. THE END. PAUL WISHES TO KNOW Why Mrs. L— y, straw bonnet builder, of Stringer's- row, ( or the would be modest woman of Rotherhithe) drinks so much gin; and why she is not more kind to the poor girls whose labour she gets her living out of. We remember the time when you were Miss L— s. and lived in Horselydown, having to work for fourpence a day and your tea. WhatS— n AP— d thinks of herself, now she has broken up Mr. He—' s home? Your favourite man ought to go to any respectable person's house and hear what they think of you. Shame is at your door and wilt soon enter. Why W— m W— s, butcher, of church- street, Stoke New- ington, defers marrying Miss R— tt of the potatoe- shop, in High- street? There are many eyes looking anxiously on his intentions towards her. Whether T. R. P— 11, opposite Pelham crescent, Brompton, still continues to visit Oakham- street ?—( qy.)— Has he paid liis last doctor's account. How it is that a body of men in the parish of Islington cannot do their duty, without going to the livery stables in High- street twice a week, for the purpose of being drilled by that crooked- legged character. Why G. G— s, of Primrose- street, attends the Dancing Academy in the Kingsland- road, only when a ticket is sent to admit him free. How L— e C— n, likes being summoned before the Magis- trate? Beware old boy for the future, or they may crop your pretty curls. What Mr. P— y, of Pratt- street, Camden- town, has done with the cook at Mr. H— s, in Torrington- square ? The last time' we saw her, she was behind the door with him. Whether Mr. A— r K— y, of St Mary- at- Hill, City, has repaid the £ 30 he borrowed, and whether he still borrows dress shirts of his friend? If E— a K— g, of Lambeth- street, has come home again ? It was no good to gammon the neighbours that you were married— they do not believe it. Why the Landlady of the Royal Duke, Commercial- road- East, does not attend to her business, instead of nursing Dogs. If she attended more in her bar she might then know what games her barman carries on. Whether Mr. M— d, the sporting bntcher, of Exmouth- street, Clerkenwell, intends marring Miss C— h, ot the same street ? If so, Paul thinks it would bo much better for him to discontinue his nightly visits to Miss II— t, at that den of infamy in Pickle- egg- walk, where the door opens with a bobbin. Take Paul's advice, and don't be seen with that interesting young lady any more, or else he will a tale unfold. Whether J. C— o, intends marrying Miss C— r, or has the pretty barmaid of tbe Goldsmith's Arms, Southwark- bridge- Road, put M iss C— r in the shade. Why J. T— t, of Union- row, New Kent- road, and his friend E. W—, smoke cigars going to business every morn- ing? It does not become boys of their age to frequent the Swan public- house in the Borough. Why the straw bonnet builder, of Stringer's- row, Rother- hithe, tried to cheat the poor woman out of her bonnet? Was it to pay for her set of false teeth, or her favorite liquor! Leave of tipling Mrs. L—, or we shall inform Pop of it. Why H. B— 11, the driver of one of the spurious Welling- ton Omnibusses, does not get married to the charming widoMf. on Q — n's- terrace. Is he afraid of having to serve another three years, or is he waiting for M. I—- s? If the practical upholsterer, ofGreville- street, Leather lane, did take liis night cap when he took up his bed, and went from his own house, to a certain one, not many miles from Stamford- street. Reform, and think of your wife, who helps to support you. Why the three Mr. II-— t's of Conduit- street, Paddington, do not pay their poor old father, the rent of the houses? Why Mr. S— t, of Berkeley- square, near Picadilly, should I place on the brass- plate, attached to his door, the name of S— e, instead of the proper one? If old G. A— m, had not better be at home, with his poor wife, than be seen walking in the park, with that girl, at the Fox, Denmark- liill? Why Mr. H. C— c£ of Gloucester- strcet, Grange- road, does not find something else for his youngest daughter to do, instead of her running ffoifi neighbour, to neighbour, bragging of the many offer? pie'has. had, from perfect gen- tlemen, if so, why does she take so much " notice of the butcher's- boy? ' . 1 C* " Whether C. G— n, book binder, of Bear- alley, " still con- tinues being led about by tlia t boy, J. J— u, of the Bull 4 ® J Mouth- street. A fine paletot, and a seedy coat never gait agree. In a small village not far from Norwich, is placed in tbe window of a hair- dresser's shop, on a small piece of paper—• " Shaved and hair cut, by a learner, gratis, twice a- week, Wednesday and Friday, from 8 to 9. PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 174 PAUL ADVISES Mr. C— h, the pork- butcher, of Exmouth- street, Clerken- well, to satisfy the two candidates for his daughter's hand what amount of cash he intends giving with her. He will by such a proceeding discover which of them really wishes for the girl. At present Paul considers the affair one of pounds, shillings, and pence— not an affection of the heart with which either lover is troubled. Poor Jane, yours is far from an enviable position. Mr. T— s E— t, of White Conduit- street, Pentonville, to reform altogether; for according to report, he seems to make seduction his trade. Juan ( Byron's Juan) was an awful fellow— but even he never injured the female portion of his neighbours. Really we must call the attention of the parish authorities to your illegitimate proceedings, feeling assured as Paul does, that the multiplicity of half- crowns you are entitled to pay ( if avoided) will make a serious difference when the talented authorities of Islington wind up their yearly accounts. Mr. C. G— n, writer, of Bevenden- street, Hoxton, not to be seen at the Bee- hive, New North- road, so often, drinking gin- and- water, or he will have Mrs. G— n after him again. Mrs. C— s, laundress, of Causton- street, Regent- street, Westminster, not to suffer her girls to be at the window so often; and the widow to be a little careful, or Paul will speak more freely next time. Mrs. P— k, ( alias the Old Grumbler), of Walworth, not to interfere about her neighbour's rent. Look out old girl; we know some of your tricks. T— s W— s, of Blewitt's- buildings, Fetter- lane, to keep at home with his mother, instead of going up to the Nag's Head concert- room, to spend 3d. with Miss F— 1. \ V— d S— h, of College- grove, Camden- town, not to at- tempt any young woman's seduction under a feigned name, but to mind the nursery- maid of Great College street. Miss E— n W— li, of Denham- yard, Drury- lane, not to lead Miss s— n B— s of the same place into vice and misery. Mr. J. T— tt, to look more to his wife and child than be seen gadding about so much with E. C— 1, of Bell- yard, Doctor's- commons. If this does not do, we shall trouble him further about it. T— sH— t, thefurrier. ofBromley's- buildings, Bread- street, City, not to brag so much about his having 28s. a week. How about taking the horses to grass, old hoy? j s E v P— r, of Hungerford- market, to attend a little more to his own business and a little less to his neighbour's. That would be right. Mr.' C. D— 1, petty cash- takcr at S—' s pottery, Lambeth, not to boast in company that he was the upholder of Mr. S ' s firm, when it is well known that he had not a shoe to his foot a few months back, though now such a big man upon the large salary of £ 1 per week. Old Mother K— y, of Winchester- street, City, to mind her own business and not interfere with other peoples'. W. H— 11, Esq., of Waterloo- place, Lower Marsh, Lambeth not to keep a lady of a certain character in his house. It does not look well when his tenants come to pay their rents. Keep a^ country house for her, old boy, as you used to do. E. M—, the crazy halfpenny barber, of Bethnal Green- road, never to bemean himself by encouraging his daughter's suitor to spend his hard earnings in drink. J. B x, dog- fancier, of New Turvillc- street, Bethnal- green, not to be seen so much ill gin- palaces, drinking spirits by pints, while his poor wife and daughter are compelled to make lucifer boxes to get an existence. W— m S— n and C. E. M— n, at Mr. B— t's, pawnbroker, Dover- road, Boro', not to pay so much attention to the young girl.; who frequent their master's shop, and not to be seen strutting about at a certain place in the City- road on Sunday nights. T. G— g, baker, of Cornwall- place, Holloway, to return to his father's home, apply himself steadily to business, leave his bad companions, and not to care for what the world says. He will thus gain the respect of his former friends, and be happier himself. Take Paul's advice, young fellow, which is given in a friendly spirit, and intended for your welfare. Mr. J. S—, ivory- turner, of Mill- lane, Bermondsey, to keep the 2s. Cd. per week payment up regularly. j, jj—, of Dorset- street, Salisbury- square, not to be seen so often flirting about with that pale faced apprentice boy of Bell's- buildings. The Miss V— s, to be a little more careful in walking in the Bow- road, in wet weather, we thought one of them was a little bandy. He would also advise them not to speak against other persons. j E_ n, the lankey butcher, of Nile- street, Hoxton, not to boast so much of his bagatelle and skittle- playing. E k C— x, Fyefoot- lane, Upper Thames- street, not to fancy his running so much, nor boast so much about Thames- street, that he is a subscriber to the Paul Pry paper, and is allowed 10s. per week from the same. The female servants of Upper Berkeley- street, Portman- square, next door to Mr. G— e, the stationer, not to be seen with their heads out of the window so much, making remarks on every one who passes. j n J y D— n, of Wych- court, Wych- street, Strand, to look more after the young lady in black, of the Strand, and not to visit the Victoria- theatre so much with Miss E— n W— h, of Lyon's- inn, Strand. T s P— 1, of the 11th Hussars, Kensington- barracks, not to brag so much of the silk handkerchiefs he had given him bv the butcher's girl. Look out, old Tom, or the butcher may hear of it. How about the King's Head? Miss F. Y. T— y, artificial- flower- maker, of Jewin- street, City, not to be seen with C— s, the tinker's boy, at the corner of Monkwell- street, as his intentions are not good. Beware, or you will hear further. Messrs. H— n and T— k, of the Hackney- road, to attend more to their master's business instead of writing love letters, which they direct to themselves. Miss M. A— n, of King- stret, Holborn, to mend her vicious temper. • The knowing boy, at the Junk, Hackney- road, not to think so much about the governess as he does. Does he recollect going to a christening a short time since, and the Eastern Counties Railway? Paul knows all about it H. F—, cap- dealer, Mary- street, Hoxton, not to think so much of himself, because his landlady has chosen to dress him up lately for a walking- stick. The Glutton, belonging to the Era, ( who was formerly messenger to the paper), not to fancy himself the Editor. ~ Miss D. A— y, of Wade- street, Poplar, not to go out so much of an evening when her father is not at home, and to pay more attention to her school in the day- time. J— n H— 11, the one- eyed deal porter, of the Imperial Saw Mills, Wenlock- road, City- road, to look more after his poor wife and children. Mrs C— e J3— n, of Gloucester- street, Queen- square, to attend to her domestic comfort at home, and not to trouble her head about her neighbours' affairs. It will not procure her a new cap by so doing, of which she is in great need. Young K— k, of Taling- street, Commercial- road, not to cut the fop quite so much, and in future not to annoy respect- able young ladies. Mr. W. G— r, of the London- road, Southwark, to pay more attention to his poor wife and children, instead of so much to a certain Mrs. T— n ( as she calls herself), pastry- cook in the London- road, and very near the Elephant and Castle. W. C— r, the bookbinder, working in Hatton- garden, not to lounge on the sofa with the liouse- maid in the Regent's- park every Sunday morning, and then in the evening go to Haggerstone to see the dark girl. Miss A. D— n, of Bartholomew- terrace, St. Luke's, not to fancy every young man is in love with her. We are sure no one will ever fancy her sour looks. Mr. T. C— n, the miller, of Rotherhithe- wall, not to visit the baker's shop in Swan- lane so much, or else he will get into a scrape before long, although he may think it is all forgot. G— e S— 1, of Cotton's- gardens, Hackncy- road, not to be seen in a donkey- cart on a Sunday, in a state of drunken- ness. What will the little girl in blue say when she hears of it? That greasy- headed warehouse- boy, at the pawnbroker's, in Watling- strcet, to be more civil to his superiors and also to Ihe customers; otherwise he will never get on in the world. Paul has heard liim behave very saucy to the customers, after he has kept them waiting lor half an hour. Reform you young blackguard, or we will acquaint your master. T. C— s, of Riley- street, Chelsea, not to be so fast at the flour- mill, as he is not the man he took himself to he. If he does not leave off his drunken ways, and getting good millers discharged, we must send him to his old trade of hop- picking. Mr. H— e, the fat baker, of Devonshire- street, Barnsbury- park, to marry his housekeeper and not let her be seen cry- ing so often behind the counter. Paul knows what happened 12 months ago. W. F. H. K— t, of Charles- street, Westminster, notto take such liberties with a certain dark- complexioned girl residing also in Westminster. Mr. J— n, the landlord of the King's Head, Fashion- street, Dockhead, Bermodsey, not to treat the policeman so often of that locality with glasses of gin. We are fully aware for what purpose it is done. R. S— n, baker, of Tottenham Court- road, to pay a little more attention to his lawful wife and less to his tawdrcy- lookiug- shop woman. Miss W— d, of the beer- shop, iu Manor- place, Walworth, not to fancy all the young sparks who frequent there are in love with her, as it is quite the contrary. How about the blackman? Mrs. C— n, of the Angel Tavern, Platform, llotherhithe, not to wear such a tremendous great bustle. It is large enough for a bolster, and a thing that must make the people laugh at. Mr. and Mrs. G— n, the two old ducks of molly- coddles, who reside in Red Cross- street, City, not to think so much of themselves; and Mrs. G— n not to be seen so often taking her half- quartens of gin, as Paul is often looking at you. R. J— n, the gun- maker's shop- boy, of Portman- place, Edgeware- road, to have a long coat to hide his knees. Mr. C— s, of the Magnet coffee- house, Bermondsey- street, not to put so much chicory in his coffee, or he will lose all his customers. Look after the big lodger. That funny land- lubber, C— s W— rn, of Bermondsey, to be more careful how he conducts himself for the future towards the young girls whom he is acquainted with, and not trifle with them so much, nor take advantage of them during their parents' absence; Paul knows more of him than perhaps he imagines, and which he shall certainly publish if he does not alter his present proceedings. We are well aware of his pretended amorous disposition, or rather his cupboard love propensities. C. W— had better take this hint ill time. Look out for squalls: we shall sharply watch so insignificant a fellow. Mr. G—- e H— 11, a Piccadilly- swell footman at Glo'ster House, Park- lane, not to imitate Count D'Orsay so much. Mrs. P— k, the drum- maker's wife, of Northampton- terrace, City- road, not to wear the breeches, and to keep her servant's longer than two months. J. T— r, G troop of Royal Horse Guards, not to go to Portman- square iu plain clothes to visit the old cook, and to let the broken victuals alone. Beware of the carriage lamps, old boy, or you will be sure to be caught. Miss E. F— s, the conceited young lady at the grocer's shop opposite the Queen's Arms, Marlbro'- road, Chelsea, to be more civil to the customers, or her uncle may have cause to regret it. Mr. L— s W— n, the book- keeper at the Golden- cross booking office, to be more civil to persons wanting informa- tion as to the times of the different trains leaving London, & c„ also not to be seen so often round at the tap. Remember " the old house at home," and don't trouble yourself about the ladies. Miss E— y G— t, of Coppice- row, Clerkenwell, not to run after , W— m M— d, of a Sunday evening; also to pay a little more attention to S. J— s E— x, or she may probably lose him. Miss B— y W— s of William- street, Curtain- road, not to be quite so inquisitive, and to think more of getting a living than going so often to the Albert Saloon with George, the single young man lodger. T— s B— n, of Barnham- street, Tooley- strcet, to take more of liis money home to his master, instead of spending it with his friend T— s H— s and that dark young woman. Does he forget Fishmonger's- alley? F. K— t, alias the Long Slab, of Gardener's- lane, West- minster, not to stop out so late of anight with the little dark girl, or he may depend his mother will come and fetch liim home. Miss S— h, the pretty girl of Holywell- street, Westminster, not to think so much of R. C— h of Regent- street. T— m P— y, Jun., of the Fox, White- street, Boro, not to be seen every Monday with a young lady of very question- able character on the Causeway. Mrs. S— h, of Charles- street, St. John- street- road, not to lock up the coal cellar and take the key with her' when she goes out. It does not look well to leave her daughter in that cold damp kitchen without any fire; nor is it right to take advantage of a person ( especially so near a relation) because she has lost all her senses. J. N— s, of Terry- street, Lambeth, to pay more attention to one of the young ladies at the coffee- house in Stangate— if he means anything— and not attend so much to steam boats and running matches. Mrs. C— s, of Couston- street, Westminster, to stop at home and help her aunt, instead of going to the three- penny- hops with married men. G— e M— h, of Thomas- street, Stamford- street, to leave off annoying the females as they pass his house, and not to act deceitful to the girl he has promised marriage to, or we shall say what he would not like to hear. C. S— y, near the Custom House, to get married. Miss S— n is a " demmed" nice girl! G— C— g, alias tiger, the omnibus cad at the Gun, Pimlico, when he gets drank not to insult everybody, nor challenge to fight any one in the tap room. We don't think much of you, Georgy. Mr. E— d H— s, of Feather's- court, Drury- lane, not to boast of his steak suppers. J. T— 11, a concert room singer, who frequents a house in New Church- street, Bermondsey, not to be seen larking with so many young ladies of that neighbourhood, nor walking the Borough with a certain young lady, or Miss G. D. will hear of it. Mr. V. S— n, the check taker of Sadler's Wells theatre, to allow his wife an extra sixpence per week, that she may be enabled to purchase a little soap for them both, as their appearance bespeaks a scarcity of that valuable article. The cook of the Stanhope Arms, Oval- road, Camden- town, not to be so fond of lushing out of the engine drivers'pots and T. R— n, at the draper's, Sloane- square, to mind his own business and not go sneaking into C— k's every evening, to gull the old people for what he can get. W. W— e, of Foley- street, Tottenham- court- road, not to be so proud of his clerk's place, and not to be so fond of reading Aristotle's works. S— 1 J— n, the Waterman of Mill Stairs, not to lay his money out on gold rings, when he has not got a second suit of clothes to his back. He had better save it for Mrs. P— r, who keeps the lollypop- shop in the Folly. P— s, the singing barber, of Bridge- court, Westminster, not to host so much about that long looked for twenty- five thousand pounds. What a funny way to get a wife. ~ Miss H— h, the little Dressmaker, of Milman- row, not to visit the Casino so much, for it does not look well. Mrs. F— t, of Albion- street, Rotherhithe, not to trouble her head so much with the appr. ntices opposite. Does the old man recollect the barley aboard the barge. T— m P— y, alias young brassey in the employ of Palmer and Co's, Great Sutton- street, Clerkenwell, ( who frequents the Hall of Science, City- road) not to be seen strutting about the room with a girl on each arm. Mrs. F— t, of Perseverance- street, Bermondsey, to get rid of her lodgers; they are not very respectable, and have been there quite long enough for the neighbours. A— d G— t, of W. and O's printing- office, Skinner- street, City, not to be seen walking with the milk- girl, but to return to the one in Upper Ground- street. E— d B— r, of Jubilee- street, Mile End, not to boast too much of the fine boy he has got by a certain young woman of the name of Betsy, as he only makes himself look like what he is— a consummate fool. Mr. H— d, the fancy ehandlershop- keeper, not to let his wife wear a false wig to entice Mr. S— n, the dealer in plumb- pudding and boiled- beef, so much at his shop. J— a B— r, of Pimlico, not to be seen hanging about Char- ing Cross after 10 o'clock at night, looking for something on the cheap. J— k L— t, of Duke- street, Aldgate, not to be seen flirting about so much with the Lighterman's Daughter. What would Fanny C— m say if she saw him? Miss E. A—, the Washerwoman's Daughter, next door to the Red Lion,. Church- street, not to think every young gentleman is in love with her. T. H— t, Carman, of Mount- street, Grosvenor- square, not to spend so muclr of his time with the old fat Laundress Mrs. B— r, but to look more to his children, and see they are kept cleaner. Your wife is on the look out; so reform, Tommy by boy. Miss M— y D— n, of New Church- court, Strand, not to run after the Captain quite so much, for if he hears that she has shown her figure at the Hall of Rome, he will never have any more to do with her. Mrs. F— t, of Bridle- lane, Silver- street, City, to pay a little more to her poor shirt- makers, and not to pay Is. 3d. when she gets 3s. for them. Mrs. S— h S— y, Schoolmistress of Lower Queen- street, Rotherhithe, not to be so often gazing at the window. C— e S— k, of Oxford- terrace, King's- road, Chelsea, to shave: we do not like to see so long a beard on a female's face. J— e, the fat Cook, at the Cavendish Arms, Wandsworth- road, not to think so much of little J— n C— 11, the Brick- layer, as he does not return her affection, the ungrateful fellow. Mr. Billy M— e, of Great Dover- Street, Boro, not to be quite so consequential, nor think his customers are obliged to have his trash for sweetening their Gin. Its all bounce. Young Mr. J— n, the Auctioneer, ofGraceehureh- street, not to be so saucy to his customers, when selling unredeemed pledges; likewise not to frequent the Billiard Room in Switliin's- lane, of an afternoon so often. Mr. S— n, of the Southampton Tavern, Chancery- lane, to be more circumspect and give just characters to those who have had the misfortune to displease him; and to recollect it is but a few years ago he was servant himself. G. H— m, Coachman of Denmark- hill, Cambenvell, to pay- proper attention to his wife, and leave the company of that great Buffalo girl. Shame, shame, you old rake— what an example for your children. W. C—, the Blacksmith's son, of Sandsford- lane, Stoke Newington, not to be seen so much in Kingsland- road, with the Queen of Dalston. That long poplar- built individual; glorifying as an ass- istant to a well known Bookseller, not 100 miles from the corner of Dean- street, Soho, to be more regular in his attention at his Guardian's on a Sunday afternoon, and not be seen in Bat- tersea- fields, mounted on a very near relative— his scaffold- pole swingers ( alias legs) at least three feet beyond his bro- ther's hinder part. J— D— n, of the Sand Wharf, Kingsland- road, not to take the bread out of a poor man's mouth, but to attend his mo- ther's business, strictly in future. J— n H— n, No. 32, L Division of Police, to pay more at- tention to the young female whom he has been courting (?) for four or five years ( now living at Mr. C—' s Grocer, Black- friar's- road) likewise not be so often seen going to a certain house in Granby- street. PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 5 Mr. J— n P— t, of A— ke's firm, Hatton Garden, not to be so often detected kissing the girls. J— s C— k, of Silver- street, Golden- square, a few doors from the cook- shop, to go and search for a situation; and not to hang about home as he has done for the last sixteen months, living on his poor old father and mother. The would- be man, of Queen- street, Rotherhithe, to pay more attention to his wife and family, and less to the sore- eyed lady, of Cherry Garden- street, Bermondsey. Is it true that he helped to pay for the last dress? Mr. R— n, the conceited fop, not to paint his face so much when he attends the York- road Assembly Rooms, thereby making himself the ridicule of the place. Miss E. A. R— r, the fair girl of Peerless- row, City- road, • not to be seen walking out with N. H— s, of the Standard. Remember he is a married man. j_ n p— jUn., of Chamber- street, Goodman's- flelds, not to be so fond of going to the theatre, but to attend more to his father's business. Mr. B. 0— n, of Lower- road, Rotherhithe, not to be seen with the girls so much. Mrs. D-- n, of Cherry Garden- street, Bermondsey, not to frequent sixpenny- hops with boys in their teens, nor theatres with married men, during her husband's absence on the raging main. J. A—, of Russell- court, Drury- lane, bootmaker, not to be so proud of his hair. We know " you paper it up at night, to see that girl of May's Buildings. Mr. J— n W— n, mate of Waterman No. 12, not to boast about his rowing; and to let the servant- girl alone, at the • Feathers, Hungerford- market. W— m N— s, mate of Waterman No. 4, to keep more away from a certain street, close to the Adelphi. How must he feel when he is going past Cuckold's Point? A— e D— n, of Clark's Cottages ( alias the Euston- street Bully), to behave with more civility to her mother. We are sure the young man who frequents the house must notice it. Take our advice, Addy; we know more than you are aware of. The proprietor of the celebrated apple- stall, in Change- alley, Cornhill, not to think so largely of himself; likewise : not to knock his two young daughters about; it looks very- disgraceful. Mr. W. S. H— 1, of Conduit- street, West, to let his next- door neighbour alone; attend more to his wife; and not visit Westminster quite so often. The cook, at the corn- shop, Beckford- row, Walworth, not to let that puppy of a shopman slobber her pretty face over before the customers. Mr. S— n D— k, F. R. S., residing in Bedford- place, Hamp- - stead- road. to be careful and not knock persons' eyes out with that old gingham umbrella he always carries with him; also to get his trousers pieced at the bottom, as they are a great deal too short for him. A. T—, of New Church- street, Bermondsey, not to run after E. S—, not a mile from the Church. You are no good there. M. M— y, at the tin shop, in Free School- street, Horsley- down, not to think so much of S. C—, on board the John Bull. How about Mr. K—, the tinman of Bermondsey? Mind Miss M. and dont go so much to Mrs. J— k's, the fortune teller. J. W—, of William's cottages, Maiden- lane ( the running gardener) to look after his plants instead of going down to W. E—' s so much. Mr. M'A— s, the proprietor of the Assembly- room, Little Dean- street, Soho, not to encourage any gambling. That sanctified- looking- piece ( Miss G— r), at the baker's shop, in the Spa- road, Bermondsey, not to run after a certain young man at Symon's Wharf every night. If she is so anxious to be married, Paul advises her to go to Australia with her friend Mrs. F—, the furrier. j_„ A— k, teacher at Oxford House Academy, King's- road, Chelsea, not to boast about his being a teacher so many years, and that he knows the tricks of boys. He is but an overgrown boy himself. \ y m D— x, a butcher, in the West India Dock- road, Limchouse, not to trouble himself with persons being shown up in P. P. It would be much more to his advantage if he • was to look more after his business. We know something about the housekeeper, old boy. R. " VY— n, not to walk about so much on Sunday evenings, treating that image of a girl so much to different gardens, lie had better get home a little earlier, and not let his father sit up so late for him. Likewise not to think himself a first- rate dancer, because he capers at the Star coffee room in Golden Lane. Mr. D— e, of the wheel works, Pimlico, to look well after a certain E— d K— g, as the latter was not over nice with the servant where he last lived, in Belgrave Place. G_ c H— t ( alias the Ape), son of the omnibus proprie- tress of Church Street, Stoke Ncwington, not to jump about quite so much when at the Casino, and think himself the . Don of the assembly; also not to visit the little unhappy widow of Coronation- road. Mr. W— r R— g, the " gent" of Surrey- grove, Old Kent- iroad, not to flirt so much with the youngest sister of the proprietor of the Devonshire House Assembly Rooms, in the Dovor- road, nor through her to obtain a free admission to every ball held there. Behave yourself better and cut your snobbish ways. That youth ( a man in his own estimation) who lives under the name of T— s B— x, at a linen- drapery shop, not a hun- dred miles from the Eastern Counties Railway Terminus, not to parade up and down Shoreditch after the shop has closed, with quite so much mill- grease on his hair. Mr. S—, broker, of the Waterloo- road, to get a wife, and . not be seen to look at all the girls that pass him. How about Mary ( Mrs. S. that should have been). Mr. F. F— f, to keep at home with his wife, and not go to see that Bond- street servant to make presents of brooches. The young gent of the Jewish creed ( watchmaker), of Nottingham- p'ace, William- street, Commercial- road East, not to haunt the dark streets so much. We are well aware he cannot afford 2s. 6d. per week out of his scanty earnings. Mr. 0— b, of Elm- court, Elm- street, Gray's- inn- lane, not to brag what a good home he has got. The three noisy bakers using the Bell, Church- street, Ro- thcrhithe, when in the parlour, to make less noise, and not to disturb the company with hooting so. It looks much like children when they get out for a holiday, Mrs. G. L— m, of Albion- street, Rothcrhithe, not to be seen out with that broken- down publican; now her husband is at sea. Be careful— you have got a good partner my dark one. The curly- headed policeman, of Park House, Walworth, to try and lose his propensity for women, also to beware of false friends. ' W. S. L—, engine- driver, at the South Lambeth vinegar- works, not to boast so much of his mechanical abilities as an • engineer and fitter, and to spend less of his master's time in brushing his hair. The dark gentleman to be true to that pretty girl, late bar- maid at a certain honse close to the Adclphi. Mrs. A— t, of Endell- street, Long Acre, not to encourage a certain young man and woman ( E— a T— n and G— c N— n) to her place so often. We know she cannot teach them anything good, until she leaves off getting drunk so often, and sitting on the stairs all night. J— n P— n, at the Fishmonger's, in Trinity- street, Boro, to take lodgings in Kent- street, as sotting in public- houses will not find money to pay his rent. Mrs. D— s, at the Rose and Crown, London House- yard, St. Paul's, not to drink so much brandy on the sly. Mrs. F— r, of Adam- street, Harper- street, New Kent- road, not to visit the gin- shop so often. A— e, the wife of bald- pated J— e, of College- street, Brompton, not to spend so much of his hard earnings in blue- ruin, and to think a little less of dress. How about, the 5s. under the bed? Miss E. M. K— y, of Crown- street, Finsbury, not to dress so gay of an evening, thinking to pick up flats by her out- ward appearance. E. B— s, of Endre- road, Old Rent- road ( van driver at the South Eastern Railway) not to sport those red satin braces and red carpet slippers without a coat or waistcoat on; like- wise not to insult respectable persons as they pass, with his disgusting talk. Sir. T— r, 169 G, not to think the girls are dying in love with him although he takes such pains with his nobby head of hair, and not to talk of his riches. Mr. W. T— y, keeping a baker's shop in Melville's place, likewise a penny- pie- sliop in Church- passage, Somer's- town, not to be seen at so many rat matches; likewise to think a little more of his wife and less of his conceited shop- girl. T. O. P— r, not to think so much of himself when he is flirting about with that bricklayer's girl on his arm, in the broad walk, Regent's- park, on Sunday afternoon. Master J— n H— t, who lodges with his uncle Bob, in Daviss- street, Princes- road, Lambeth, not to go to the public house called the White Hart, at Kennington- cross, so much; and also to leave off gambling, skittle playing, and swearing, as everybody perceives he is only an overgrown boy. Do not try to imitate the gentleman so much, Jack; by doing so you make yourself a perfect fop. C— s 0— 1, of Virginia- place, Gt. Dover- road, not to be too intimate with his uncle's servant; likewise not to be seen talking so often to ladies of easy virtue in the Waterloo- road. Mr. 0— v, the grocer, of Whitecross- street, St. Luke's, not to promise poor Susan he will marry her, if he means to deceive the poor creature, after keeping her upon breast of mutton which had been in the house above a week. H— y C— y, Jun., alias King of the Boys, alias Pussy, & c. of John- street, Liverpool- road, Islington, not to be seen going to the Barnsbury Brewery, for a pot of thrce- half- penny swipes. Reform Pussy, or w i shall call again. W— m B— n, alias Noisy, to be a little more quiet when he visits the Camden Arms, Randolph- street, and to recollect he is not at the Feathers. Such behaviour does not become a young man holding a respectable situation. Also to keep better hours, and not disturb his neighbours by knocking at the street door so late at night. Mr. W— m H— y, the grocer's boy, of Conduit- street, Paddington, ( the would- be witty chairman of the Amateur Cricket Club), not to force himself into such a job, and then get so tipsy as to roll under the tables at their meetings. Oh, William, what would your lady- love say, should she hear of it? A. T—; the conceited little washerwoman's daughter, of Sandford- cottages, Sandford- lane, Stoke Newington, not to suppose any young man is in love with her. J. G— ths, the office cleaner, to the G. W. R. Company, of Praed- street, Paddington, not to pull the door and gate quite so hard after him, and to have some advice for his cough, which happens to come on just as he gets to the gate, ( whether going in or out of his lodgings), as the married woman opposite is not the only person who notices it. We would advise him to drop it, or else he will not come off so well as he did from the last affair. MarthaS—, the stout cook, at No.—, Harley- street, New- road, not to trouble herself to bestow rum and cold fowl on the handsome policeman on duty, seeing that it is all time wasted. K, 2, is a married man, and no good can come of it. You are old enough to know better, Martha, and if you don't take the hint, we shall tell the milkman. Ti e long- nosed barmaid, of the Duke's Head, Whitecliapel, to treat her fellow- servants a little more civilly, and not to drink so much brandy and water in a day, as it is not good for her health; likewise the nobby little barman of the same place, not to call her Miss, as it makes her think so much of herself. Old Tom, at the Horns, Cuckold's- point, Rothcrhithe, to pay more attention to the country girl, and not serve lier as he did the girl in Russell- street. Mr. W. J— y, post- office, Bethnal- green- road, not to run after all the girls in the parish. How about Betty? C— y F-— r, the chandler'js shop idiot, alias the time- keeper of P— r and Co's., Twig- folly, not to be so fast in telling so many lies to his master; thereby getting the best boys dis- charged, merely because their parents don't deal at his shop. Miss S— h P— n, of Golden Lion- court, Aldersgate- street, to look more after Joseph, and not to believe he goes to his mother on Sundays— he visits Miss S— t instead. J— n 1'— y of Tavistock- street, Covent- gardcn, to take home more of his wages, instead of going to the Park, and spending money on strange girls. W— m B— n, of Great Chapel- street, Broadway, West- minster, to look a little more after a certain girl, instead of running after R— s, the mangling girl of Dacre- street. Mrs. M— n, the old maid at Mrs. H— n's, Somerset House, to mind her own business, and not interfere with other people's so much; also not to go so often after Mr. L— s. Take care my old maid, or they won't have you at Mr. H's. much longer. J— n W— s, alias Mr. M— c F— e, not go bragging all over the news trade, that he is foreman at Messrs. C— n's, when he knows it to be false. The two barmaids at Mr. B— l's, Strand, to give better measure. They would sell a great deal more if they did. J— n C— x, of Drury- lane, not to eat so many dried mack- erel before breakfast. lie is quite big enough as it is. Tho earrotty- whiskered shopman at P-— t's cigar shop, Jerusalem- passage, Clcrkenwell- grcen, to be more polite in future, whenever young ladies may enter his master's shop. Mr. T— t, butcher, of York- street, Westminster, not to be so envious of his neighbours, and more civil to his cus- tomers. Mrs. F— s, the landlady of the Prince of Wales, Elizabetli- stroct, Eaton- square, Pimlico, to be more obliging to her cus- tomers, and to address them in a milder tone and style, than she sometimes chooses to adopt. Miss S— e, of Corrie- place, Old Kent- road, not to be seen so frequently with different gentlemen. It does not look well, and would not be approved of, if her " Pa " knew it. Mr. T. B— k, of Mr. De La Rue's factory, Bunhill- row, not to boast so much about his jewellery. Mrs. E— a, of Goswell- street. to treat her fellow trades- people with more respect, and not to forget her station in life. Recollect you were only a servant, a little time back. How T. C—, the fat- headed sailor, is getting on, now he has removed his lodgings to Newnliam- street, Edgware- road? We would advise him to have another loan to get some more furniture, also another coat. That plaid shooting jacket is very bad for a man of his abilities. The Misses H— s, living near Gould- square, Lambeth, not to be seen lounging on the couch with Mr. J— n, the comic singer, nor walking round the crescent at 12 o'clock at night. Mrs. H— 1, New street- hill, Fetter- lane, not to backbite other persons so much. How about the barber's boy? MIDDLESEX. Mr. T— h, the brewer of Edmonton, when he proposes to another young lady, not to go home every evening and tell his housekeeper all his lover has said to him: this looks very childish, and does not become a man. Many, very many years ago, when Paul's now venerable wig resembled the colour of a raven's wing, he kept his kisses and his love silent to all save one. J— g C— y, of Church- road, Tottenham, never again to see a young lady home to Enfield, and afterwards act like a brute towards her, or he may arouse I'auVs manly indig- nation. Mr. B— e, of King- street nursery, Tottenham, not to walk Miss C— out; he had better stay at homo with his wife and family. E. Wright, of Lower Tottenham, not to stand at her gate with the little baker boy, he looks such a child; it don't look well. Mrs. Fens, of South- street Building, Ponders End, not to trouble herself with her neighbours' business so mnch; it would look better for her to stay in doors a little more. Mr. T. H. B~- r, of Hampton Wick, not to be so fond of boasting when in company, and calling for bottles of wine, for we are sure he cannot afford to pay for one. Mrs. C—, at Mr. H—.' s not to tell tales of others. How about the girl at Hampton Court Green? J. S., the pork butcher's man, of Kingston, to pay more attention to the dark- eyed beauty. The pork butcher " of East Mousley, not to be always looking at the nursery windows after the nurse. Mr. E. L— y not to go hopping to the corner house at East Moulsey, after the nurse: she is old enough to be your mother. Miss E— a C— t, of Norfolk Terrace, Dalston, to leave off tight lacing, as it is injurious to her health, and not to fancy every gentleman admires small waists. John Chapman, alias Gipsy Jack, of Tottenham, not to - be so proud and conceited of his clothes, as Paul is perfectly aware that he has them of the tallyman. Mr. T. W— n, the bricklayer's clerk, of Hampton Wick, to take out Miss M. V— t, near tho Swan inn, to some pub- lic place of amusement, instead of lugging her to church three times a day. J— s B— ss, the conceited ass of Tottenham, not to think every girl in the nursery is in love with him, and not to fancy that standing at the door of a certain public house, ( with a yard of clay on) gives him the appearance of a fast young man. S— s P— r, alias one eye'd S— s, not to go off with the idea that all the girls in Tottenham are mad after him, as it is quite evident he knows more about carrying milk pails than doing the amiable. Bear in mind the women can get the blind side of you, or even Paul. Mr. C— n, at Mr. D—' s, baker, Tottenham, to go to church instead of going to Woodford and getting drunk on Sunday. How about Jenny? J— s W— s, gardener, Muswell- hill, not to go home and boast so much to his wife what his mistress says to him. We think that lady would not like her name brought up so often over the wash tub. The Misses G—, alias 2 and 6 penny's, near the Red Lion, Highgate, not to be seen so often at the Fox under the Hill with a policeman. Master H. H— s, of Highgate, not to think so much of Miss C— e T— e, teacher at Hornsey school, for she considers him a stupid puppy. Old S—, late E. Canter, of Tottenham, when he goes by a certain coffee shop, not to offend the young girls by offer- ing them a shilling. Mr. L— d, of the post office, Hammersmith Gate, to keep his eyes open, as II— y, the butcher, is determined to have his daughter Louisa when he leaves Hampton. W. B— ds, farmer, Marshside, Lower Edmonton, not to insult the gentlemen at the next vestry, by saying that every one but the farmers are the scum of the parish. H, D— n, grocer, Lower Edmonton, not to think all the girls are in love with him; Paul thinks he is mistaken. KENT. Mr. T— n, of Blackheath- hill, to take no more plumbing work, ( as he never learnt the trade), but follow his own— that of painting decks. Mrs. J. R. U— y, of Blaekhcath- hill, not to shake her head about so much while conversing with customers, as it is un- becoming; and not to brag that she is worth so much money, It is all fudge. F— k A—, son of the proprietor of the Windmill Tavern, Gravesend, not to give his mind to lying. G— e F— n, of Blaekheath, not to compel poor persons: and tradespeople to call twenty [ times for their money, bccause he keeps a tap house. Mr. L— d, of Wheeler- street, Maidstone, the swell lawyer's clerk, to marry the woman he now lives with, and not mind the two little ones she has got. E— d T— r, of Windmill- street, Gravesend, not to go to the hop in Harmer- street with his lame leg, and pass himself off as the handsome surveyor. Sirs. G—, of Swan Inn, Grayford, to attend to her busi- ness, and not be always at the window when those two young persons pass. Mr. C— s, of Bennet- street, not to talk so much about temperance, and to be a little more humane to his poor wife— not to make her work while he is preaching. Mrs. B— n, at the Atlas office, New Cross- road, Deptford, not to pay quite so much attention to that young fop from George- street, Greenwich. It docs not look well of a married women, especially when her husband is out. Mr. F— n, of the Marquis of Granby, Northfleet, to shave and wash his face and hands oftener, to be more obliging to his customers, to treat his wife better, and not think so much of himself. Remember, you would not be where you are if it had not been for your wife's industry. G— e C— s, J Ltu., alias Ugly Mug, of Wyatt- street, Maid- stone, to remember what he was a few years back. Ann T— 11, of Overy- street, Dartford, not to run about the town with every boy she meets. How about your mother and Mr. A— c, of Greenhithe? Mr. L. F— 11, engineer of the Thames iron works, not to go down the Deptford- road so often with his friend T. W— ss. Mr. S— tt, the renowned hatter, of Osborne- place, Black- heath, not to be so rakish, but to stay at home and attend to his wife a little more. How about the poor girl at Green- wich? 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. The Misses M— h and JB— s, and the girls generally of Blackheath- hill, not to look so much after J— n L— e, who passes on the Blaekheath omnibus daily, as Miss S— w has already made an impression on his heart. Mr. G—, the cook at C— s, of Clay- hill, Bcckenham, not to make so free with her master's ale, as it causes her to fall out with her fellow servants. How about Tunbridge Wells? C— s M— y, of the Mason's arms, Dartford, not to put his name down to raffles, and when he finds he has lost refuse to pay the money. Mr. J— n J— d, butcher, of Bromley, to be more civil to his customers. lie must recollect there are other places in the town where meat is to be got, quite as sweet as at the shop in the market- place. Miss M. M— f, of New- street, Gravescnd, not to be seen at the Institution so often, nor walking with so many different young men, when she knows she is engaged. Beware young lady, or we may inform the lawyer's clerk of it. G— e M— y, Jun., Marsham- street, Maidstone, to conduct himself with more propriety, or perhaps he may have to go to coal- heaving again. Mrs. E—, the milkman's wife, ( and his daughter), of Crayford, not to spend so much time on Sunday mornings in looking after that young man; and not to deny themselves to the packman when he calls for the shilling. Mr. T— s G— s, the builder's son, of ^ ewisham, to act more like a man now ho has got a wife, and look more after his father's business; likewise not to be so cruel to the cats and dogs. Miss M. E— s ( alias Poll of Star- street), to be more cir- cumspect when she is going up the Grove with Mr. R— g—, bet- ween 1 and 2 o'clock in the morning. Mr. H— y V— n, of Union- street, Chatham, not to think every girl that looks is in love with him, neither that he is so good- looking. He had better pay more attention to a cer- tain lady of Rochester, Paul thinks it a very good chance for you, Henry. MISS F— d, not to he seen walking about with a stoker, in Chatham dockyard. M. M— e, alias the Buffalo Gal, of Tayler's- lanc, Syden- ham, to look out for a place, instead of being indebted to G-. L— e, alias the Wells- lane Boar, for a temporary home. T. M— e, not far from Well's- Lane, Sydenham, to look after his daughter M— a, or between the corporal and the Well's- lane boar he may be made a grandfather. Tommy W— b, the conceited constable, of East Peckham, not to he continually annoying his neighbours ( especially Mr. Palmer, of the Rose and Crown, whom he brought before a magistrate for having his disgracefully charged work valued). We fully coincided with the worthy magistrate in reprimanding you, and dismissing the case. Where did the fence poles come from to make Mr. C— n's gate? DEPTFORD.— H. A— s, of High- street, Deptford, near the Railway Station, to attend more to his master's business, and not to think it is all right with M— y • A— n, of Royal- place, Greenwich. Mr. If— n, of the Lower Road, ( alias Ratling Tom), to keep his daughter more at home, and not let her go to the captain's house, at Greenwich so often, or he will soon be- come a Grandfather. Mrs. W. S— r, of Church- street, Deptford, not to be so fond of nursing other people's children, at tho same time making parties think they are her own, if she is so fond of them, why not endeavour to get one? E. M— t, the Bricklayer's boy, ( alias Bible- baclc), not to come out in his father's clothes, on Sunday's. How about the poor girl in Griffiin- street. Deptford? J. C— s, Junr. the long Lighterman, of Butcher Row, Deptford, not to go to the King's- head, in Church- street, so often, and brag about his earnings. How about the grave- digger's daughter? Miss S. B— y, fashionable dress- maker, and self- taught piano forte player, of George- street, not to bounce so much with that mosaic gold chain, and Geneva watch, as they do not look at all consistent. GREENWICH.— The cook of the Gloucester Coffee- house, Greenwich, to pay more attention to stewing eels and not so much to the barmaid. How about the gin, behind the Screen? p k, of Greenwich, not to be quite so attentive to the ladies of Gutta- percha- row, as we are sure it will not be pleasing to Miss 0— d. Shirtless Dick, the Iron- monger's boy, of Greenwich, to leave off his stays as well as chewing tobacco. S. R d, of Bexley- place, not to talk to tho boys in tho field, when taking the young gentleman to school. Ann B— p, and Mary M— s, at the post- office, Nelson- street, to be a little more decent in their talk to young men. Paul knows more than he will tell at present. Mrs. E— s, of Church- street, ( opposite the old church), Greenwich, not to interfere with the shop business so much and to be a little more particular with her way of addressing her servants. Mr. E. A— y, of Bath- place, Wellington- street, to come up to the scratch with M. P— e, of Crown- street. How about the Tea party? Dr S e, of Charlton- terrace, to practice on some strong- jawed barbarian without feeling, before he attempts to draw another lady's tooth. Mr. T. E— h, the Cork- legged foreman of the locomotive department, Wolverton, not to lower the new engine- driver's wages, imagining that he will get his increased by so doing. Mr. D n, of Woolwich, the Barber of Artillery- place to think and boast less of his respectability. Miss M. G— s, of the Chandler's- shop, Mill- hill, Woolwich, to attend more to her Mother, and not be seen so often with that Arsenal boy. How about the young doctor. ESSEX. T s s , the foreman(?) at the Hornchurch brewery, to attend more to his own duties, and not lay fictitious charges against the men in the yard, in order to get them discharged. How about taxing the men - with having drank six gallons of porter from the cask? Look out, Thomas. Mr. R. W— t, the curly- headed butcher of Wanstead, not to kiss the housemaid at II— S— s, and not to knock at the door and say he is her brother. Oh! Mr. B—, drop those bad habits. j s H— d, Woodford conductor, not to fancy every girl in love with him, although he has had a little money left him; it will not last for ever. A-— d H— y, printer, of Hornchurch, not to send for Dr. u— r to extract teeth on a Sunday. Mr. A. W— t, saddler, of Hornchurch, not to hire a three- legged horse to go a journey. How do you get on about I. S—' s beef? ' J II s— s, carpenter, not to go strutting about so much with his girl; he had better stay at home, and pay the tailor and the poor washerwomen. 0 E— T— n, of the Union Foundry, Hornehorcb, not to drink so much gin, and not to interfere so much about others. J— s S— t, of Leyton, Essex, not to visit the farmer's daughter, Miss B— t, not to brag about his money, nor go in a donkey- cart to the races. He wants a nurse more than he wants a wife. SURREY. R— d S— n, alias Fat Dick, of the Union Arms, Union- road, Clapham, not to lark with the little girl named H— t, living at Park- cottage. Miss C— 11, of Mitcham- common- side, not to interfere so much with other persons affairs, and not to tell people publicly she is in want of a husband. Miss E. T— y, of the Castle inn, Lower Tooting, to be a little more polite to the customers, and pay a little less atten- tion to Mr. R— d D— t. Miss A. P— h, the long housemaid, of Weston- green, not to fret so much at the loss of the straight- haired footman, as she may get a curly one now. How about Astley's. Miss A. A— s, ( the Thames Ditton Angel), not to go out with Mr. G— alone, but to take her mamma and papa with her for protection. Mr. T. W—- er, the butchcr, of Thames Ditton, to use Rowland's Maccassar, and not so much mutton fat to his hair. How about the girl over the Common? Mr. R— t S— e, of Croydon, to pay more attention to his lady, and not go walking other persons out when they are away from home. If he shovld attend to this, he would bo doing justice to his lady, himself, and other persons. How about the tanning you had at the Rose and Crown? F— k S—- n, of Long Ditton, not to strut out with the tall housemaid at Miss B—' s. E— d B— d, not to frequent B— d S— t, Greenwich, or stand clear of the painter's son. The Misses D— s, of Richmond- green, when they hear of any young woman who is going to be married not to speak of her in such terms, nor call her by such disrcspectfnl names. Miss M. B— t, of Upper Mitcham, to think more of S— n, the policeman, and not flirt about with so many other young men. Mr. P. W—, coach builder of Richmond, to pay more at- tention to Miss J. E—, the girl of Googe- street, and not to hang about the corners so much with the three Misses C— s, of the butcher's shop. Mrs. E. B—, the well known wife of Mr. J. B., of Mortlake, to keep at home with her children at nights, and not to be seen walking about with certain people whose occupations are known to us. Mr. C. B., the brewer of the above place, not to buy the . young ladies so many dresses and pay the deposit on shawls, as the railway blacksmith has made up his mind to walk her i out in the evening. ! Mrs. II— gs, of Crown- court, Lower Mitcham, not to fre- quent the King's Head so much on Saturday nights. Go home, dame, and close your house a little earlier; not keep it open all hours of the night Sally, you are going on any how! Mr. D. B— t, otherwise Darkey, of Bedford- hill, Balham- hill, not to go out at night, and then he will not have the jaw- ache. You hypocrite, no wonder you have no cash for the almanacs. R— d, the gardener, at Mitcham- hall, to do a little more work himself, and not drive the poor men about so much, nor order them to call him master. It will be better for him to pay more attention to the garden, and less to a married woman in the Causeway of Mitcham. Mr. P— s, of South- street, Dorking, not to attend any more public dinners, unless he can do it without feeling so very unwell the day after. Take Paul's advice, who is cer- tain that sort of indulgence generally affects the system. A little school- boy, living in Meeting- house- lane, Peck- ham, not to be so fond of those girls in Shard's- place, nor be seen again in their company, or he will hear further. Mr. T— r, the clock- mender, of Church- street, Kingston- on- Thames, ( well known as the devil's ambassador), not to let his wife browbeat his customers so much. Set about re- forming her bad habits, and make her join a teetotal society. Mrs. F— h, the baker's wife, of Cliurch- street, Kingston- on- T—, not to be so puffed up with pride, but to remember the time when she was such an " out and out ookey." The brandy- faced landy of the Dolphin, not beat her dear old A— w so often, nor yet make herself such a rum looking guy with her Marabout plumage. Paul wants to know why she is called boatswain Charlotte. C. M—, at the Locomotive, Richmond, to mind his master's business, and not to visit the cook at the Queen's Head quite so often. What will the bricklayer say when he knows of it? B— n R— s, the conductor, not to complain to his master of other men, taking his time and abusing him, when he is so capable of doing the same thing himself. G— e P— s, the coachman, not to brag to people about losing so many thousands at races. How is it you could not make a do of it at the Three Spies or at the White Horse? Miss II—, dressmaker, of Lower Tooting, to keep her petticoats lower, and not show so much of her spindle legs when she goes out walking of an evening, in Church- lane, with her married favourites. Mr. T. C— k, of the works at the alms houses, Garret- lane, not to think so much of himself as a musician, when he comes among us again. He looks far better on the Sun- day with Miss N.—, dressmaker, of Lower Tooting. If it is more congenial to his feeling, what about the walks? Paul will visit Tooting shortly again, having another tale to infold. Mrs. C— e M— e, the blacksmith's wife, of Lower Tooting, not to talk so much about her husband's poor sister. It is not many weeks since her brother, died in the Croydon Union, a pauper. Miss E— S—, the pork butcher's daughter of Church- street, Kingston, when she goes to work to put gloves on before she leaves home, and not stop at Mr. G— ' s, the iron- monger's, in the London- road. Mrs. I— e, of Maismore- square, Peckham, to keep her seven daughters more at home, and not let them be flirting about with all the young boys in the neighbourhood, to the annoyance of many respectable families. We know the widow is trying to get husbands for them all, and no doubt would like to catch one for herself afterwards. Paul also advises her not to entice young lads into her house for the same purpose against the will of their friends. Take this hint, old lady, for Paul is upon the look out, and you may hear from him again. Mr. G. H. flash coachman, at Mr. J. B—' s, Denmark Hill, to pay more attention to his wife, and less to the cook at the Fox; how about being caught with her in the dark alley? It is disgusting in a married man. The Brixton Punch, alias the Bull Dog, not to be so nice in the fit and colour of his garments. Paul- thought he looked quite rude in his new coat:— all the girls now will fall in iove with him. That is right. " Mr. C— n, laceman, ( near the Plough, Clapham,) not to talk about his neighbours, and not to frequent the Bowyer Hotel quite so much, or else he will have his wife after him". Mrs. P— e, and her sistor, to be a little more discreet and not to be seen talking to, nor frequenting the dark lanes with Mr. G. R—, of Marsh- gate- road, Richmond. Jr- s C— r, the oounterjumper of Wandsworth, ( at a cer- tain draper's opposite the church), to mind his own business, attend to his shoe- shop, and not go so much to the back door after the servant of a certain Solicitor opposite. She says she is disgusted with his inquisitive spirit. T. W. S—, tailor, of Union- court, Richmond, not to think so much of the dressmaker. Miss C. E— s. of Lock's- lane, Mitcham, not to charge the child to J— n M— g this time. How about riding with the Lower Mitcham carrier, and the carriers from Merton, when going after the Regulars? E. C— r, the coal- heaver's daughter, of Red Lion- street, Richmond, to dress more becoming, and not to make such a fool of herself. It was but the other day she wore the leaden badge and the charity blue. F. II— r, the noted barber, of Merton, to keep his wife from a certain lodging- house in the boroug'h. MITCHAM.— H. H— t, the red- headed baker, neartheSwan, to look out sharp for his young mistress, and attend better to her mother's business. H. G— w, the coach- painter, of Mitcham, to think no more of the tailor's wife, of Tooting. Miss C. B— t, the conceited dressmaker, of Upper Mitcham, not to be seen with Lazy Dick. Miss A. H— s, of the Common, to be careful of her cha- racter. How does she get on with Sam the singing tailor? Mr. S. M— e, senior, of Eig's- marsh, to dispose of certain furniture in the barn, and settle a ftw standing accounts. He could lay out the remainder part in experiments. BRIGHTON. The directors and guardians of the poor to elect Mr. G. Geeze to the vacant situation. Paul personally knows him to be a clever man, and an honourable member of all the me- dical societies. This is no quackery. Messrs. C— y and W— n, the auctioneers, to be more ex- plicit in future, than they appeared in the announcement of the Keymer estate. Paul nearly put his foot in it, by autho- rising a party to hid, but he finds it necessary to be at the sale himself. Mr. Isaac M— s, of the King's- road, to send us no more " Stogumber pale ale." It sent us on our backs, and we ex- claimed with Cassio:— " Oh! that a man should put an enemy in his mouth." Every one in Brighton to pay a visit to the Spanish Giant now exhibiting at the Sea House Assembly Room. This freak of nature is really worth witnssing. The lady who is about retiring from her old established business in James's- street; to consider that she is making something like a sacrifice. Twenty- five pounds lust but a little time, unless as we are informed her intended husband can couple with it his two pounds per week. That will be right. Mr. G— t, the would- be king of publishers, not to think he has, or ever will have the power to crush Paul, or any person selling Paul's publication. Mr. C. H— y, bookseller, not to imagine he can sing " the Death of Nelson." How about the three trunks, Charley? BERKSHIRE. The young men that have got any regard for themselves, to be a little cautious of a certain lady of Eton ( S— a J s.) It would be more becoming of her to attend to the child. Mr. W. L— k, the well known turn- coat of Braywick Road, Maidenhead, to think of the widow next door. The account has been long standing. The two Miss B— rs, dressmakers, of William- street, Windsor, to attend more to their business, instead of of walking the streets with so many of the life guardsmen. Mr. II--- y C— n, of Thames- street, Windsor, not to spend so much of his time at the Crispin of a night, but to stay at home and take his uncle's parcels out. The boy, G--- e O— r, at the grocer's, Castle- street, Wind- sor, not to stand at the top of Peascod- street, biting his stick, and passing remarks on every female who passes by. The housemaid, at No. 15, Park- street, Windsor, not to wear so much bustle, nor swing her tail quite so much as she walks the street; also not to be seen with the life guardsman. Mr. Wm. S— n, groom to Mr. S. Y—- 11, surgeon, High- , street, Eton, not 100 miles from the Adam and Eve public house, to be more careful when he goes in his bed- room to look over his papers, & c., and not to be caught kissing the maid servant. Mr. J— n W— e, painter, at Mr. F— n's St. Mary's, Butts, Reading, not to tell lies about the teetotal ragman. T— s D— n, the long- nosed waiter at the Orkney Arms, Maidenhead, not to go so often over the way after that con- ceited maid of all work. Does he forget the young woman and her child at Brighton? Mr. J— s B— e, at the tobacco shop, High- street, Windsor, not to run after the ladies so much, but to look after his master's business. BUCKS. A. L— e, the Baker, of Slough, not to be seen talk- talking with so many married Women, when he is out with the cart. We saw you tho other day in S h, old fellow? NORWICH. Miss S. C— e. at the back of St. Stephen's not to be so proud. She was very poor once, till a certain gentleman adopted her. A certain horse- dealer's man of the name of R— y, not to send his coat to his uncle's. Mr. W. H— d, of King- street, to keep to the poor shoe- binder. Mr. T— n, of St. Paul's ( near the Bee- hive), to keep" a little more at home with his wife. Mr. R— n, Cork- cutter, Brigg- street, St. George's not to stop out so late at night, keeping his poor mother up. The Clown of Abbott, at Norwich fair, never again to tell the people in front that he came from Batty's in London, Paul knows different. A certain clerk in the employ of Mr. S— ft, Chair manu- facturer near Charing cross, not to be proud, because he is not so pretty as he might have been. Wm. D— x, Jun. at the Trumpet- inn, St. Stephen's to be a little more civil to his ther's customers. DERBY. Young J— n, junior clerk to Messrs. S— n and F r ( the highly respectable solicitors) of Derby, to pay at- tention to our admonition, which is given with the purest feeling, and seriously intended for his good. The present giddy course you are pursuing is full of danger— alike inju PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 7 rious to your good name and future prospects. Your fre- quent visits to the meadows, in company with Miss C— n, are observed by Paul. For your own benefit, reform, young man: for the peace and happiness of your family, reform. Give up the connection, and we shall consider you a sensible fellow; if you longer pursue it, a series of evils will inevita- bly follow, which ultimately must lead to destruction. Be warned by one who has seen the world, BRISTOL. The under- waiter at the Swan Hotel, not to trouble the lady's maid from Vellette Lodge, Clifton, to visit him so often. George E— s, of Thomas- street, to stay at home more of an evening, and not to visit the old apple women, likewise to have a higher opinion of his wife, she is well deserving a better partner. PORTSMOUTH. Dandy C— r, not to be seen in the neighbourhood of Warblington- street, so often looking for amusement at a reduced price. Mr. W— t, the chemist, of High- street, not to be so fond of getting females into his house, and not to make so much use of the tine, of Cantharides. Mr. C— r, senr. not to he led into so much vice and infamy by his neighbour D. L— y, the lopping jew. X. P— n's father to look after him, as he is keeping a woman. Query, who first set the example? Young S— r, the butcher's boy, at D— s, Commercial- road, not to visit houses of ill- fame so often. Mr. G— n, the surgeon, to treat his poor patients better. Mr. F— s, shoemaker, of Union- road, to wash his face and put on a clean shirt oftener. Mr. J—, of Charlotte- street, the butcher, not to he so beastly about his shop and meat. What are your made of? SWANSEA. The young ladies of this town, to be more particular in future, as he is now peeping into every corner. Miss T— e, of the Quay- parade, not to flirt, as she has done of late, certainly one sweetheart is enough at one time. The shopmen, at the great tea- shop, not to wink so much at the ladies, if they do not drop it, we must get them a very severe reprimand. J. C— n, the bread baker's son, of High- street, not to visit such low dancing houses as he has of late. If he does, his mother will have to use the birch. THE ROTUNDA— BLACKFRIARS ROAD. THE other night, as we were wending our way through this vast metropolis of immense wealth and extreme poverty, our progress was intercepted in Blackfriars Road by a concourse of individuals ( principally little boys and girls) assembled in front of the Rotunda, where a variety of performances are nightly enacted. On one side of the door, stands a man bellowing to the public, as loud as a gin- and- beer- destroyed voice will allow him, " Step liinside to the salune of harts, an ave your like- ness taken— only one penny." On the other side of the door, a touter assails your ears with:—" Jist a- going to commence;— the most extrordin'ry performances of the second- sited boy— the real conjurer, and the real Ethiopian seranaders— one penny— one penny!" What with their bawl- ing, and the horrid noise emanating from some musical instruments, we fancied ourselves in Bartholomew Fair. ' Ever anxious to lay before our readers all kinds of in- formation ( and expose vice in every grade), we entered— paid our money to a Jew- looking individual, with a dirty little bit of hair, meant for an imperial; for although the great majority of persons connected with public amusements rail at foreigners, still they ape their greatest foibles. We received our check, and proceeded up the passage; when, just by the wheel of fortune, we were nearly thrown upon our back by two large women who came waltzing down the centre, the tallest one trying to snatch at our useful article which we carry in front— our eye- glass— which, by our suddenly shrinking back, her purpose was frustrated. We then gave the check to a greasy- looking individual, and ushered our noble self into tho theatre— where a motley crew presented themselves to our view. Here were the once- successful courtezan, now glad to go to any place where obscene jests and lewd observations would drive away the damning tliought of what she once was— here the bold, unblushing prostitute, and the skulking petty thief — the young and uninitiated— all huddled together; some smoking short pipes, others gambling, after their peculiar style. While taking a minute survey of this living pano- rama of vice and wretchedness, we saw mothers ( with their suckling babes), one of whom was seated near the stage, her dress wide open, giving nature's food to the young innocent in her arms. A eoalheaver cried out to her:— " I say, missus, arn't you ashamed o' yerself; hexposing yer busums like that ere?" " Ashamed, be d - d," why, for two pins" ( here she used an expression far too lewd for our columns.) A sudden confusion drowned tho remainder of the sen- tence. Three attempts were now made to draw up the curtain, each one being attended with coarse, disgusting jests. At last the thing was accomplished— when Miss Edwards, and Messrs. Davies, Hanley, and Voy, made their appearance. These parties certainly sing and play very well; indeed, far too well for such a place. We admired Mr. Laurence's solo on the concertino, but were sorry to see him in so de- praved a locality. A hornpipe finished the night's amuse- ment. Now, far be it from our wish to attempt the putting down of any cheap and rational amusement for the hard- working, ill- paid, over- taxed, yet tried- to- be- persuaded best- governed people in the world. Still, such dens— such hindrances to public business— such stepping- stones to vice and demorali- zation— where prostitutes and pickpockets, of the lowest grade, congregate to contaminate tho youth of both sexes— will we lash, aye ( and severely too), until the occupiers, if not compelled by law, do in very shame close their doors, and seek a better life. THE CLOWN AND THE CRITIC.— A celebrated clown once produced on the stage a nasty old rusty sword. " This," said he, " is the sword with which Balaam smote his ass." One of the audience replied, " I thought he had no sword, but only wished for one." " You are right," rejoined the clown; " and this is the very sword he wished for." There is nothing bolder than a miller's shirt, for every morning it takes a thief by the throat. The miller is not the only thief whose throat is enclosed with a shirt collar. Many a snow- white cravat encases a neck which deserves to be broken. PAUL IN THE PLAYHOUSE. HAYMARKET.— Mr. Webster, the lessee of this theatre, seems to think that any piece, no matter how trashy, has a right to be patronised when produced at his theatre. Some time since he had the bare- faced impudence to call his theatre the only home of the British actor. We should like to be enlightened as to his meaning of British actor. Does he call Charles Kean an actor? If he does we must certainly admit he is right as to the home part of the sentence, for ho seems to go and come, just when tho maggot bites him. Paul considers his absence a great blessing. What legitimate actor, then, has he got in his company? Not one— no— not a sin- gle legitimate male actor in his theatre. After mangling Will Shakspere's plays he presents to audience a play trans- lated from the French called " The Runaway Husbands," and we have no doubt, though the piece will not bring one- shilling to the treasury, he will manage to keep it in his bills till the return of the Keans, who manage, by some means, to draw pretty full houses, accountable only by the name of Kean, alas! now borne by a mere shadow. ADELPHI.— The same plan of forcing a piece is adopted at this house. People are apt to think when they see a bill from week to week announcing the same performance, that there must be something worth seeing, consequently they flock to see it and are led away contrary to their own feelings, for fear of appearing singular, to confess the piece has great merit. The performance here remains unchanged from our last. SADLERS WELLS.— Jane Shore has been revived here, and the careful management is reaping the reward they justly merit. We look with some degree of anxiety for Wednesday night, when a new play is to be produced, a full description of which, both of plot and performance, will appear in our next. En passant— we would recommend Messrs. Phelps and Greenwood to engage both a first - rate low comedian and a good chambermaid. THEATRICAL LADIES IN KEEPING. ( Old and New Pieces.) ' My Old Woman"... ... ... Mr. Charles Matliews. ' The Wife" ' The Lady of Lyons" 1 The Actress of All Work" . ' Maids, Wives, and Widows" ' The Manageress" ' My Spouse and I" ' Captain Charlotte" ... 1 The Syren" ' The Amazon" Mr. Buckstone. Mr. Macready. Mr. Osbaldiston. Mr. W. Watts. Mr. Webster. Mr. W. Farren. Mr. Barlow. Mr. Hoskins. Mr. James Wallack. PENCILLINGS ABOUT TOWN; OR, LEAVES FROM PAUL'S SKETCH- BOOK. No. 2. " WARM WATER, SIR !"— were the thrilling words which greeted our ears a few mornings since, as between asleep and awake, we heard, or rather felt that Betsy Jane had deposi- ted our customary shaving- fluid outside our chamber- door— now as we are remarkably adroit in all our movements the first thing of amorning we were out ofbed, as the saying is— in a " twinkling " while to make our toilette and descend to the breakfast parlor, was with Paul but the work of a few minutes, and here, ready seated by the cheerful fire, wo found Mrs. P. " waiting breakfast, " Impeccable Reader ! how fares it with you at breakfast time ? For ourselves, our appetite is but, " so, so," we have been noted for our delicate stomach, so that a rasher of the " real Cumberland " with a couple of eggs, and three rounds of toast generally sufficeth our abdominal capacity; but this morning having made up our mind to perform a second Pilgrimage to the East, we deem it right to qualify our last cup of tea with a thimble- ful of Cogniac; a precaution we were foolish enough to omit on a previous occasion, and severely were we punished for our neglect, with certain qualms of the stomach and a general nervousness of body which continued several days. But here comes Betsy Jane with our umbrella. Egad! we had almost gone without it, and what would the world say to that? Ah! here she comes as smiling and blooming as ever. How handsome that girl does get, and how very re- spectfully she presents our umbrella; not holding it out in a point blank direction as some awkward noodles do, like a fencer about to thrust it between your ribs. " Thank you my dear," said we, as with our blandest smile we took it gently with one hand we could not help patting her playfully on her " damask cheek," with one gloved finger ' ere she glided blushingly and bewitchingly away; We hope she wont tell !! !— but, n'importe; w'ell swear it was an accident. That Girls' wages shall be raised— whether Mrs. P. likes it or not ! but it is past 10 of the clock, we must be off, our friends east- ward have all taken their stools and business in the city may be said to have begun, but we shall not go so far east as the Lane to day; the pent- up atmosphere of this part of the big village dont suit our constitution at all, we have had a foggy saccharine taste in our throat ever since our last visit, we see pyramids of moist sugar in our sleep according as they are arranged by the shrewdest of Brokers with mathematical exactitude on small black boards, 12 inches square. The innermost folds of our umbrella are sa- turated with the odour of spices and drags; our Registered Paletot, nay our very Breeches themselves are redo- lent of the perfume of opium and orchella- weed, we are still weary with the hubbub about Bills accepted and Bills non- accepted; Bills indorsed and Bills protested. Then we have visions of Banking Houses and Wholesale Hosiery Warehouses, Joint Stock Banks, and Chests of Indigo, Railway Shares, and Spanish Liquorice; so our Friends in the East must not build on our re- appearance until our health is better established and the weather more settled. In the meantime we shall look iu on our old and esteemed friend and ex- Alderman of Fleet- street, proprietor of the W. D. he is always so glad to see us either here or at the " Abbey," besides his port is not bail and our throat is getting dry and husky— Now, my dear James, Paul never standeth on any cere- mony and he can not conceive why thou art so wroth against the Proprietors of Morrison's Pills, what have they? ( the Pills we mean) ever done to thee that thou shonldst " contumaciously turn up," the extreme tip of thy fiery nose in disgust, at the bare mention of them. Let me tell yon Sir, that these same vegetable pills have been known to make heavier men than you glad to quicken their stumps, and to exhibit a vague 4ook of apprehensiveness lest, in spite of all their adroitness they should arrive a leetle too late at the— but never mind, we can see you dont like the subject, and know we are trending on tender ground; it is. not in our nature needlessly to awaken unsavory reminiscences, or unnecessary to work on the internals of any antievacuist whatsoever, but do not, as you value your health, pray do not go thrusting your bellicose and ruby conk, so often over the back garden- wall of a certain college in the New Road crying Quack! Quack !! it dont look pretty; indeed it has a funny look, to say the least of it, to see an Elderly gent and a portly— de- liberately " commit such a Nuisance," moreover, the inmates of the said College are " waxed wroth" thereat, and we should not feel surprised, if on an early day, they were fain to administer such a Pill, that you would rather not wait for a seeond dose. Take our advice; be wise in time! keep at a safe distance; approach not too near, or you may overbalance yourself, and so tumble into the Moat and then the " Salmon " would get. another nibble at your big i would not be the first time you know, but you mnsi excuse us, tis getting late and we have one or two more calls to make. No my dear Sir. you shall not open another bottle on Paul's account, you shall not indeed— Mrs. P. shall never say we have been drinking, before we go, however, allow us to congratulate you, on your having signed articles of peace, with one Mr. Macready, we never could quite understandwhyyou, and the great Tragedian, were so long at loggerheads; spare us all explanatives, our dearest Sir! Do you take Paul for a Suckling? We know a little about " Free Admissions," and all that sort of thing, Adieu! Paul will look in the next time lie Steameth down the River, Remember us to Eliza ! !! Dear me, how the time does fly, we fully intended calling on some dozen of our Friends this morning, and here we are, in the middle of the day no farther than Fleet- street, but thanks to a sound con- stitution, and our Friend H's Ripe Port, we feel quite equal to 5 miles an hour, so we shall not be long in gaining the shady side of the Cathedral Churchyard, as we have a little business to transact, with Messrs. R— n and S— e, the ' eminent Florists, ( Artificial of course). We do admire the manner in which the Principal here contrives to conduct a flourishing trade without ever purchasing any thing. This must be a puzzler to some of your Neighbours, who would, no doubt, like to take a leaf out of your " Day- Book" and certes, however mysterious it may appear to some green- horns in this locality, the affair is no mystery to Paul a very few words, and those uttered, by Charles himself, will best explain this riddle, " You may leave ' em on Appro- bation Mister." You may stare Reader, and scratch your head, but in these few cabalistic words, lies the secret of our Friends' commercial prosperity. Fie on such meanness. Paul is quite ashamed of you, and depend upon it, if you don't Reform, and that quickly, we shall leave our umbrella, one fine day, " on Approbation." How would you like that, Sir, Eh? or how would you like for Paul to give you an order, to forward half a dozen Boxes of the newest Spring Flowers, to " his Villa, in the Regents Park, and then for Mrs. P. to select only one bunch, or perhaps half a bunch, or merely a single sprig, returning you the rest, in 3 or 4 day, s time very much out of condition, would that pay for the rural Villa at PeCkam, we should like to know? For shame, Sir, do a little, as you would be done by, or we shall certainly look in unexpectedly, some fine morning, to inspect your new stock of Flowers for the Season, which we understand, is under the care and skilful management of Miss F— on the First Floor, and although we have no desire to enact the part of Vertumnis, to this Horicultural Ponoma, yet shall we embrace the opportunity of watering her as- sortment, after our own fashion,; and with our own private machine; but it is no use talking, we may as well spare our- selves the trouble, " what is bred in the bone & c.," the only answer we should get would be, " You may leave ' em on sale, or return Mister, I never buy any thing out and out." Of course you never do, you never bought anything' out and out,' in your life, except once, a small shoulder of mutton, which you bought " a Job" after much haggling, of a butcher, near Peckliam Rye, and you could not do this without first asking the man if he " Cnddent send it on Approbation." May it be always summer time with you, Mr, R., and may your flowers never fade, may your dreams be sweet and balmy, and may you in your Flowery retirement; never be haunted by the Ghost of the " Country Milliner," ever on the look out for " Novelty," we have no patience with you, you Naughty Man, you— you— you elongated gilly- flower! You have a heart like granite, as well as a face like a oribbage board; you split pea! You cross between a turnip and a radish; you are as dry as a broomstick, and quite as sapless! Oh! you— you— you ugly man! what a pity it is your mother forgot to have you vaccinated ! !! You— you— sprig of parsley 1 ! 1 ! Paul leaves you this nosegay to smell, and bids you farewell for the present. " To morrow— for fresh fields and pastures new." From our Villa, Regents Park. SWEEPINGS FROM OUE OFFICE. " Come, Meg, he quick and make the bed; Now tuck the feet, now place the head: I'll kiss you, if you don't bestir ye." Quoth Meg, " I can't abide to hurry!" Mary brisk and gay appears, On purpose to invite; Yet, when I press her, she, in tears, Denies her sole delight. Whilst Martha, seeming shy and coy, To all her favours grants; And secretly receives that joy Which others think she wants. I would, but fear I never shall With either fair agree; For Martha will be kind to all, But Mary won't to me. RIDDLES. 1. There was a man bespoke a thing, Which when the owner home did bring, He that made it did refuse it; He that bought it would not use it; And he that had it could not tell Whether it suited ill or well. 2. My first you mostly see When fastened to a cable; My second I like to be, Whenever I am able; My whole belongs to a knight Who is no great adorner; Shape square, and colour white, With P. P. worked in the corner. 3. There is a thing was three weeks old When Adam was a score; The thing it was but four weeks old When Adam was fourscore. Answers.— 1, Coffin, 2. Handkerchief. 3. The Moon. 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. THE MURDERER FOUND. CHAPTER VI. MY SECOND DEATH- STRUGGLE. WHEN the moon no longer shone upon the face of the pale boy in the water, but was beginning to be shrouded in a mass of heavy clouds, fast floating to the zenith, and only the dark outline of the lad's form, carried along unresistingly, came now and then across the view, I sat down upon the tank: my feelings were so poignant and so acute, that, they were fast overcoming me. Thoughts so breathless, so un- usual, that though now nothing can shake me, yet were then sufficient to paralyze me. I could hear the rush of the waters far away. I could hear the dull clack of the mill- wheel; and whether the body of Peters would be struck by it or no, mattered little; for there were his night- lines still in the water— his knife— his pocket- book: everything was there to account for his loss. He had stolen out at night, and slipped by accident into the water: nothing less— no- thing more. I laughed,— a low laugh of intense satisfaction; and I thought I heard it echoed in the bushes behind me. I started, and at the instant there was a rustling among them which convinced me that there had been a spy upon my deed— that for once, my caution and cunning had been at fault. I ground my teeth with rage, at the idea that I had been so unobservant as to have allowed myself to be dogged thus. Besides, there flashed across me in a single instant, the consequences of discovery,— infamy, ignominy, perhaps death! and yet, what could the spy prove? It was impossi- ble to say that he saw me push Peters in, because it was much more likely, from my attitude at the time, that I was endea- vouring to drag the boy to the bank, and failed from his weight; only that he had cried for help, and accused me loudly enough for the hidden person to discover my inten- tion; consequently, I was, in a manner, at the mercy of this individual, whoever he was. The moon was now totally obscured, and the stars had ceased to shine; but I had been accustomed to the sort of gloomy twilight which now fell like a pall upon tbe earth. Thrusting my hand into my pocket, in the embarrassment of the moment, it came in contact with a large clasp knife; and the impulse which this gave my thought, instantly deter- mined me upon what I was to do. Crawling stealthily along the ground, I was close to the bush, and hearing an- other rustling sound, as if the spy was escaping from it, I gave a sudden bound, and instantly grasped some form or other, who remained as passive in my iron gripe as if it had been an infant. While I was pressing one hand upon his throat, and seek- ing to get hold of my knife with the other, I found that he had been made desperate by his fear, and that he was likely to give me more trouble than I had counted upon. I now wished for a gleam of moonshine, just to see his face, for I was desirous of looking on the features of my victim. I be- gan to feel a sort of terrible delight coming across me, heigh- tened by the risk I was running, and the tremendous strug- gle I knew was about to come. The struggle was growing more deadly. I had at last ex- tricated my knife, and placing the closed blade in my teeth, I was striving to drag away the haft, in order to open it, when with a bound he half rose up, and the knife was struck out of my hand. Panting and struggling, I caught his throat with both hands, and pressed till only a guttural and strangling noise emitted from the throat convinced me that he was powerless. I then relaxed the grasp of one hand, to grope in the grass for the knife, when he gave me a tremendous kick, and I was free. At the very moment, I caught hold of my knife once more Blinded with fury, and not knowing where to strike pre- cisely, I made a downward blow at random, and found that the weight, force, and certainty, had been so great, that the inife was stuck last in the bone of the head, so that I could not extricate it. At that moment, the moon shone once more upon a scene, that, to say the least of it, was shocking. Without scarcely knowing it, we had both been engaged in a terrific struggle, for the ground was torn up, and the small shoots of the branches were strewn on the beaten grass. My adversary lay on the ground, the blade of the knife was in his skull, but he was not dead. Nor do I think that the wound was mortal. He was stunned, and I had an oppor- tunity to scan his face. It was that of a lad about seventeen years of age, of great strength, and but little courage, or else he would have mas- tered me, unless perhaps my desperate condition had invested me with more than ordinary strength. He was the son of the gardener belonging to our school; a large piece of ground being rented by the principal, the Rev. G. H r, for the purpose of supplying his pupils with vegetables, owing to the distance and expense of procuring them from any other place. This lad was an idle vagabond of a fellow,— suspected of not being over honest, though willing to assist the boys in any piece of mischief they had in hand. He was an object of especial aversion to me, because he had on a former occa- sion aided me in some depredation upon the orchard in the previous autumn; in fact, his treachery was known, and rather strongly commented upon: and I felt an intense satisfaction in calmly gazing upon the pallid features of the wounded lad. At a distance, the barking of a dog was borne along on the night wind, and the sound appeared to come nearer. The river plashed too, oddly enough, as if some supernatural moanings were rising from its bosom, so that I became rather anxious to complete the deadly work, and make my escape ere it was too late. With that view I stooped down to seize the knife, and attempted to draw it out of the skull, but found that it had stuck in so fast that I at first was unable to do so, finally I wrenched it out, and thus for a moment roused the wounded lad to consciousness. He opened his eyes— his lips moved— he muttered my name " Walter," and gazed upon me so fixedly that I was fasci- nated, and then with a sudden spring as if he acted under the impulse of frenzy arising from the knife having touched the brain; he sprang upon me ere I was aware, and in an instant had me down upon the ground, and with his hands would have rent my face to pieces, as if his fingers had been the claws of a young tiger, had I not thrust my good knife re- peatedly between his ribs. It was a fearful struggle; up and down, we were by turns, hut I was fast conquering him. I felt that his warm blood was spotting my face, and that I was being drenched as well as he with his own life blood. With a hollow sob, and a shiver that ran through him from head to foot, he at last let his head droop, and sank to the ground quite dead! I drew the body to the brink of the river, and let it slide gently into the water, wheih made then no noise, not even a murmur. Tho stillness of death seemed to have fallen around, and all was darkness again. I washed my hands and face in the stream, and almost saturated my clothes, so that at least none of the blood should harden on my dress— having in my room a powerful detergent, which, without injuring anything it touched, would leave them utterly stainless, had they been ever so much marked. I theu sat down aud began to ponder over the two deeds which had been enacted, and gazed so fixedly upon those dull dark waters, that I fancied my eyes began to shine with a fierce meteoric light, till at last by an effort, I began to think how I could efface the marks which the bushes and the ground within bore such unequivocal testi- mony to. Some spots of moisture falling upon my face, recalled me from my musings. The clouds were darkening for a heavy storm, which in a few moments, after a vivid flash of light- ning, and a crash of thunder that reverberated through the sky, broke out, with a cataract of rain that made the river swell up to the edge of the bank almost immediately, and a number of small streamlets trickling downwards, convinced me that every exterior proof would be cleansed by the morn- ing, while at the same time the trampled grass would be again as thick, as green, and as fresh, as if no footstep had ever bowed it down. I was satisfied and rose to go. The knife I had carefully washed and replaced in my pocket, and in about half an hour, had noiselessly regained my little dor- mitory, for I was so situated that a small attic had been al- lotted me without anybedfellow, asapleaofsevererstudy, and a little extra payment had without difficulty managed the matter. I undressed, applied the detergent to my clothing, went to bed, and slept as if I had worked like a ploughman all day, and the next morning woke up with neither fear or concern, my consummate coolness being proof against all attack. I examined my dress, there was not a mark, and as I had taken off my shoes to go up the stairs, there was no- thing to betray me. I joined my schoolfellows at breakfast, and it was not for half an hour after we all assembled that the young boy was missing, and even his unusual absence created only a momentary surprise. It had rained hard all the night, and still the skies kept pouring down. Suffice it to say, that when the alarm was given, a hue and cry raised, and the two bodies found, ( the papers of the period are full enough of the particulars) one was found " drowned," and the other " murdered by some person or persons un- known." Every inquiry was vain, I was one of the last to be suspected, in fact no idea of such an act could attach it- self to the boys, save that several of them were questioned with regard to Peter's stealing out iu the evening. Those who did know of his absence told all they could, but nothing of consequence was elucidated. I do not trouble the reader with other minor details re- garding these dark tragedies. Some supposed that the two lads had met and quarrelled, that the one had killed the other, and in flinging the body into the water, had fallen in himself. Others again supposed other things, but all equally wide of the fact. I commented much, and supposed much on the affair, but my suppositions were ingenious enough to shift inquiries farther from the school. The recent quarrel with Peters and myself had been mentioned, and on enquiry, I was complimented on the temperate and inge- nuous manner in which I had acted towards him. Some months after this, I was taken away to London by my guardian, who had a handsome, but old fashioned house in London Wall. He intended to have me with him for a time in order that I might see a little of the metropolis previous to being sent to Eton, as he intended. In a subse quent chapter 1 shall have to inform the reader how this proposition failed in its effect. J ; In the meantime I rambled about London. Having plenty of money, and my guardian being much engaged in business during the day, and not particularly inclined to going out in the evening, I managed to see and hear much by myself. In the course of a short time I was as well ac- quainted with the gaiety and dissipation of London, as if I had been init for years. Every haunt of vice, every scene of debauchery, every temple of profligacy, I visited in turn; but I managed all so well that not a trace of suspicion ever crossed the mind of my somewhat obtuse and venerabic guardian. I plunged into these with a zest and intensity that can only be accounted for by the peculiarity of my own nature. My passions, always violent, and now unrestrained, had free scope, and the reckless manner in which I indulged in every criminal fancy, can only be equalled by my enjoyment. For a time every fiercer, blacker mood was quelled, or turned aside by a series of debaucheries, until I grew passe, satiated, i sick of them, and then there came a longing, an intense, eager, indescribable craving to enact once more one of those fearful parts in the great drama of death, which should quench the now, inordinate thirst I felt for shedding blood. It must have been a passion like that of a vampire, if there be such a thing, and the idea again having possessed me, I began to look about for the means of executing my purpose. ( To be continued in our next.) CORRESPONDENCE. *** No letter whatever ( town or country), containing more than one advice, can possibly be attended to. BOOKS RECEIVED. By Benja- By Celestial Experiences in France and England, rain Webster, Comedian. Fifty eight Years of Pleasure, on and off the Stage. Madame Vestris. The Horrors of Seduction. By James Wallack. The Chaste and Good; an Essay. By Mrs. II. P. Grattan. The Vincentonian Papers, showing the UPS and DOWNS of a Manager. By D. W. Osbaldiston. Humbug; a Tragedy, in Five Acts. By Charles Kean, Tragedian. The Love of Change; a Poem. By Miss Eliza Clayton. NEW MUSIC FROM BREAD- STREET. My own Miss Sarah. Bv W. Hughes, Typ. A little Cock- Sparrow. By W. Hall, 01. Rr. I would if I could; if I couldn't, how could I? Elton, Typ. " " By D. Mc. Lode, Esq. By Robert Reynolds, P. G. Song. By Allen, O. P. By C. Saw ye my wee thing? When I first enlisted. My god is my belly; a I THE " MODEST" MAN OF CLARE MARKET. W. B. f" Wimbledon.)— Send us your notices again. Your article came too late for our present number. MILES WIDE- A- WAKE, ( Chelsea.)— Please refer to our first notice. We are compelled to consign to the flames many letters we receive on account of the writers not abiding by that notice. If we were not particular in this respect, many of our friends would have to wait some weeks, before their friendly hints could be published. Our enlarged size, we hope, will enable us to insert all letters in our pub- lication, 14 days after receipt thereof. TUMTUM.— No doubt you would. An infamous house in the neighbourhood of Leicester square, will form the matter for a slashing article in an early answer. THESPIS.— We will pay a visit to Simmonds of the Surrey- Coal Hole, in a few days, and give a fair show- up of the den. CADMUS.— We have some slight knowledge of the affair. Send us full particulars and we will publish them. Mr. Richard Shepherd, manager of the Surrey Theatre, did, we believe, play at an unlicensed theatre, one penny and two- pence being the charge for admission to gallery and pit. SOPHIA.-— We are extremely thankful for your flattering note. It has ever been and ever will be, while we are public jour- nalists, to expose vice in every grade; be it in the circles of the rich, or the dens of infamy of the poor and vicious. REPROVERS.— To the first part of your letter we can only say we are sorry your search should have been fruitless; to the other portion we must add that we can defy any journal to produce a more spicy ( without vulgarity) article than our DISSIPATION. It is a tale that would not bring a blush upon the cheek of any female however modest she might be. As to the talent displayed in its construction, Reproversmust bear out the general opinion, viz.:—" That it is the finest satire on aristocratic life ever penned, and deserves to be printed in letters of gold." These are the words of one of the greatest writers of the present day, of whose good opinion Paul is justly proud. The word of one wise man is of more worth than the approval of a thou- sand fools. We give Reprovers every credit for his sincerity and good wishes, begging he will just glance over our pre- sent number and see if it is more to his taste; at the same t; me we beg you to understand that we wish to be " the Reformer of the Age," and not the corrupter. The double size of Paul is scarcely a sign of our falling off in public estimation. We have increased because the profits will allow it, and in order to oblige our numerous correspond- ents whose letters are completely overwhelming us. VOLENS.— Mr. Charles Mathews was intended by his father, for an architect. JULIEN.— If you would favour us with the names and descrip- tions of the parties, we will drop in some evening and report progress. Your advice in our next. MARMONTEL.— Perry and Co. are notorious quacks, and all our wonder is how people can allow themselves to be taken in by such ignorant scamps. If your friend will send us the full particulars with his proper name and address we will gladly insert them. A FRIEND.— Too heavy? Well, we think you will not bo able to find fault with us for the future. We shall have columns for the grave and the gay, for the readers of the horrible and the romantic loving Miss, racy paragraphs and delicious poetry, all tending to morality, besides various columns of our valuable advice, the whole forming a jour- nal fit to be placed upon the library table, or into the hands of the softer sex without the fear of bringing a blush to the cheek of modesty. Paul, thank heaven, can pride himself upon this. PHILLIS.— Send again, we would not willingly disoblige our fair friends for all the world. PUBLIC us.— Send us the names of the parties. Paul would much rather visit public houses, and test the quality of the liquors served, than trust to an unknown writer, who for some petty spite might dispraise both the articles and the proprietor of the place. COTHERSTONE.— The exact date of the undying Widdicomb, is uncertain; but we believe he must have been born some- what before the great fire of London, as his recollections regarding the same, according to himself, are vividly en- graven on his mind. The only way we can account for his juvenile appearance is,— that he has discovered the elixir of life, and swallowed a few drops of the revivifying cordial. MACLAUCHLAN.— We have written to Messrs. ftobinsons' of' your town, and hope by our next day of publication, to announce them as our agents. LYNX.— We fully agree with your strictures upon the conduct of Mr. Baron Piatt during the trial of Drouet, which can- not be read without much anguish of heart. The inex- pressible sadness of its details, is not relieved by Mr. Baron Piatt's jocoseness. ROBERT.— Rush's own rigmarole defence but strengthened the case against him, and, in short, it may be truly said that the rope which hung him was of his own twisting. HONESTUS.— The statement relative to the treatment of the unfortunate steerage passengers in packet- boats shall re- ceive attention. 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. MASN.— Glasgow: W. LOVE, Nelson- street.— Derby: BROOKES, St. Alkmund's- churchyard.— Leicester: BILLSON, Bellgrave- gate.— Beverley: WARD, Butcher- row.— Banbury: BUNTON, Cherwell- street.— Sheffield: ROGERS, Fruit- market.— Brighton: TOORLE, 07, Edward- street.— Newcastle- on- Tyne: FRANCE & Co., 8, Side.— Bradford, Yorkshire: W. COOKE, Vicar- lane. This worthy individual, not content with being the greatest fishmonger in the market, has actually opened a butcher's shop; and in his usual style bawls out to the public to come and look at his r imp, only 6d. per pound; fine breasts only 3^ d per pound; and splendid legs and shoulders, fresh and cheap. His meat is of such an excellent quality that half the in- habitants of the market have been mortally ill during the past week, they not having been used to such high living This being the case, the ," Modest Man " says it affords him a capital opportunity t ® open a doctor's shop, which he in- tends doing in a few days; and afterwards, if luck should at- tend him, he asserts ( swears I was going to say) he will start a cheap burial company. Row IN A HOUSE.— Passing down a street, the other day, saw a little boy crying; asked him what was the matter: he told me that his daddy was drunk, and his poor mother was dead; the old cow have got a calf; Sarah's got married, and run away with the spoons; Peter has swallowed a pin; Rose split the butter- pot, and broke the pancakes; and one of the ' kittens got her head ihto the treacle jar, and couldn't get it out; and, oh dear me, how hungry I am! [ Advertisement.] TO THE THEATRICAL WORLD! Published every Wednesday, beautifully Illustrated, price only One Penny, Eight Quarto Pages ! fTHE STAGE- MANAGER- A Weekly Journal of Dramatic Literature and Criticism. This periodical is acknowledged to be the cheapest and best work of the kind issued from the press. Its contents are varied: consisting of Essays on Theatrical matters; Memoirs of Eminent Living Actors and Actresses; occasionally glancing at some of the brightest ornaments of the Stage in past times; Criticisms on the Performances at our London and Provincial Theatres; Anecdotes; all the Green- room Gossip of the Week; Poetry; & c. The only correct Memoir of EDMUND KEAN is now in course ofpublication in the STAGE-" MANAGER. OFFICE :— 12, RUSSELL- COURT, BRTDGES- STREET, STRAND. Printed and Published for the Proprietors, by G. EDWARDS, at the Office, 12, Russell- court, Brydges- street, Strand, where alt commu- nications to the Editor are to be addressed,