ENLARGED SEMES* " IT IS A VIRTUOUS ACTION TO EXPOSE VICIOUS MEN/' No. 28.— NEW SERIES.] PUBLISHED WEEKLY. [ PRICE ONE PENNY. PREPARING FOR THE BALLET. MARONE; or, THE WINE OF LOVE-! CHAPTER I. THE EXORDIUM. IK presenting to the reader these pages, in which are de- picted the vices of an arrogant class, and which generally implicate mankind, the writer is aware that he stands on slippery ground. In contrasting the vicious with the virtuous of both sexes> it will also be discovered that the difficulty of drawing an exact line of demarcation is also as great. But by lifting up the veil, and by a daring and fearless exposure of that hereditary propensity for inordinate volup- tuousness which marks the physiological annals of one class of men; which also has, by means to be hereafter described, received the sanction of and become a custom among men, by shewing how it is that there exists in the bosom of so- ciety— nourished, and fostered, and pampered as it is— a terrible scourge, that desolates all within its reach ( and its circle is one of appalling extent),— we believe that we shall be doing good scVvice; and in addition, by exhibiting the con- trast between patrician debauchery, and that plebeian virtue which is impassive to the seductions of pleasure; we shall show the distinct phases of existence, as exemplified in our every- day life. Let us suppose, for an instant, that a man is born of a lofty line, whose ancestral origin comprehends the names of the Tudors, the Plantagenets, or the Wnrwicks; that his wealth is enormous r that the farmers and labourers on his estate count by hundreds; that his lands are as extensive as a palatinate; that he is clothed in purple and fine linen; and that he is surrounded with cringing menials, who fawn like spaniels, and crouch at his feet, while they are insolent to the menials of a lower grade around them, in proportion as they are slavish and abject to the being whom they serve as their deity. Let us suppose, also, that his childhood is a soft and silken splendour: he breathes a charmed atmosphere, redolent of luxury and ease: his nature is distorted, and checked or expanded into an artificial channel, by which the great bond of brotherhood becomes a subject unknown. From the " Countess " mother, whose imposing state he is accustomed to daily, down to the lady's maid and waiting woman,— all is one series of honeyed flattery and kisses; and he grows up in the midst of an almost blasphemous adu- lation, impressed With the idea that he must necessarily be of a different order of humanity to the living hundreds he beholds around. But all surrounding him, In principle and in practice, is lax, loose, and immoral; and with a tendency to enjoyment in every exaggerated sense of the word, this diseased predis- position to an unmanly and emasculating luxury, encou- raged, refined into an art— the boy grows up to bo of an age for college. Then begins the unrestrained round of pleasure— of dissi- pation— of debauchery. The wine party, and the dice- box, and the enchanting courtezan, are auxiliaries that every in- dividual around him, from one motive or other, aid to contri- bute as their quota. They become pandars and parasites for him, and thus the fearful lessons daily taught him become more and more an actual rule of life, till at last, habituated to a complete and f- cientific course of profligacy, he is utterly unable to restrain his passions, or to pause in his career. He looks to every renewed orgie as to i stimulus that he can- not exist without;— he is initiated soul and body. At sixteen, this young scion of nobility, then, had his al- lowance of money by thousands, his horses and carriages, of all kinds and sizes, in stablinn; like barracks, separate chambers, though his noble father lid a magnificent mansion with chambers enough to have lodjcd in luxury a regiment of men. He was initiated behind the scenes of the opera, where he speedily picked up a mistress, and in fine he soon had several with whom he exchanged the slang of the Hay market till they exceeded him. Hebecame the cynosure of a voluptuous pandemonium, where he soon outstripped all his younger or elder competitors in the frightful excesses he was initiated, until he was enabled to tutor his teachers. At nineteen he had killed his man in a duel at Chalk, farm, and the lessons of Angelo had made him a complete master of the small- sword, so that confident in his audacity, ski, l, and courage, he was sometimes tempted to play the bully. It was thus he insulted, fought, and killed a young man who was the sole hope of his widowed mother. It was the same evening, also, that he boasted of it with his cigar in his mouth, and cham- paigne in his glaES, surrounded by the demireps of the theatre, and by notorious men about town— consciousness, urbanity, considerations for others— all lost in the lordly haughtiness that had made his nature of a character like that of Caligula, or the infamous Tiberius. It is this person we are about to introduce to the reader. It is sometimes beneficial to humanity to parade such a human wild beast before them. We have not began with him at the beginning, but simply by way of exordium. We take him really when his career was over, not when it was commencing; but we have also, an excellent reason for so doing. We commence with him, now that he is an artist in that deplorable arena of lust, w here, experienced even tosatiation, in the mysteries of love, taught him in the society of the de- praved and libidinous wanton^. who drank, smoked, and were aufa. it in every detail of thejr frightful trade. Nature had highly * endued him, strong, handsome, well- shaped. Ardent, impetuous— even to madness, when the impulse of the terrestrial Venus was in the ascendant over < him; his constitution was like iron, an enigma to the physi- cians, who could not conceive hojv a frame so slight coiild' withstand such unnatural excesses. CHAPTER II. THE VOWJPTUAltr. Oun story opens in the month of Afarch, 18—; and the scene is laid in one of those magnificent old mansions, whose win- dows opened out upon St. James' Park. The chamber was lofty, and of large proportion each way. The ceiling was studded with arabesques of snowy whiteness, and gilded beading lined its edges. Some of the more orna- mental portions in the centre, also gleamed with the same burnished metal. The walls were covered with a paper of red crimson, which had a semblance to richly flowered velvet. Several recesses were filled with statues and costly pictures; but the jpaintings were like, those of the infamous Aretine; and the'ure sculptures of rare grace arid beauty, formed a startling contrast to the glowing forms on the canvass, the subjects of which were taken from Ovid, and the warm my- thologies of the most licentious of the Pagan ages. The curtains which effectually hid the large windows, were of crimson, and bound ill golden cords, and fell in vast massive lolds to the ground. The carpet was of a yielding texture, into which the feet sunk to the ancles, while the softness of the warm flowers so richly wrought, harmonised with the colourings of draperies around. On the superb furniture lay every article of useless luxury, that the most tortured imagi- nation could invent; but the cost was incalculable, and the elegance indescribable. It was an indication of a wealth, those costly wares of silver and gold; which betrayed taste in the profusion, rather than in the selection; and while the sculptures bespoke an intelligence and refinement of mind in their choice and judgment, the glaring, the over- splendour, 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 2 the roccoco style as that capricious magnificcnce is termed; and the- finely executed, though execrably designed paintings, were all expressive of depravity that contaminated the purest taste that may have at any time instigated their possessor to gather this costly heap, together. Here then, was a man, of apparently seventy years of age, broken, shattered, exhausted,— all but dead. The outline of his profile was bold, handsome, and haughty. There was an expanse of brow denoting a power- ful intellect, a nose, on the formation of which Napolco. ti. would have hazarded aicampaign, with its owner for the Marshal of his armies* a mouth, that was firm, cold, . almost cruel in the very mussiveness of its clasp; while the languid, lifting of the eyelids now and then, exhibited a pair of eyes whose brilliancy was not yet dimmed. The cheeksarert sunken, the brow furrowed, the dark eye- brows gathered over the orbs till their faint gleam could hardly be seen. The fearful tenuityof the hand, gave it the semblance of an anatomical cast, painted of tho livid hue of a corpse, while the skin of the face was ghastly, fallen down- wards, as if the muscles beneath were all shrunk and wasted away, leaving the skin clinging to the bones of the face. This was Lord Arhmd Arlenden,; a man of only eight and forty years of age, who had'gone through every fearful excess that the ingenuity of pimps, pandars, and prostitutes, could invent; who had plunged with a ferocious enthusiasm allied to insanity, into the impure ocean of a life, black and putrid, with unnameable vices. He was reclining thus, neither asleep nor awake; neither alive nor dead; neither active nor passive.. He only regretted that his miserable body wag no longer .. under his controul, his imagination was as " warm and vigorous as ever; but he was now hideously paralysed from head to foot; and liis once black hair, was scant, grey, and ragged. His senses, dulled even to' destruction, almost by his pre- mature excesses, were still a prey to unnatural excitement. His wine was always impregnated with brandy of the most powerful distillation. The most pungent currics and condi- ments of the East were required to arouse his vitiated palate; and he was now compelled to live upon the most miserable and meagre fare, his luscious wines by the strict orders of his physician, finding a substitute in toast and water. Thus like a baffled wild beast, whose spine is broken in liis career, he was obliged to give in, nature was exhausted, and the patrician called in the physician, to whom he committed the whole detail of his case, with a correctness of physiolo- gical, and pathological correctness, that must have appalled ii man of less satig froid than Lord Arlenden. The splendid candelabra of massive silver, flung a clear light from the waxen tapers, around the chamber, and shew- ing powerfully the sharp features of the invalid, now support- ing his chin upon liis hand. A clock of Limoges enamel which stood upon the broad marble mantel- shelf towering from amidst a number of other articles of bijouterie struck eight. " Prospere!" ejaculated the invalid in a low voice,. hut without moving. A door noiselessly opened at one end of a recess, by the farther side of the fire place, and. a middle sized man, of a swarthy complexion, and about, thirty years of,, age, en- tered, the door as silently closed after liim. " Did my lord speak?" was the question uttered in a low respectful voice. " Has Doctor Lambourne been to- day?" " At noon, my Lord; your lordship slept " " You lie!" interrupted the other; " Iwas awake; I heard his cursed impudence. He wants to, starve me, does he? the rascal!"— and though no- motion indicated whence the words came, the irascible tone betrayed an energy that would not be repressed." There was another noise without, hut it was of that legato kind which made the softened footfalls barely known; a smooth hand smoothly touched the door- handle; and a still more smooth and unctuous voice demanded, very gently:— " Is my Lord to be seen now, Prospere?" " I will make the enquiry," replied the valet, as gently, and then he glided towards the chair where the old rake sat " My Lord," cried he. The " shaggy eye- brows were uplifted; a slight dilation of the nostrils took place; a lifting off the lip. The mind of the man was at work, if his body was all paralysed. " Who is it now, Prospere?" demanded he in reply. " It is Father Fineau, who is asking if your lordship will admit him 1" said the valet. " Admit him," was the response; and the new comer noiselessly closed the door. The man, with his thin sallow face and passionless ex- pression, was quite remarkable. His dress was that of the Catholic clergy, in short. Lord Arlenden was a Catholic;— in private,— because he imagined there, was a certain con- venience in absolution; at all events, Father Fineau had made him believe so, and that was a full equivalent. The dark history that bound these two together will be made known as we proceed; bnt the father was his confessor— his adviser. " IIovv does my son, this evening?" " Do you not see?" demanded the nobleman, grimly. " I trust I bring you comfbrt, my Lord," replied Father Fineau; " these little chastisements are for the humiliation of our pride." Lord Arlenden groaned. There was rage, and agony, and unavailing grief in that groan. Crushed and broken almost out of the form of manhood as he was, still here came the ever- unmoved Jesuit to speak of comfort. He advanced, however, and bending down his head over rha chair, said, softly:— " Mjrone is in London." " Marone!" " Even so. Have I not kept my word? Is there no com- fort in this?" and Father Fineau smiled. " Marone!" It seemed as if there were some overwhelming souvenirs connected with this jiame, for the nobleman's eyes flashed with a triumphant kind of fierce joy. " What do you propose by this?" demanded he drily, after a pause. B « When you have heard what Dr. Lambourne says, this evening, you will acknowledge that to bring Marone here is a triumph." , " If I were to consult my fears," muttered the nobleman, " I would avoid you." " You— fear me f echoed the priest, in a tone which ex- pressed both injured innocence, and the purest motives; in addition to which, it struck a dangerous chord— for to make Lord Arlenden see how absurd it was in him to speak of fear, it galled his self- love. " You love, you adore this Marone," continued the priest; " well, with incredible difficulty, and without her knowing even why she is here in London, and this night appears at the theatre." . " But why do you not bring her here?" asked the noble- man. " She shall be here," was the reply, " and you do not know how wondrously beautiful she has grown. You shall hear her read homilies on mortifying the flesh, from lips that are like those of a Paphian Venus— from those eyes, that have been to you a spell, shall come glances, that, like those of spirits seen in dreams, will soothe you into a slumbrous joy, will disarm your passions of their violence, anil"-—— " Father," returned the nobleman, rather hoarsely, " you are a glowing artist— a Sort of religious Ovid; you raise one up to that extatie lieaven| of passion, where men— rapt in visions that clothe them with delirium, and change their blood to fire— dwell in, till the supernatural wear upon the imagination beggars the physical capacities of a man. You drive me mad." " My Lord, your imagination outruns discretion. What would you have? I would lay you by a heavenly St. Cecilia, with your head in her lap; or place you kneeling beside a bare- bosomed Magdalen. It is in the spiritual : sense of this love that I seek your good." " Peace!" and the patient shuddered. " I am almost in- clined to order your throat to be cut, my good father, and, your carcase to be flung down the staircase." " Is it your will that Marone should not be brought here then?" There was such moaning in the question, that the noble- man caught convulsively at the arm of the chair. " You are torturing me," he gasped out; " you wish to kill me." " On the contrary, I wish to restore you to health— to happiness: to bring you to comprehend those. ineffable joys of which I have before spoken. If you will permit me, my Lord, I will retire for a short time until you have seen your physician? It is he who must jict first in this important matter. Trust to me for completing the remainder. I shall be at hand." So saying, with a low obeisance, he retired. " AVell, you are a marvel," returned the other, resuming her employment, " when I came out, oh! it was intoxicating, I was so giddy with joy, that I could scarcely go through my part.'' " Very likely," was the cold assent of Marone, stretching out her arms, in order to have a portion of her dress put on. " But now come, tell me truly," began Florine confi dentially, " don't you feel your heart bound— your pulses beat— your limbs all iu a tremble— don't you?" " No, I feel perfectly calm," and Marone looked and spoke. so, to the perplexity of the tailed Flprine, who thought the ballet and its applause the most enchanting things in. the world. " Well, you are a superb creature," returned the ex- danseuse, admiringly gazing upon her, and without the least taint of envy. " I have seen many a debutante in my, turn- that is to say," added Florine, hastily correcting herself lest a doubt should be hazarded as to her age, " I mean within the last few years." " Yes," said Marone tacitly, yet smiling. " Some were beautiful, some bold, some artistes," con- tinued Florine, " but you," shrugging her shoulders, " Oh, they can't compare with you. I absolutely long to see you begin, and what is most astonishing, you have never re- hearsed your part" " No," answered Marone, with great simplicity. " That is still more wonderful," said Florine. " " But then," interrupted Marone, " I had the music at home, and I am to dance by myself you know" At that instant Marone's toilette was completed, and the messenger summoned the actress to go. below into the. giieen. room, so that she should be prepared to go on the stags? at the proper moment. Without a word of comment, Marone obeyed the summons. ( To be continued in our next.) CHAPTER II. ON the evening of the same day that our story opens, a young girl— or rather a woman, from her noble bust and fine proportions— was seated in her elegant dressing- room of the Opera, preparatory to the commencement of the ballet, in which i'he was to be introduced for the first time before an audience who w^ re anxiously waiting to behold her. It was Marone. Slio was not yet fitly dressed for the part she was to, per- form, but was waiting for her attendants to,. come and com- plete her. arrangements, . they being absent for a short time in order to finish their prepiwations. She was not more than sixteen years of age; though she appeared to bo at least twenty, from the development of her limbs, her snowy shoulders, and her voluptuous bosom. Iler laf- ge* dark, lustrous eyes, floating languidly beneath a finely- pencilled eyebrow, were expressive of energy and decision; though there was a tenderness beyond words in them at times, when she was moved ;— but what was most extraor- dinary to behold, as a contradiction to t he great beauty of her face and head, the lips wore a cold, bittjr smile, so full of scorn, aud what may be termed cruelty, th » '; it gave to her angelic loveliness a wicked and vindictive character. The hail- was black as midnight, though the thick and I shining tresses, revelling around her neck, gava her marble- i white face a relief so powerful, as to make it look like a ! mask, white as snow. The corset she wore, intersected longitudinally with glowing silk, clung to her chest and bosom, which, with a voluptuous redundance, pressed against the edges, and gave way to the heaving of her breast. Her costume, half Asiatic as . it was, left the firm, well- OMNIBUS INTELLIGENCE EXTRAORDINARY. THE boy, C— y, omqibus- driver, on the fast- travelling'buss plying from Itiiig's- cross to Ivennington- gate, has, after many unsuccessful, attempts at matrimony and suicide, at last safely arrived at the altar^ pf Hymen. This auspicious event oc- curred on Sunday morning last. He was greeted on. the road by a vast concourse of friends, chiefly cads, and cab- drivers; who were greatly chagrined, when the boy left the church, at. the announcement that he had no time left to wet the job ( as he termed it). We believe the fact was, that the boy's liberality was frustrated, owing to the pressing manner of his tailor, who threatened to expose him unless he paid a deposit on the toggery delivered the previous evening: how- ever, we think he did not forget his friend the intelligent rime- keeper, Collett, who figures so conspicuously at the door of the " Royal George," near the Railway Station. This active fellow indulged in potations pottle deep, evincing the great pleasure he felt at the hoy's success, frequently vocife- rating:—" Us, King's- cross coves, licks ' utn hollow." We understand the happy couple were conveyed by that skilful Jehu, commonly called Deaf Burke, to" Greenwich. We have not lizard of their return, but will furnish further par- ticulars anon- knit, but faultlessly- shaped logs, visible fronvtbe knee'; and the creamy arms were bare from just below the shoulders, , aro Kinawn. cn maue « . TTXlTrtj continuing in two fair hands of exquisite roundness,' and andastill dim^ led ^ Ul0S0 of the Venus whil'e thc rosy nails, clear and transparent, terminated the matchless contour of licr limbs. Had you sought in the midst of all the galleries, where everything that is ideal in bc'auty, had been gathered— had you ventured to depict in your own mind, one of those fear- fully beautiful forms, which the arch fiend was wont to wear in the old legends for the temptation, and the ruin of man. you could not have found a more perfect specimen of seduc- tive loveliness than this young debutante. She sat immoveable for several minutes, when as the music of the orchestra during'the concluding part of the gra, nd opera, came like an atmosphere of harmony wafted to her, ears. She started, gave vent to a kind of sigh, which seemed to relieve her, while it at the same time recalled her to con- sciousness; a brilliant smile of triumph, as darkly proud as that which might cross the lips of afallen daughter of tho pre- adamite world, acoompanied by a flash of the eyes so full of pride, and power, that tho new idea which crossed her mind appeared to be laden with energies of triumph and glory. " I am beautiful!" she murmured " I will make men love me— what a dream— what a dream— what a vision of de- light. Iam talented, and gifted; and none know it, well then, these talents, and these gifts, I will use, they shall be my heritage, and I will ask no more. The rags they took from me, the filthy mud of the filthy streets, the squalor and the hideous poverty, and the horrible companions male and female of my past childhood, are exchanged for silks, jewellery, wine, rich food, and the society of the great, the noble, and the titled. Ah!" she continued bitterly, " I cannot forget all that is gone— that memory still clings to me— but soft, Marone, some one comes;" and she rose at once to meet them. It was one of her attendants who entered, all chattering and rouged, au insolent third- rate belle of the ballet, a kind of privileged woman of the firm, and mistress to more men than she knew how to count. " Ah! good heaven!" she exclaimed, as she surveyed Marone, previous to decorating her. " AVhat a splendid fate is yours; you will be caressed, feted, and loved— nay adored. Not one man has left his place, in box or stall, they are so anxious to see you. In fact, a certain noble Duke, lias placed a billet doux in my hand for you, and there it is," flinging it on the table, " but I advise you to be chary, he is poor and parsimonious, there is better luck in stjre," she thus volubly continued, " the rich Jew banker, has taken one of the pit- stalls, although he has a couple of boxes; it is Isaacs, a millionaire my child. Mon dieu! if Lord Arlenden were but in town, it would be an establishment like a Queen's for you, before the week; b it what on earth are you thinking of?" she suddenly demanded, noting that Marone was paying no heed whatever to her communica- tion, but had fallen into a reverie, gently patting the ground with her satin- shod foot. " Do you not think I had better finish dressing?" asked Marone quietly. " True," was the reply, and she began to bustle about. " I am very forgetful, but you! you appear to take this quite coolly," and she was greatly astonished. " Why not Florine?" demanded Marone. " Just as a matter of coursc," pursued the other, stopping to gaze upon ber as if she were a curiosity. " Yes, I repeat— why not?" BOONS RECEIVED. The Whole Art of Gardening, with a Succinct Account of the Peeper Treatment of all Bulbous Roots. Dedicated, by permission, to Lord Gardiner. By Miss Fortescue. The, Juggling Fiend; or,. Barthelmy Fair Twenty Years Ago. Iu 3 Vols, hound in ' calf. By Nelson Leo, Esq. The Best Method of Studying the Greek Tongue. By William Batty, Equestrian. - V Treatise on the Juniper Berry. Also, a Black Man's Recollections. By Miss Rogers, late of the Queen's Thea- tre. A Few Y'ears' Residence at Berkeley Castle; with a Full Description of the various Sports indulged in by the Noble Owner. By Mrs. Barker; Annotated by Mrs. Bunn. The Tyrant. A Poem, in Three Cantos. By Richard Shepherd, Esq. NEW MUSIC FROM BREAD- STREET. A Bottle's the Mistress I mean. Bv Edward Edwards, Typ. I Love the Sweet Delicious Weed. By N, Settle. Com- posed and Sung by him at various Concerts. My Old Woman Says I Must. By W. Emmens, Type Pyer. Vat you Puy, my Tea*? By W. Ward. I Love, I Love the Night. By Jo. hn Stjlwell, Esq. THE CITY HALL, IIOLBORN- Tho new city hall is situate about 5 doors, east, side of Gray's- inn- lane, in Holborn, and the better to know it, you will always find a quantity of portraits, hung up, outside thc door, are part of this splended hall, being occupied by an artist of well known ability, who will take an exact likeness for sixpence. Thc entrance to the hall is situate between a snuff and cigar shop on the one side, and the famous Gillingwater's hair dressing establishment on tjie other, and after proceeding some short distance down the passage, just to the right of you, you will perceive a little lobby kind of place, its sole inhabitants being a small table, and a little man, ( whom, if you clap your eyes on, you cannot forget for a'long time), who is known by the name of " Cox," and with this individual, you will undergo the operation of paying your money, and divesting yourself of your hat. You now enter the " saloon," and take a peep round. At the very ex- treme, and perched up, on a kind of taylor work board, you will perceive the orchestra, consisting of the enormous large quantity of 2 musicians, added occasionally by a little boy who makes a dreadful noise upon the violin. On entering the room, you are accosted by the proprietor, ( Mons. Anfbridge, a man with a moustache) who generally asks you, in a very officious sort of way, " How you find yourself?" and to whom you deliver your che ' k. The frequenters of this Saloon consist chiofly of lawyers clerks and drapers'shopmen; and amongst tho most con- spicuous of these are: , alias Curly, a young chap with curly hair, who is very fond of smoking a short pipe; Curly, another chap with curly hair, very dark; All Brains, a tailor, very much pockmarked, rather bow- legged, generally wears a piece of riband or string roun I his head; Charley , alias Starchey, a tall, thi I young fellow, who stoops very much in his dancing; and , a little fat man known as his cousin; C— x, a tailor; Reedy, dentist; Binko, a regular specimen of " a gent," generally wearing a gent's hat, a loose paletot, and a white kerchief round his throat; another tailor, who by the bye, looks as if he had not tasted a meal for the last six months; Binke; two young men generally wearing shooting coats and white hats: and a little Jew- boy, with several others. PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 181 PAUL ADVISES J— e S— t, of Stewart's- buildiugs, Battersea- fields, not to fancy any young man must. full in love with her, because she apes the manners of a girl of 18; but to stick to the more natural way of five and forty, and cut the Newgate twist, or else " Paul will ap- pul lier with afew anecdotes. How about the mats ? That promising youth, W. C— m, of Red Lion- street, Hol- born, not to frequent the Bower- saloon so much, and talk of his acting. Neither,. to go, home at 1 o'clock in the morning, with a wbman of easy virtue. Mrs. D. S—, of Vanxball- walk, not to snvle so sweet at Mr. C— s, of High- street, Lambeth, when ho comcs to be scrapcd and likewise, licr husband not to use such indecent language to her before customers. Mr. E— n L— 11, late of Cornwall- place, Cornwall- road, not to think so much of himself when he is out with that tall young woman, as lie is quite an'exliibition to the public, in the attitude he Wf,& s in. G. H— m, coachman to Mr. B— k, not to be always run- ning after the cook of the same place, whose character is very rjuestion'able, more attention to your wife and home, and less to loosq- women and drink would be more to your credit. C. T. Sr- n, not to think so much of that young woman, of Brick-& ne, Spitalfields, for he will be deceived in lier after all, as she is already engaged. The landlady, at Charles- street, Clarendon- square, to pre- vail upon the tall lady in her parlour, not to send the jug and bottle over to the Coronation so frequently, as it gives the house a bad appearance. Surely one of the gentlemen of whom she can always get a " £ j note and new dress," would not object to send lier in a few bottles of wine or gin, if, lie knew she required it so much. Where's the tall old man with the velveteen jacket? lie or her short friend would do it. Mrs. 0— d, the pilot's wife of Portland street, Stepney, not to get so beastly intoxicated and enticc the captain's lady to dothe same, as it: doeij, not look well when their hus- bands, are away. Reform ladies, or Paul will pay you another visit shortly of a more severe nature. Mr. B— tt, thc, cluilk- and-\ vater gentleman of Riley- street, Chelsea, not to trouble himself $ 0 muqh about his adopted son, having been put in Paul Pry, if you, have nothing else to attend to, we would. adyise. you to trim up his corns. G— e W— n, of White Ilorse- place, Commercial- road, . East, not to trouble his head with his neighbours'business and then try to injure, them- Pqul knows of your doings at a certain public- house ( not 100 yards from the George), where you go darning with a parcel of loose females. Re- form, or else Paul will acquaint your wife, who sits up wait- ing for you, and then tell ber you have been at work. Mr. B— n, of the Thames- tunnel, not to curse and swear so much at IieEtStall- keepers ( when she e. cmies dawn in tlie morning) for not taking more nioney; but to go home aud look after her husband. Mrs. E. 1)— s, of Villa, Larkhall- lar. e, to slay more at home, than keeping, such lute hours, and making, miscliief between old people, your tongue is too long. J. G— g, Jun. Baker,, of Cornwall- place, Holloway, to re- turn to bis business, and apply himself more steadily to it, he will be for more happy, and gain the respect of his former j friends, lie has a chance of a thousand, why not embrace it. H. B— y, to act with a little more caution, and endeavour to look straight, t a person, or you will meet with a Tartar, j if you don't mind your manners old fellow. Mr. T. Brown- smith, miiler, of Rotherhithe- wall, not to- be ' so fond of the publican's wife, but to attend to his master's ' business, that curly cap liolds a great deal of dust, for the ladies. I hope your portrait won't be taken, with that on, have a 4s. 9d. and you will look more like a mail Tom. W. W— r, of New Church- street, waterman, tokcep better hours, for he will be in Guy's garret again, how about that little girl, in Pecklinmdaiie. G. E— e, < rf - Parkers. row, Bcrmondsey. Horselydown, waterman, not to sport himself so much at the Nelson, with His cousin, ho had better put his money away to buy a better hat and shoes. The bloated butcher, B— 11, of Robert- tem. ee, Chelsea, not to lie so sweet on ' Mother B— n, the frail one of Robert- street. Beware of being caught in the second floor again. Certain fair ladies, in King- street, Chelsea, to be a little more circumspect in their conduct, when out walking of an evening in the lving's- road, and at the Commercial Hall- rooms, or we shall a tale unfold; a secret that you think is not known. The dirty- looking chemist, E— n, of Chelsea- common, not to be so fond of paying visits to the frail one at Marlbro- square. Keep mure in your own hive, or the honey will be all gone. The owner of the eel- pie shop, Chelsea- common, to turn out those dirty boys who stay swearing, drinking, and in- sulting the ladies when they pass. Tlie pies are of a fine strong flavour at times. The big infant, Sy— s, of Robert- terrace, Chelsea, when lie is out collecting, to leave off . taking lunch wit!) the foil- ones in Harrison- place, King's- road. Does that go down to the poor- rate account? Ann cumes out very strong in dress now. A— d L— 1, of ICeppell- street, Southwark, not to be seen with the girls at Dockhead. The landlord of a certain public house, in Glasshouse- street, Regent- street, to be a little more civil to liis customers, and not talk about showing tliem over to Vine- street. The young gentleman engaged at a certain printing office in Red Lion- court, Strand, known by the soubriquet of Walker, Hooker, Horse- cloth- bearer, & c., not ta make him- self so obnoxious to the gentlemen of the office. Docs he know that he is little better than a pauper, having, for the last two years, been spunging upon his brother? If we hear . any more of him, we shall let out about the affair at Maid- stone, and the cause of his abdication therefrom. II— y J— y, the book gilder, at r's, in Angel- street, City, not to be seen drunk so often hugging the lamp post in the Wharf- road. How about the Irish woman in the Commercial- road. Mr. G. W— ds, near the Whitmore's Ilead, Hoxton, Old- town, not to entice young girls into his back washhouse. Mr. W. G— d. of Regent- street, Lambeth, to get settled, for it is quite time lie was off his mother's hands. Stick to one, Bill— when you, get her— for your time is almost , gone by. Mr. W— m B— r, of Messrs. Combes brewery, not to be so knowing, and not to impute things to people that he knows nothing of, as being the writers of articles to P. P. Cut it my boy, you are not a bad meaning man,— but too fast in your own opinion. If we , can make out that you are one of the Pry family, how people will stare, won't they? Tho barman of the Star, Duke- street, St. George's in the East, not to make his customers believe that he don't mind being put in P. P. How about that poor girl of Holborn Hill? Paul may visit you again. The servants of Mr. M— y, of Chatliam- place, Hackney, to be more circumspect in their conduct of a morning, and not make themselves so cheap with the policemen and beer boys. It is a great annoyance to the inhabitants of Cliatham. place and Homerton- terrace opposite. Miss. C. H— s, of Dorcliester- street New North- road, not to go out with a pot- boy, but to look for something better. II— d, the Crosby- row Fop, not to think quite so much of himself, and not to be , seen so often with that butcher's girl in White- street, Borough. We think it would be more to his credit if he were to keep his neck clean. Miss. S— y of Tottenham- place, not to think so much of those artifieal teeth, we know she had them made her a present. W— m S— s, at S— s, Grocer, of Bermondsey- street, to discontinue bragging of his large mercantile connexions. Mr. G— e M— ss, of Park- place, Kennington Crqss, to. pay more attention to his wife and less of a Mrs, L— s and the- old woman in his first floor. 31— y, at Mr. R— se's, Trinity- street, Boro', to attend move to her mistress's house, and not look so . much after tho dis- pensing assistant at Mr. B—, E— ns's of the same street. Mr F— d, the news- man of Goswell- road, not to be so fond of boasting, and telling lies. J— s K— 11 ( whose father looks after a house in Pall- mall),; not to impose iipou the young woman quite so much. Mrs. I— s, Stationer, Tysoe- street, Clerkenwell. to stay at home in the evening, and mind her shop and family. It wquld be better than being seen about tbe town, with certain individuals. Miss S. J— s,. of Albion- street, Rotherhithe, ( tbe shirt - stitcher), to act with more propriety, and not to kiss married men, 011 the sly, nor to take so many liberties with. single ones. E. 0. C— r, of Catherine- street, Limehouse- fields, not to wear his bat on one side, we know all about the waistcoat- malcer. Miss. S. M— d, and Miss. M.— y A— 11 M-, d, of Church- street, Old Kent- road, not be seen at Greenwich so much with the little wool boy of Bermondsey. It does not become them, nor do they know tho consequences that arise from leading so young a person away from his home. Remem- ber, my young friends, he is scarcely out of his mother's arms, and you are not doing your duty towards hint- How about tbe Gold locket? Be careful, Paul's eye is upon you. Miss C. H—, of Hypes- street, Westminster, to mind her own business, and not tell such tales of other young ladies, for the purpose of getting them into trouble. Young G. B—, the Clothier, of Bcrmondsey- street, not to be quite so sweet upon a certain fascinating young dress- maker, of Horslcydown, or Paul will certainly acquaint his lady- love at the west end. The barber, near the Goswcll- road, to keep his better half at home mire, or it may be thought he encourages those proceedings. We know about Mr. B— 11, the Tailor. Mr. J. C-- t coachman, to tho Woodford mail, from Aldgate, to attend more to his master's business, not to fell so many lies, nor brag so much about his wife's earnings. Has he forgotten Romford? Mrs. B—, of Hanover- place, M movies, not so trouble her head so much with other peoples servants asking them about their employers affairs. II— r, or W— r, the puffed tip frog, of a certain printing- office, near Driiry- lane, to ask his mother or brother, to give him a coat, and to send back the man's horsecloth to Wakefield. W. M— 1, the bottle- washer, of Stephen- street, Rathbone- placc, not to wear his brother's coat, while poor John goes without. T. C— 1, of Bedford- street, Commercial- road, not to sup- pose that the girl near the London . Hospital, Wbitechapel- road, cares a rush for him. llowiibout that- little afiaii- ilhat appened some time ago? , E. J— s, at the grocer's not a 100 miles Trom the Globe. Ilatton- garden, not to deceive his respected master with so much hypocrisy, by pretending lie goes to chapel 011 Wed- nesday evenings, as it is known lie frequents the Princess's and other Theatres. Mr. R-^- y, the cooper, of Back Churcli- lane, not to lie seen with single young ladies, as he. is a married man. We wieh to know if be lias introduced the butterfly, of Lambeth- street, to any more young ladies. J— h H— d, of Upper Crown street, Westminster, to pay his debts, now he is in work. E— a R— n, of Grove- mews, late of- Capland- street. Port- man- market, not to n atch the widow about so much. It would be much more to her credit, to stay at home, and not borrow other people's bonnets and shawls. . C— s R— 1, ( alias " Long- tail Blue), who frequents the Assembly Rooms, Blackfriars- road, to dissolve his acquaint- ance with the little picce of goods in the Grange- road, as she WKS seen with four young men, at 10 o'clock tbe other even- ing in the Grevhound- roiul, T. J—, the consequential butcher, of Hickman's Folly, Dockhcad, not to boast quite so much about his money, as Paul knows its all fudge; and not to be so found of a certain Mrs. P—, it is not becoming in a married man. Take the hint, old boy._ J— s AY— s, of Charlotte- street, Old Kent- road, to stop at home more of an evening, and not to go to the beer- shop so have 110 idea of what takes place in his often, for he can absence. The nurse at Mrs. F—' s, Lordship- road, Church- street, Stoke Nowington, not to look after tlie long bricklayer. II. R. W—, of Regent- street, Waterloo- place, ( alias Jolly nose), r. ot to spend so much money in cold brandy and water; we think he might put it to better advantage. T— m P— s. . the conceited butcher's boy, near Wellington- street, Kingsland- road, to mind his master's business instca I of wasting his time in the beer- shop. Mrs. 1'— r, of the Ship and Turtle Tavern, Leadenhall street, to look out, or else she will have to go to bonnet making again. Mr. N— e, the noted driver of W—' s omnibus, not to think so much of the servants at Holloway- place, for they are above noticing 11 married mail; likewise to be more kind to liis wife when she brings him his . tea. R— t D— m, driver, of the same firm, to give liis wife more money, and enable her to keep his children smarter;, and not to go out with the servant girls so much, beware Bobby, and do not forget the poor girl at Alfred- terrace, Holloway. Mrs. N— 111, of Paul's- wharf notoriety, not to go over Blackfriars- bridge so often with her slavey Richard; then she would not want to borrow £ 10 of a poor hard- working man. J. M— s, the dirty baker's boy, of St, Martin's- lane, not to go into the public- house in Bed— db— y, with his tobacco in his hand, and then sit down and ask others for beer, when he has got money in his pocket. R. II—, of Lower Thames- street, to leave off shaking, the box, and pay a little more attention to that young lady at the Fountain. Be on your guard, or else we shall give a call at Smitham- bottom. J— 11 E— s, commonly called the doctor of—, New- street, Guild ford- street, not to be so fond of going out of a night, and leaving his pretty wife at home. M— s H— d, of the Glove Coffee- house, Worship- street, to pay a little more attention toiler, customers, instead of smack- ing the young men's faces; and not . to despise the young man she has at present, merely because he cannot flirt at a ball with her, also to leave off lier coquettish ways, and the shaving of lier head, to give her the appearance of a high forehead. M— t J— s, at D— e's Tally- shop, Waterloo- l- oad, not to tell so many lies about the young men, and not get drunk so often. J. C— x, not to go boasting that when the Olympic was on fire lie drank enough to make four ordinary people drunk. Also the next time he goes- to Norwich, not to drink a pint of brandy, and then tell the old gentleman that lie believes he can stand more drink than he can. J. A— k, the Nobby Waterman, to keep better hours and - not go tbe Anchor and Castle so much in Tooley- street. The Talking Mai;, at the great American- hall, Leicester- square, not to apply himself so frequently to gin slings, mint juleps, or other stimulating beverages durings the evening exhibition of the 4 miles. One evening last week his patrons accompanied him for upwards of 1,500 miles tliro' Clipped Queen's English, instead of a description of the finest nation in all creation. The Pickle- herring Waterman, T— s B— n, of Barnham- street, Tooley- street, when he goes out again not to say ho has paid a penny more than his mates, he had better go and pay that poor dark girl in Snows- fields the money he owes her, how about Fishmonger's- nlley. Paul advises Black Bob of Westham, print- works, not to be in l'laistow- grove so much in liis employers time, looking after his oun bricks and mortar, it would be more to his credit not to charge the poor printers 5s. ( id. in the pound for the two which he calls ten. Mr. E— d A— s, late of Mark- lane, not to abandon Miss 11— r, at Greenwich, after what has already occurred, for the charms of a pretty Adelphi Theatre ballet dancer; Paul has liis eye always, 011 you, Edward. Act honourably towards the former young girl, you know what ties you . to her. Paul is however glad to see from bis advice yousmokeless. Reform your conduct still further, young man, Two young men ( of the W. L. and S. J., of Manor- place, Walworth), whoss names are T— e and N— x, not to be so sweet on a certain young lady, iu the neighbourhood Of the Zoological- gardens. Look out my tulips, or you may get a Roland for your Oliver. J. T— t, of Union- row, Kent- road; E. T— v, of the New Kent- road; W. L— e, of the New Kent- road;' and E. AY— s, of the New Kent road. All to think less of themselves. A— r D— y, of Circus- place, Finsbury, not to send his wife to Chelmsford. Not to be seen emerging from F— y W—' s bed- room, and rot to be seen kissing her in his own bed- room. The fit rosy- faced barmaid, at the G— s, G— d- s— t, I- Torselydown, not to kiss so ni. mv old men, over the- bar. Nor walk out with so many bits of boys; nor be seen behind the bar to twist herself about in front of the looking- glass, Ho look at bi t- flounces. It is quite disgusting. DoesUier father know of all these ways. W. P— p, of Knight Rider- court, Doctors'- eommons, if lie lias got over his drunk- m fit, respecting the cliurchwavdeu- sliip, he must look out, or ho will be treated worse next year. We would advise him to stop away altogether after such a floorer. Mrs. W—, opposite Bcrmondsy New Church, not to hofd her dress up quite so high when she is out walking, as Paul does not think it looks prudent for females to do so. W— 111 E— y, not to be such 11 conceited ass, neither to tell people he is a salesman, When he isoifly an- odd boy. Reform or e'.^ js? Paul will a t- ale unfold, how about the dark eyed Mii^ A— 11 C— d, of Lmeoln's- inn- fields, to keep to one youiigrnan, and not to walk with so many. Mr. J— y. the fotlieaded policeman, of Leman- strcet, not to be running after tbe girl at the grocer- shop, in Rosemary- lane, for your wages woiUdmot keep her. Whether Bill S— s, alias corpser Jimmy Green, alias slop- made Lazarus, of Bread- street- hill, intends having their pugelistic encounters, and where it is to be. G. M—, the c— rmaker of Gerrard- street, Solio, not to illtreat his amiable wife, - and by bis cruelty to drive his eldest daughter from his roof to seek a situation as go- verness, at ( iravesend. Have a care or Paul will shew liim more, we know all about Mrs. A—, the iipliolsteress and a Charming fat boy. Mrs. C—, of Ann's- street, Mile- end, not to stand so much at tbe door insulting men as they pass with indecent lan- guage, and thinking herself handsome. Does she know any thing of the tallyman. Mr. B— y, of I. eman- street, Police- station, not to he seen running out in the Tentev- ground kissing that dark haired girl. You are not so handsome. Mrs. R— e, forewoman, at a certain account bookbinder's, Cornhill; not to poke her nose into other people's business and not to be so conceited about what she was when young. Old Joe, the pale- faced deceitful fool of Holywell- street, Stra# 3, not to be so fond of shewing his master's envelopes and writing paper. Mr. II— t, the would be- carpenter, of Francis- street New- ington, not to think so much of himself when decked in that green coat: likewise his better half never to go out ti'I dark when she may hide that long feather. Mr. H. E— 11, the printer's hid, keeping tbe cigar- shop in Praed- strcet, Paddington, ( o make - p.- te and finish graining his front. Paul assures you " & ivr Henry " the trade will be lenient with their criticisms, as they know yuur youth and inexperience. T. B—, the the flash tailor, of Leigh- street, Red Lion- square, not to make himself such a blackguard, nor use that low skittle ground every evening. Miss M. C — n, the £ aoe binder, of Bermondsey- street, not to be seen with tb* Jew boy of the clothes- shop so often. 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. Mr. T— t, of Little Sutton- strret, Clerkenwell, not to pretend to be so pining after Miss H— e, but to look more after Blackey. How about the five shillings? Mr. C— r, Linen draper, of High- street, Kensington, to allow his young men more to eat. It looks bad to see them going into the cook- shop, just after dinner. The neighbours begin to notice it, and insinuate that both he and Mrs. C— take good care of themselves. He must have got his idea from Vauxhall, with respect to slices at breakfast and tea time, how can he expect to keep a respectable young man in his service. Dick alias the General not to go so often to a certain house in the neighbourhood of Gracechurch- street, nor to smoke clay pipes in the parlour. As a hint, we can inform him that nobody cares to see him at that house, and it is quite useless his continuing his present game. G. H— e, of the G'B not to think so much of himself or to take so much trouble in curling his hair, also not to gossip so much with the girl at the cats meit- shop, Whitecross- street for he may depend upon it she thinks but little about such a cockscomb. Miss E. E— y, of Albion- street, Rotherhithe, not to put her nose into other people's houses. Paul thinks you had better mind your own business, and not scandalize other people. R— s, of Church- street, Rotherhithe not to be seen rolling his black eyes to the girls so much, especially to C— a S— e. j_ s C— r, of Budge- street, Mile- end, not to go so much after the girls, we know all about jumping the broom stick, and a very mysterious thing concerning Mrs. E— ds. T. R. H. of the Horse and groom, Walworth, not to be seen walking with so many girls in Boyer- lane, of a night, think of that other poor girl a little more. Mrs. E— ds of Cottons- gardens, Hackney- road, to drink less gin, and to talk less about her neighbours and attend more to her own affairs, and not take certain young ladies characters away. Mr. J. H. Fleet- lane, to take more care of his young ladies letters and not drop them in the street, also not to tell bis friends that he is living at the west- end of the town, in a splendid mansion, when we know he resides in the most miserable part of the city. Mr. W. C— s, of Camberwell- green, not to be so bold in saying grace. What we have received some builder shall pay for. D. C. L. clerk of the Vinegar Yard, Horsleydown, not to be so conceited because he has got acquainted with H. N., the naughty girl of Horsleydown. Does he remember the dripping Mrs. W. gave to him and the rest of the family out of charity. H— t's, at Davies's- buildings, Gowers- walk, to send that short, brazen- looking girl, named Mary, out to service, in- stead of staying at home binding shoes in the day, and walking about all hours at night with all sorts of boys. P. M. J— s, of the clothes- shop, in Thornton- street, Dock- head, not to think so much of herself, and not to strut along the street quite so much, and to think less of T. S— 1, of Parker's - row. M— y L— e, to stay more at home and attend to her business, and not prepare hot suppers for the linendraper's counter- jumper, unbeknown to your mother, remember she has to pay for all this. The money- takers of the E. C. Railway, ( Woolwich branch,) to be cautious as to their future conduct, and not endeavour to pass threepenny pieces in lieu of fourpenny ones, on the public. The conceited man of Jubilee- place, Commercial- road, not to be seen clapping his hands and throwing kisses at the girls, what must they think of you ; likewise not to be heard singing songs on Sunday with Carrots the proprietor of the house. 296 S., to mind his own business, and not to think quite so much of kimself with his nobby head of hear, as the per- fume from it is anything but pleasant to persons passing you when on duty; also not to be so mean. Mrs. T— n, of Albion- street, Rotherhithe, to give full weight lo her customers. " W m F— r K— t, alias Long Slab of Charles- street, Westminster, to bo more attentive to his mamma, and act honourable to that dark girl, for there are strange things talked about. That little jumping time- keeper at the House of Lords, Con. S— n, not to make such a fool of himself with the widow of Manner- street. How about the furniture Con., but you are too little for anything. Mrs. H— d— n, the tall lady of l'rospect- row, Bermondsey, not to be seen coming home so often between twelve and one at night. • H— r, alias W— r, the self- conceited puffed- up frog, of a certain printing- office near Drury- lane, to send the man's horse- cloth back to Wakefield, or should he come up to town it will look black, you having so many names. How about the poor man's five shillings; reform, or we will let out about the affair at Maidstone. J. W. W., of Newcastle- street, Strand, to deliver up the money entrusted to him from the Globe fire- office to remu- nerate the persons who saved the two houses insured in that office on the night of the fire at the Olympic Theatre ; this is not your first shabby transaction. Paul knows you well, beware! J— n O^ H— n, not to make such a fool of himself when up at that snobbish assembly called the North London His- troriics; and also not to kick up a row with the members because they won't lend him their boots and trousers, to appear on the stage of the Gough- street Theatre. Miss J— e S— t, alias M— s of Stewarts lane, Battcrsea fields, not to be so fond of boreing her friends with her eternal stupid chatter about the young men who are in love with her, when the only feeling she is capable of inspiring is mirth, as it is sickening at her advanced age; also to cut the Newgate twist, she may be sure of remaining a Miss, as its not very likely she will ever go off. How about the mats? W. R. II— n, of Belle Vue- cottages, Cumden- street, Camden- town, to pay the pecuniary debt, as well as the debt of gratitude which he owes to the unfortunate nursery maid, ( formerly of Oakly- square), as she is at present suffering great deprivation through his ingratitude and wanton neg- lect; likewise not to make such a blackguard of himself at a certain public house in Randolph- street, by boasting of having seduced so many innocent girls, by his villanous arts. Reform your character or wc certainly shall expose you. J— n T— n, apprentice to Messrs. S - y and t o., not to go to the D— s, Lea- bridge, so often, as his company is nut so agreeable as he supposes, and not to leave when others are about to pay their expenses, and leave them to pay his. A draper, of N. ewingtou- butts. not to sport so much with the girls, but to keijo himself entirely to the young lady at the bird shop, and take <' are not to act the same with her as with the dark- eyed girl ot , fhe minories. Mrs. II—- I, residing at the EC ™ 0,1 Tree, Bedfor . bury, not to poke her n. se into other pco|.' les' business, but attend more to her own; also not to be a..'''''' 1611 t0 " potations pottle deep," but look after her scapegra^" e s" n How about the soldier? Old Joe, that uses tn » ale shop near Temple- bar, not to think so much of himself, and not to think that every girl is in love with him. Mr. W— m and A— d B— s, Jun., of Conduit- street, Bond- street, not to give their minds to telling so many glaring falsehoods as they do, for when they really do tell the truth they are never believed, and another thing, not to brag so much about their father's property, and also their sister's beauty, as it is well known their father has no more property to give them than their sister has beauty to attract so many young men as they say she does. H. S., at Cox's, engineers, Wharf- road, City- road, not to be seen so often at the Eagle, sporting his salt box coat that he gave 5s. for down Pctticoat- lane, a short time ago, we think it would be more creditable if he would stop at home and save what little money he can get, and by that means take his mother out of the workhouse. Mr. E. S— II, of the New- road, Whitechapel, had better attend to his own business, then watching his neighbours. The publican would feel obliged by his settling his beer seorc. Miss E. M , of Norfolk- street, King's- cross, to stay at home and mend her stockings, then to be hopping about with that sailor every evening. Miss C. W— t, at Mr. P's, Minories, notto stand gossiping at the door so long in the morning, but attend to her mistress' work, and leave other people's business alone. Miss L. R—, of Bell- yard, Temple- bar, notto stand at the door so much, but to go in and wash herself, and to put her clothes on in a little better style. The Misses L— s, of Gt. Quebec- street, New- road, not to wear veils when they have hardly got a bit of shoe to their feet, and not be so dead nuts on the Jew in Homer- street. Mrs. N— s, the widow in Cowper- street, City- road, not to harbour Robt. B— k in her house so often, when she knows he is a married man. C— H— H— 1, the Road Surveyor of Islington, not to allow his daughter A— to walk the Upper- street with so many different young men. Paul is afraid if she continues such a practice, she will have cause to regret it. And also to alter her present style of dress as it is extremely low and vulgar. G— e D— s G— s, late of Nicholas- street, New North- road, to pay his debts, and not shoot the Moon from all his resi- dences; does he remember the County Court business. Mr. R. C— 1, of Sutton- street, to open his eyes and look after Sir. W. P— k, before it is to late. Can't you take the hint. H. P— I, Fishmonger of Walwortli- road, to pay more at- tention to his Uncle's business, and uot keep company with the girls of the town. The conceited Dentist of Hospital, who nightly fre- quents the New City Hall, Ilolborn- bars, to behave himself a little better when at the latter place, and not to let Paul hear ( of any more attempts being made to turn him out. What would your Falher say old fellow if he knew you frequented such places. S— h II— s of the Coal- shed, Cow- cross, still goes out with the Grocer's boy George, and when they are going to get married, as Paul thinks it is quite time, before worse comes of it. rl he two Miss P— d, of Angle court, Throgmorton- street, not to think so much of themselves, likewise not to be seen so often round that Cockney Promenade in Finsbury. Paul wishes to know why they frequent a certain Barbers- shop in the neighbourhood. J. F— n, the blink eyed hacking Tailor of Alfred- street, Vauxhall- road, Secretary of the Builder's Pride Lodge, Chelsea, not to try and stop the sick member's pay again, as next Winter he may have a lodging in Mount- street Work- house, be careful Crack louse or Paul will visit you again. H. S—, of Fenchurch- street, to begin by paying his own debts, instead of talking as he doc-; of his late partner who is far more honourable than himself; Let him remember the Cockfights, Sec., which he attended, instead of his busi- ness. What have you done with the premium of £ 200? B— B— n, the Jew looking fellow of Vauxhall- street, was he to attend to business more than he does instead of bragging so much about his Mother's_ takings, it would look better of him. We are quite aware what he is. W. R— s, Willow Walk, Bermondsey, to send his servant out more respectable. By the bye is she your daughter or your servant. A— r W— n, the curly headed young man, also Jas. E— m, of the Bookbinders in Gravel- lane, not to be seen flirting about so much with the young girls of the same esta- blishment, also Jas. E— m, uot to be so much with the ladies of the Albert Saloon. Mr. H—, of New Church- court, to keep better hours and not fetch his poor Father down out of his warm bed to let him in, and not rake about Pall- mall with the hair- dreesers servant so late at night. Mr. H— e, Jnnr. of Margaret- street, Cavendish- square, alias Faralions, Nosey, or Bible back, to be less at the Par- thenon, Long Acre, and not talk so brazingly about his late hours, as if it were so grand and healthy, and quite necessary to keep up the blossoms on his frontispiece. Save the money for the rainy day that's coming, for it will come; and shave his upper lip, for it does not suit in the workshop yet, the long hair that curls so : reform Farolions and think of the ass in the lion skin, or you'll have another blow from us shortly. M. H— 1, of Rochester- row, Westminster, not to look out of the window so much after the Policemen, but to keep to one man, and go to service and not be sponging on her poor old father and mother, how about Polly Hopkins. W. R. L. not many miles from Bow- lane, City, not to be so fond of the fat girl of Allhallows- lane, Thames- street, but go home and turn his mothers mangle. E— a B— c, alias the lushy lady, alias the long cook of Upper Thames- street, near Earl- street, notto take advantage of the extreme youth of the apprentice at the printers and try to make him believe you are what you should be, because we shall inform him to the contrary, what about C. Jones, and half- crown a fair. F— y E— r T— r. b ater known as flash Fan, Artificial Flower maker, of Jewin- street, Aldersgate- street, not to be seen with the tinkers boy of Monkwell- street, at flasi, houses, she had better stop at home with her poor widowed mother. A young i cntleman of the Clerkenwell House of Detention, not to undersell the coffee- shop keepers, by supplying the young me - at the above office, with ful flavoured Gunpowder, at 1J per quart. Mr. B— r. the collector at C— s Mills, Rotherhithe- wall, not to take his drops so often, and make his employers believe he has taken the pledge, they will find you out when it is too late old boy, keeping company with such loose characters in the neighbourhood of Deptford, and then you will get what manv a poor fel ow has got through you, viz. the sack. J. W— t, of Queen- street, Horselydown, to stop at home, and n > t go down the railway- arches so often. Miss E— a W— h, of Holiday- yard, not to be seen kissing and slobering the long coachman of the same place, it dont look well for a young woman. Reform or you may hear of it again. Miss G— n, of the Spa- road, Bermondsey, not to think the snip, at Jamaica chapel, is in lo've with her, also not to put so much paint on her face. W— m S— s, to pay more attention to business, at Ade- laidc- place, London- bridge, it would be better than talking to the girl at the cigar- shop, in the Walworth- road, merely to get his cigars free of expence. Mr. W— e, the parish butcher of High- street, Shadwell, not to let his dirty man, and the long haired boy, pass so many remarks upon respectable people, for it must be a great de- triment to his business. Messrs. L— x, and B— d, of Bayswater, formerly of Isling- ton, to discontinue their visits to the Misses W— lis of Nott- ing- hiil. It is their money which is the attraction, we have often seen a mail pliaeton, and pair near the door, mind their papa does not notice it, what has become of the horse and gig ? Tom the milkman of Broad- court, Bow- street, not to wink his eye at the servant girls in the kitchens but attend more to his business. How about fat poll eh? Tom. Dickey H— d, alias the supper grasper, of the Britannia Saloon, not to fancy that every female especially Anne, L— d, the stumpy book- folder, is down right in love with him. Mrs. J— n, the washerwoman and waterman's wife, of Charles- street, Clarendon- square, to attend more to her soap suds, and not to be seen so often with her head out of the window watching her neighbours on the opposite side, and then scandalizing them with her professional sister two or three doors below. Reform, or we may say a little on a sub- ject not altogether calculated to please. Mrs. W. L— m, the sanctified lady of Albert's- place, New- road, Rotherhithe, not to stay in the sky parlor all day and walk the Boro at night. C— s B— n, the flash bird- stuffer, Bill Y— g, kmown as the Chinaman, and a few more of the lushy tribe of typefounders, at Sharwood's, Aldersgate- street, not to repeat their visit to Mr. Ullmer's dolly- shop in Nichol- street, Shoveditch, and make such beasts of themselves, after their sumptuous repast of cabbage and bacon. W— m D— 11, of Virginia- place, Great Dover- street, Boro, to stick closer to coach- building, and not to spend so much time with that short young lady in the blue shawl. Mr. J. W. H— h, of Pinners- court, Old Broad- street, not to be so conceited either in his singing or dress— the former being beyond the reach of his vocal powers. The latter quite absurd. Bill L— y, and S— n L— n, when they next visit the Mitre, at Greenwich, not to boast of their exploit with Lucy Long; how about the quarrel L— y with Bill T— c as to who should possess Maria. KENT. Mr. W— m H— e, the one- eyed Scotchman, Portland- place, Church- street, Maidstone, not to prove so mean in his lodgings and so suspicious as to keep his provisions under lock and key. How about the Chappel- gate meeting? C— s L— y, the would be merchant, of High- street, Strood, not to take advantage of his father's absence in encouraging that sponger, A— d C— n. How about Fair Helen? J— n I)— n, of Osborne- place, Blackheath, to be careful of his little housekeeper, and not serve her the same as he did Miss B— n. Messrs. F. E— tt, W. K— p, A. D— y, G. C— k, T. M y, of the Dartford Institute, to pay more attention to the be- nefits derivable from the Institute, and eschew the practice of learning the art of self defence from prize- fighting bullies. A— e P— h, of Osborne- place, Blackheath, not to be seen flirting about with A— e S— li so much as it does not look well. You had better take an example from your sister Harriet. How about poor T— m S— d ? T— s G— n, the flash carpenter, of Erith, not to fancy that the young lady, of Randall- street, Erith, will ever have him for a husband for we are well aware that she will have no such a donkey, by the by Tommy we think your meanness will never allow you to keep a wife. Mr. T— s W— s, grocer, of Bromley, not to talk to the girls of the college. C— s M— s, of W. Horse, High- street, Deptford, not to brag quite so much about his being his Mistress' fancy chap, if he does he will have that fop from Gieenwich jealous of him, recollect you are only her clerk Charley at 6s. per week, let your beard grow before you begin acting the gal- lant. G. M—, greengrocer, of Parrock street, Gravesend, to look more after his wife and family and not to be admiring the beautiful foot and leg of Mrs. Fuges' servant in the public street and then escort her to Albert- street. Ellen B— n, at the Bank, Dartford, not to be seen talking to every boy in the town and to be careful of the boy at the post- office or he may send her a companion for her daughter at Darenth. We advise Mr. H— y, of the Cross Keys, Chatham, not to keep such bad company in his house, till 4 o'clock in the morning, to disturb the peaceable neighbours, he had better keep his payments good of half- a- crown a week instead ot keeping his new lady Poll T— r. I say Tom how about the satin dress? it would have been more to your credit to have bought a new frock for your child. W— m H— 11, of Overy- street, Dartford, would pay a little more attention to the tall young lady with black hair, than spend so much time with the widow in Water- lane. The Bull- lieaded dyer of Deptford Bridge, to learn more common sense and talk less ridiculously of his poor insane wife, and keep a bright look out for his daughter Tilda. How about the hole in the sand. Eh Gibby? GREENWICH.— Jemy T— ke, the little, conceited, devilish, bricklayer's- helper, of Strait's Mouth, near the Druid's Arms, to try and use his tongue for other purposes, besides lying and slandering his betters, and other devilish purposes. J— k K— 1, of London, street, Greenwich, to attend to his Father's business better, and not devote so much time to dancing. Is his father aware with whom he associales? Is he aware the Music Master and M. C. of this season, is ex- pected to take his fiddle on board the Gravesend boats in the next. WOOLWICII.— MissW— n, of Warwick- street, need not trou- ble herself to dress so fine, and though she walks about with plenty of men she will never get one to have her, for they all say she is so fond of poison they are afraid of her giving them a dose. Mr. S— 1 W— n, clerk's boy of H. M. Dockyard, Woolwich, to discontinue his mean tricks when out to parties, to leave off drinking out of other people's glasses. SEVEN OAKS.— It is a pity the butler's daughter at the great house in the park, could not show her resentment any where than at church. What could the clergyman and the congregation think when she bounced out of church when the Miller came into the pew where she was? It is a great shame people cannot pass by some persons house without being insulted they had better keep at home and pay more attention to their unfortunate and afflicted son, and attend less to balls & c. PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 5 ESSEX. D— y, of Wanstead, to deprive himself of one cegar per week it will enable him to get his hair cut, likewise to get him a tin hat which will enable him to sing. O. W. G. son, at G—' s, Plaistow, Essex, not to be seen about the street so much with his different sorts of music, ( accordian, & c., & c., & c.) looking like a street musician, and ape. You had better stop indoors and endeavour to assist your father, in trying to gain a living. Mr. G— n, superintendent of police at Epping; it would be far better for him to attend more to his family, than be seen so often in the forest by the women cutting wood, with that girl, Miss B— d. E— n P— n, watchmaker's daughter of High- street, Epping, not to be seen talking to so many young men of an evening, at her father's door— beware Ellen, or you will be caught. J— n A— n, the conceited snob of Epping, not to think so much of himself strutting about of an evening. How about the shut- up shop of Loughton's. E. A— s, driver of L. P. D. C., living at Mrs. B—' s, near the church, West Ham, Essex, not to be so fond of coming down stairs of a morning in his night shirt, and parade the house. Mrs. E. H— y, of Cresswell- row, Dean- street, Great Marlow, to stay at home and write to her husband, instead of gadding about with feathers in her bonnet with the would- be Miss W— s. If Mr. R. S— e, of Croydon, would pay more attention to his own lady, instead of going out with other females, when they are away from home. How about the shaking you had at the Rose and Crown, some time back. Mr. G. P— th, at the ham and beef shop, Stockwell- terrace to keep his daughter Harriet, at home a little more and not to let her go to Mitcham so much, flirting about with the young men. Mr. R. D— t, of Surrey- hall, Lower Tooting, not to make love to every girl, for he is not such a wonderful favourite as he thinks he is, he look3 like a good natured dog, and shows his teeth before he bites. What will the little dark haired girl say. SURREY. Miss Harriet H—, the black- haired housemaid, at Clap- ham- rise, not far from Mr. T— s, the drapers, not to be wasting so much of her time on the footman's- knee, kissing him, as she looks old enough to be his mother and not to bounce quite so much because he has promised her mar- riage. R. B— t, the son of a painter, & c., not to lose so much of his time in reflecting his Phiz, in peoples windows, surely for the sake of admiring himself, to the great annoyance of others. The swing- tail, butcher's wife, of Church- street, King- ston, commonly known as, Thames- street Bet, not to fancy all Kingston belongs to her by bouncing so much, remember the time you worked for 6d. a day. Mr. F. B—, of Church- street, Mitcham, not to be seen kissing a certain widow woman in the Nags- head. His kiss is not so desirable with his snuffy nose. It would be more to his credit to stop at home with his industrious wife and sit on his board and put his goose to roast. Mr. W. P—, of Church- street, not to be wandering about near W. S— n. Is it for the loaves and fishes? Lucy P— n, not a hundred yards from the Hope inn, Frog- more, not to be seen so often near the barracks, after that longlegged life- guardsmen. Does she want to cause her friends more trouble, has she forgotten the errand- boy's affair, likewise the flash bill- sticker, Charley Y— g, with his nobby head of hair, and white ducks on a very wet day. The red- headed Ebenezer, at Mr. P— y, linendraper, Lower Tooting, to mind his master's business, instead of asking the servant girls so many questions. The greengrocer's wife not one hundred yards from the china shop, not to ill- use her mother- in- law, and to allow her husband to get his meals in quiet. If there is no refor mation we would advise her husband to pluck up a little spirit and send her back to service again. Mr. H. S— s, of the billiard- rooms, Newington Butts, to close his rooms at the hour stated in the act of Parliament. Mrs. H— d, of Mortlake, to fetch her child out of the - workhouse, and pay her debts. C. W— d, of Mortlake, to let the beer- pot alone and get a shirt to his back. W. P— k, of Mortlake, to get up in the morning and look after work, instead of living upon his poor wife's hard earnings. Sarah G— w, of Mortlake, to look after her children, and • take care the doctor- blacksmith don't give her an extra blow with his hammer. W. C— 1, of Barnes, not to strut about so much, but to pay Miss C— k the money he owes her. RICHMOND.— S. T—, at the Queen Victoria, Richmond, . not to walk down the hill, arm in arm with T. R., and other young men, or Paul will tell G. H. M. G— e, the lame girl, ot Richmond- green to mind her • own business, and not to attempt, by telling lies, to separate young men and their sweethearts, and instead of being out till 11 o'clock, every night in the streets to go home, and , attend to her little sisters. KINGSTON.— C. M— g, at Mr. P—, Market- place. Kingston, upon Thames, to keep more trr. e to the servant girl in Old Bridge- street, and not to be seen up the London- road quite so often. The puff and blow publican, of Hampton- wick, to treat bis customers with more civility for the future, and to be more liberal with the brandy, and less sparing with the water in mixing the liquors. A. T— e, the surgeon of Lower Witcliam, if he wishes to get a good reputation, to attend more to the poor and not to he so proud. Mr. L— k, the Draper opposite the Buckhead, Mitcham, to attend more to his business, than to run after Funeral's. Live, let live. G. J— n, alias Alderman Props, not to be so conceited in his singing, and not to take the chair every night at the free and easy, at the Victoria. If Mr. A— b, pressman, still intends to walk in the Reading- room, after Paul has warned him of the consequences of so doing, remember from this time or look out for the rod. B. L— y, of Kingston, not to be so flash with his new cloathes, as he will speak to no one of a Sunday, not even his old flame S. H— n, when he meets her, it does not become a printers devil. S— n, of Kingston, not to be so fast, collaring little boys for playing near his grounds of a Sunday, and threatening them with the vengeance of the law, tis not long that he has rode in his carriage, as director of the S. W. R. Miss E. T— r, the flirting bar- maid, of the Rose and Crown, Wimbledon- common, not to be so vain, and to think every one is in love with her, and not to be boasting of the presents she receives from different gentlemen, as it does not become her. J. W— s, at the pawnbrokers, near the Bridge not to go so often to see a certain greengrocers daughter, opposite the church, not to go round Battersea, so much of an evening J. C— y, ] unr. and his friend It. B— t junr. not to think so much of themselves, nor their hair, and not to go to Cremorne by water, and return wet through again. Such young chaps have no business at such places on Sundays F— 11, of Norwood, not to be seen so often at nijjht in the bye lanes with F— r, S— s, coal heavers clerk, Foic- street, Lambeth, as it does not look well, besides nut becoming to a respectable female, also F. S— s, not to think so much of his nobby head of air, which would make a g'iod mop. How . about being married. BRIGHTON. Mr. B— 1, the coachman in the park, the would be gent, not to be so fond of visiting a certain married laundress at Upper l'ark place. Reform, Sir, or Paul will tell her husband. Why, does not Mr. Doll L— d, turn respectable like his friend the young surgeon, alias " Rollickey Charley," though I doubt the propriety of the nick name. Now he has left Brighton, he has quite abandoned his old tricks of " knocker wrenching," and " window smashing," which he carried on in company with the said Mr. L— d, and which by the " winking" of the Brighton police they had become quite " au fait" in. How about the wager, who should get the greatest number of knockers by last Christmas? Mrs. M— n, at the eating- house, in Edward- street, not to be so cruel in beating that innocent little child who has no father or mother to protect it Paul dropped in the other day and saw your disgraceful conduct in beating it blaek- and- blue. Remember your'e only an offshoot, theiefore be more kind to one of the same class, or we will give you another poke. That little undergrown V— e, the musician, of Edward- street, never again to insult his neighbour. His pork has not got the measels. Paul has had some. Mr. G— y, at L— s, grocers, St. James's- street, not to think so much of yourself. You are one of those who would be a swell. How about going on the beach with Peggy at 12 o'clock at night? B— p, of the City of Hereford, not to make such a hog of himself. BERKSHIRE. A— n A— r, of Peascod- strcet, not to he so often seen at play with J. L— n. Does her brother buy pigs now that die naturally? If he does who does he think can fancy his saveloys? Where is the six- pound weight you weigh with? T. S— tt, of the Dukes- head, Windsor, not to encourage females of slight character, at his house as servants or he may have another little one to keep. Paul advises sup- inspector G— s, at Slough- station, not to imitate the barking of a dog so much, when he is calling out the name of the station, as it annoys certain passengers very much, especially the butcher and baker. Mr. White, the livery- stable- keeper, of Sheet- street, Windsor, not to attend Parkers quite so much, but to pay his debts, or he will have to appear at the County Courts very soon. Mr. J. B— n, ironmonger, Thames- street, Windsor to attend more to his business and family instead of talking so much about his neighbours. W. W— e, the fat headed tailor and greengrocer of Eton, not to take advantage of his customers by giving short weight, and not to swear poor women out of sovereigns. NORWICH. W. H— e, alias Lord Howe, of Norwich, to mind what he is after in Mark- lane, because Paul has his eye upon him. Look out. Miss H. C— t, near Charing Cross, to leave off going after one ot the 16 th Lancers, because Paul thinks they wont do her any good. Reform Harriet, you were a good girl once, be the same again, for the sake of your poor father. Paul kn iws you perfectly well. Keep your eye open. Miss Peggy C— n, near Elm- hiU, another young lady, who is out of a night with another of our gallant 16ths, She would have been a gOod singer if she kept in all night. Now be a good girl Pe gy. Harry W— n, who frequents the Trumpet, St. Stephen's, a great deal to reflect. Paul knows of something about you. The waiter, of the Canteen at the Barracks, not to be so stage struck. YORKSHIRE. The ladies of Whitby, to beware of a certain plasterer, now resident in the town, and t<> view him in the light of an im- poster, it is not long since the above I— s B— n, had a child fathered upon him, by a young lady, in Westerdale, for which he is considerably in arrears. W— m C— n, grocer, Low- street, Whitby, not to tell so many people, that his apprentice has robbed him, he ought to remember that he is his cousin, and not to forget the time when he himself used to steal groceries from his master and carry them to S— s, alias Cheeky's. Paul thinks J— n H— 1, would never have been a bankrupt if he had not known C- n. SHEFFIELD.— J. and J. B— s, not to send any more of their pour degraded apprentices from their (" Dens" in the Peak of Derbyshire), to Derby Prison, for slight offcnces in not complying with their despotic will. Sam H— n, the office fag, in Array's department, to speak in better terms of his superiors i « id their abilities. Young G— n, of Union- street, also of Jvtirrays, to be care- ful what he brings out of the yard. Little B— t, the shipwright, to be more liberal to the un- fortunates, sixpence, is paltry in the extreme. Mr. P— n, the clerk, at the Customs, to pay his debts. Tom V— n, the conceited shipwright, not to fancy himselt the most intelligent youth in the dockyards. Is it true, that Miss D— n, of Halfmoon- street, is in an interesting way. Old L— y, of College- street, not to fancy himself a politi- cian, but to study the prices of ships- copper more. Mr. D— e, of Wiltshire- street, to be on the watch, as Bill B— r, the brewer's- man and ex- chemist, is in the habit of creeping in, when you and your wife are gone to bed. Beware squint- eye. Mr. B— m, Commerce- house, to have an eye on his young men and to observe how many have started in business. Mr. D— y, has now made his debut, hut we believe he picked up an old woman, with a little blunt. Misses L— s', of Prince George's- street, not to go without butchers- meat all the week to dress on Sunday, particularly when business has been slack with certain rents of the navy and army. P— s, the dentist, of Bonfire- corner, not to get so lushy. L— t, the ex- butcher' and policeman, to take a few lessons from Mr. M. K— y the barber, of Queen- street, to use his wife better, how about the cheap meat on the Mill- dam. SWANSEA. Mr. David G— s, Park- street, to marry Miss Jane D— s, of Powell- street, for she lias learnt how to put the letters of the alphabet together as far as ab, eh, ib, ob, ub. Miss P— e, of Garden- street, to give up running against young men with such force. How about the gent you ran down Jn Orange- street. Mr. Mc A— s, at Mr. B— e's, sadlers, Oxford street, to get his trousers lengthened, and not wear such long straps at the bottom. If he cannot raise the money to pay for the alter- ing we will lend him as much. Mr. G— o, of the Customs, to get married to that young lady of Gardiner- street, otherwise he will lose her, as she has found out that it is not a silver top to his cane but a regular schofel. The two young M— l's, one a doctor, the other a sadler, not to go into Mr. Baker's shop and look so much at Paul Pry and not buy one. We twigged you my gents through the window. Miss C— e, at Mr. M— s, confectioners, Castle- square, to put a blind before that part of the window where she sits, otherwise there will be a certain young gent fixed to the flag- stones outside, as he stops so long looking at her ringlets. Miss K— s, of Wellington- street, not to be seen parading the streets quite so often, or she will soon repent of it. Remember Miss, that two shillings and sixpence a- week is not much for two, yourself and a young kid. W. T— s, at Mr. S. H— y, Castle- square, not to think so much of his very fine figure. I am sure that the young girls will only laugh when they hear him making such a boast of it, as they think there are many at Swansea much better grown than him. The penny shaver of High- street, not to be so fond of going into Regent- street, for Paul, is afraid he will repent of it when too late. George T— r, of Princes- street, not to annoy the girls of Garden- street, so much ; it must be better for him as he is well aware they think him a complete ass ? Attend George, more to your writing lectures at the coffee- house, in future and not make yourself so foolish. J. J— s, painter, Strand, not to make such a fool of him- self at Chapel, on Sundays ; and not think that the girl in the white shawl and satin dress, is in love with him, for she thinks him a proud conceited pnppy. Miss D— s, the painter's daughter, of Goat- street, not to put so many shavings in^ her bustle, for it it is very annoying to the youg men ? Stuff it with bran, Mary, aud be sure to pay for it. The flour and bran seller of Castle- street, not to be fond of the nymphs of the pave, or he may repent it, as the weather is now about to become somewhat warmer, than it has been of late. Miss M-— n, of Welcome- street, to be more condcscending to her neighbours or Paul will he obliged to expose your disgraceful conduct at the last ball. How about your losing your garter. Miss ? J. L— s, the lawyers's clerk, to stay at home in future, and not go swelling about with his penny Pickwick, amongst the low girls of the town after eleven o'clock at night. C. S— e, of Castle- street, not to open his mouth so wide when attempting a solo at the Concert- room, Strand. THE MURDERER FOUND, BRISTOL. Sarah N— t, of I. cad- House- Lane, at St. Phillips, not to gossip so much from house to house where she goes to take orders. Take care prating Sally, times arc bad and work may be short. PORTSMOUTH. Dirty Sail B— 1, Grigg- street, and Miss B— r, Brougham- street, nut to be seen iu retired places at late hours with cer- tain snobs. Snuffy M— h, at Commerce- house, to leave off lushing. We hope he maintains his kid. We h pe Mr. S— s, at the same house will not go to the Red Lion so often. Miss 1)— n, at B— s, Cumberland- street, not to use her sister's children as a decoy to officers. B— s, the jeweller, Hanover- street, not to put certain ar icles entrusted to his care out at interest, and to leave off lying. The Misses I— e's, of the Commercial- road, to get old men for husbands. Their sisters will inform them how to make up the deficiency. CHAPTER VII. RATCLIFFE HIGHWAY. TOWARDS the end of the year 1811, this feeling I have spoken of became so ungovernable, that day after day I wandered about seeking for the opportunity, and night after night I brooded upon the plan, and the deed, and at last the fearful fancy broke out in all the startling reality of fact. One evening, in the early part of the month of December, and at a somewhat late hour of the evening, I happened to be passing by the shop of a small haberdasher, and being in want of some article I ente red the shop just as his assistant, a stout young lad, was closing it, and the tradesman himself was placing his wares upon tho shelf, the counter being covered with what seemed to be the goods usually placed at the shop door. The article I required was not of any great value, and although I had plenty of money, yet, in the first instance, the articles submitted to me were not satisfactory, and as I also saw that he was growing in some degree irritated with my fastidiousness, I only gave him still the more trouble. There happened to be with me— but then waiting for me in the street— a man named Williams, an idle, dissipated fel- low, fit for anything, whom I had picked up at a public- house the same afternoon, and with whom I had been drinking. Ho had in his possession a small chisel, which in a fit of idle curiosity I had asked him to let- me look at, and which I had in my hand on entering; but while the haberdasher was un- folding his goods, I put it in my pocket without thinking of what consequences so unimportant an occurrence might give rise to. Young, as I then was, I was strongly and powerfully formed, and though I had drank a considerable quantity I was cool enough; and began to enjoy the growing anger of tho wrearied man, who after fourteen hours' anxiety and bustle, was glad to rest an hour and go to bed. As I was in no hurry, and as my companion was still without, I kept the harrassed man unfolding his packages, for lie made an endeavour to be as polite as possible and as assiduous; but I bad already deter PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 184 mined not to purchase at'. « * 4> and this I suspect he began to think was the case. At this moment * ha hoy had closed the shop, and the ser- vant- girl was s « lt out f'or something or other for supper. In five minutes after the altercation arose, Williams hearing the sound opened the door and entered, just as the haberdasher was saying, in a voice struggling between civility and annoyance:— " It strikes me sir that you are not in want of anything." " You mistake me, friend," replied I, with a mock polite- ness. " I want— to give you as much trouble as I can." " Perhaps tho cove wants something for hisself," began the intruder, " if so I can accommodate him," and he would have gone round the counter, if the man himself had not barred the way. " Boy," he shouted, " run for a watchman," and turning. to me, said, " You appear, by your dress, to be of some better degree than this fellow. As for him, I know him well, and he shall know me. too. If you do not go at onej?, I will give you in charge. ,' Doyou, by G— d!" exclaimed Williams, " You know me, eh?" I held tho boy in the meantime, and the uproar had aroused Mrs. M—, the wife of the unfortunate trades- man, and as I heard her coming down or up the stairs, in one moment both boy and man were weltering in blood on the ground. I had * * * * and the other holding his hand upon the victim's moutli' the chisel was forced into his throat. Ilis wife appeared at the same moment. # * * * * * [ The Annotator informs the reader that the details of the murder of the two in the shop, viz., the haberdasher and his boy, are so sickening that the text dare not be given, but that which follows must be wholly obliterated. Page after page, which describes the " killing," with n degree of minuteness ntterlv appalling, would only horrify, without interesting him. The servant girl's return roused the mur derers after they had killed the unhappy wife and her infant in its cradle. Not being able to enter she called the watch- man, his endeavours were also as fruitless, and in the end the door was obliged to be forced, when they discovered a scene for the particulars of which we must refer to the journals of the day.] To return— The alarm ( continues the M. S.) being given, we were for a moment fearful of being found, and after running up and down stairs, the whole not taking twenty minutes, we found a means of exit. Instantly we passed through a window at the back of the house, and half wading through a muddy back yard, and, several little streets, we skulked away at a rapid pace, and • under tho shadow of the darkness, unnoticed by any, even when the shouts of men in alarm and pursuit echoed along the distant streets, we escaped. With a coolness at which I wondered, considering that mv accomplice was a novice in crimes of such magnitude, he proposed after we had got to a ceriain, and safe distance, that he should return to his lodgings at a Mr. VermelleC's and after making an appointment for another evening, for- getting in the hurry of the moment, that we had left one of the instruments of the murder behind us, we parted. New Gravel- lane, is in the neighbourhood of Ratcliffe- highway, and on the second Thursday following, that is to say, on the 19tli of December, I contrived to re- awaken and spread a harrowing and ungovernable sensation of horror over the metropolis, by the killing of three more parties, a man, his wife, and a servant girl. The whole of this took place iu a most unpremeditated manner, as I will presently show. In this said Gravel- lane there was a public- house, known as the King's Arms, and kept by a person named W—•. It was here, at between 11 and 12 o'clock, that the second tremendous tragedy was acted, which paralysed the hearts of all, and made tkein speak of these things with pallid cheeks, and trembling lips, till men strong and bold, dreaded the - approach of night, and hurried to their homes with a more quickened step, thinking that at every corner there lurked an assassin. Imagination lent itself to heighten tho fears none could define, and I had thus set a million of people in a state of anxious agony. On this evening, dressed in a brown top- coat, thrown loosely over my usual dress, my youthful appearance was negatived by a somewhat swarthy complexion, heightened by staining it, and a wig, the locks of which were' loosely curled. I took this precaution in the event of anything like a recognition on any one's part of the past eventful night. I met Williams early in the afternoon at a pub'ic- liouse called the Pear Tree, for I felt that with this fellow 1 might easily gratify my still raging passion— perhaps also it might he necessary to kill him! However, from there we adjourned to the King's Head, where for some time we continued to drink, and as I knew that tbe quantity I took must be in. an immoderate degree, if it caused me to be thrown off my guard, but I found it was otherwise with my companion, and in order to distract his attention, as I did not precisely know what to do, I called for some cards in a little room, and while playing was whispering now and then with him across the table. From what I heard, there was to be a raffle in a night or two, and the landlady had then, a silver punch ladle, a watch, and one or two trinkets, which were the intended prizes. All at once I beheld my companion's, face lighten up with sucli a gleam of cupidity that I almost comprehended what would follow. Williams touched me on the arm and motioned me to fol- low, 1 did so, and found myself after having quietly descended some stairs unseen, in a kind of uellar, part of which had been converted, into a skittle ground, where we sat down, and only conversed in whispers for the time. I was now upon the track of blood, this vagabond was a paltry tliief and intended to steal the articles he had seen, and whatever else lie could lay his hands upon. I could have given him gold for the mere asking, but such an idea liad not entered into his head. He knew nothing of mc farther than that I was associated with him in the incident already told. I knew that there was a lodger in the house, but lie had gone up to bed, and there was only a Stervant and a little girl, but the girl was also at rest. All at once my companion in the darkness grasped my arm, and shuddered while giving vent to a sound like that of a person sighing deeply. Tho sound reached the ears of those above. I heard the land- lord coming down stairs, he was a strongly- built, powerful man, as his struggles testified. In an instant my hand had grasped a short crow- bar. The light was advancing, and a voice said:— " Who is there ? Come out will you, the constable will be here directly. I know your'e there, and after no good." He stood almost at the entrance of the skittle ground. One foot was on the doorway, one hand extended. With a swing of the arm my bar descended on his forehead. He fell, and falling grappled me. Leaving Williams below, I rushed up the stairs with the bar in my Land, suid appeared in the little room, or bar- parlour. The landlady saw me, ar. d truly I must have been an appal- ling figure. " We Shall all be murdered," was her exclama- tion. It was prophetic, for I and immediately I heard footsteps as of some one having come down in alarm, and in still greater alarm retreated. I then thought of the lodger who had escaped. The servant girl was killed before. My companion joined me, and finished the horrible work The sound of murder! murder! help!" rang across the street, and Williams with a curse desisted from plunder in order to make his escape. We tried from below and failed, therefore we ran hastily up stairs again. A back window offered ( as before) a means of escape. It overlooked a space of ground belonging to the London Dock Company. There was only a " drop " of about seven or eight feet, and as the ground was soft there was no dan- ger. The waste land lost itself in a ramification of small streets, and we could at any time defy pursuit. This fellow, I found out afterwards, had already, with some others, planned the robbery only of this last- mentioned fa- mily, but the idea which took such a ghastly form in my brain precipitated him. Had I known that he was thus implicated I should have killed him first. Having secured liis secrecy, and once more appointed a place of meeting, I was perfectly secure; for, although, I made my appearance at my guardian's at the stated times, with intervals satisfactorily accounted for, my various dis- guises were so many, yet so simple as to defy all observation; but Williams had taken, as lie thought, the precaution to shave off liis whiskers, which, with other circumstances, caused his seizure, and upon the testimony of a Dane— his fellow lodger— he was remanded to Cold Bath- fields' prison. I then thought it time to see him, and, by means of an order, entered the place where he was incarcerated. I obtained admission alone, without espial, to the cell where Williams was placed, and found that his firmness and liis courage, were beginning to leave him. It was in vain that I told him if he only still stoutly denied the whole matter, nothing would come of it— that the circumstantial evi- dence was not enough to injure him— that I would, at my own expense, engage one of the most talented men in the law to defend him and disprove all, adding a promise of a high reward,— all in vain. Imprisonment had broken his spirit, he threatened to impeach me there and then. Boiling with rage I seized him by the throat, and heavily ironed as ho was . . . - I quitted the prison instantly and Without suspicion. When the gaolers, some time after, went in to look t:> him, they found him suspended by a handkerchief from a beam. Thus was the evidence of my guilt in a bold and complete manner destroyed. A coroner's jury— that sat upon his body, brought in a verdict of felo de se, and his funeral was one of the most exciting events— and second to the assassination, one of the most breathless scenes that ever took place within the metropolis. Where the Ncw- rQad is crossed by Canno- street, a grave six feet deep had beei^ dug, and amid the ex- ecrations of all, his dishonoured carcase was flung in to rest. It was said afterwards, that bis gnilt was proved conclusive; but the proof was only another portion of that circumstantial evidence by which men who form juries have been so often deceived. Soon after this, under pretence of making a short tour, I quitted my guardian's house, and well supplied with money, and letters of crcdit, I went from place to plaee. following the bent of my humour, so that a period of three or fo, ur years elapsed without anything of consequence to me, or in- terest to the reader, taking place. ( To be continued in our ne. it.) PAUL IN THE PLAYHOUSE, DRURY LANE. On Monday night, we wore present at the representation of Weber's magnificent Opera of JJer Freichutz, by tho German company. The plot of the story, with all its grandeur of music — All its weird and startling accessories of German superstition — its wild and terrible incantation— itschorusses of joy and ter- ror— are, in a more or less degree, familiar to the play- going public; but the absolute reality of seeingandhearingall these personified by men towlioni tlicgeniusof Weber's music seems like a. second nature— is only to be equalled by the perform ance of Macheth, as we have once or twice seen it in the course of our play- going life. The overture, one of the most wild and wondrous pieces of music in the world, was played to a miracle; for the power, efficiency, and skill of the orchestration could not be sur- passed. " The chorus in particular is one of the completcst ever seen on the stage. Herr Erl as Max, and Ilerr Stephanas Caspar, displayed tile almost gigantic vocal resources of the human voice, while the Agathe of Madlle. Yon Romahi, and the Anclien of Madame Marlow, were as splendid in conception and ex- ecution. Little of time as there has been for the " getting up " of this amazing opera, there was absolutely nothing wanting in it. The incantation scene was as fearfully fascinating as scenic delusion, accompanied by grand and sombre music, could make it. Tbe Queen honoured the house with her presence, which was literally crammed. II AY MARKET. Shakspere's play of Othello, lias again been revived at this theatre. It is, without question, one of the most natur- ally constructed plays of our great bard's genius. We have had opportunities too of seeing it well played, by gome ofi ur greatest actors. How miserably disappointed were we the other evening whilst witnessing the exertions of Mr. Charles Kean in the character of Othello. His address to tbe Senate was conspicuous for its off- handed, I- am- lie kind of style, we have ever had the misfortune to witness, the disagrceableness of which was enhanced by a monstrous cracked voice, some- what like the croaking of the raven. His soft and tender passages with the gentle Desdemoua was characterized by their harsh monotony, whilst those great and glorious out- bursts of passion so terrifically given by his father, most ex- crutiatingly grated on the ear and finished with. a discordant shriek. The part of Iago was very creditably sustained by Mr. James Waltack, as were all the other characters of the piece, particularly the Brabantio of Mr. Rogers. Wc left the theatre, more than ever convinced that Mr. C. Kean is about the greatest theatrical quack of the day, PRINCESSES. The Blind Sister; or the Mountain Farm, lias been pro- duced at this theatre. It is an entirely new piece and most of the music is. said to have been composed by Anber. The piece displays considerable skill in its construction, which combined with the delightful airs in which it . abounds, bid fair to carry it successfully onward for some time to come. Miss Poole executed with great taste the music allotted to her part, and with Mr. Weiss, obtained several encores. Madame Eeron, acquitted herself in a creditable manner of the small part assigned her; whilst Messrs. Qxberry, by their united comic powers, kept the audience in a happy state of humour. We must not, however, forget to mention Miss Lanza's impersonation of the blind sister. She was all that could be wished. We are happy to see, now she has get rid somewhat of her timidity, the development of much talent, and shewill, ere long, we prognosticate, hold an envied po- sition as a vocalist and actress, two branches of the profes- sion very rarely united. After the fall of the curtain, the principal performers were honoured with a call, after which, Mr. Lacy, the author, came forward and received the applause of the audience. SADLER'S ' WELLS. A new tragedy, from the pen of an American author, has beou produced at this theatre with great sncccss. Calaynos is the title, and the seene is laid in Seville and its neighbour- hood, at the castle of Calaynos { Mr. Phelps) a Spanish no- bleman of untarnished honour, and studious habits, who is united to a beautiful wife, Donna Alda ( Miss Cooper) whose society is his world of enjoyment; he has also a secretary, Oliver ( Mr. Dickenson) who is much attached to his master. Don Luis ( Mr. Marston) the friend of Calaynos, beseeches his presence in Seville, as he is embarrassed through giving way to gaming; although he assigns other causes for liis ruin. The secretary endeavours to prevent him undertaking the journey; his mind, however, is made up, and he departs to serve his friend, whose debts he pays, and then invites him to his castle. Don Luis conies, pretends to fall in love with Donna Alda and carries her off, though against her will. In a very short time he deserts her, aud she returns to her husband heartbroken, to beseech forgiveness, lie pities and pardons her, and she dies repentant in liis arms. Calaynos then seeks the seducer and slays him, from whom he also receives liis death wound and finishes the tragedy. There are various other incidents, and several more characters to work out the plot. It is beautifully written and several pas- sages are remarkable for their poetic beauty. The principal parts were performed by Messrs. Phelps, Marston, Dickinson, Hoskins, and Miss Cooper, most admi- rably, with the exception of Mr. Marston, who was miserably bad throughout, ( where was George Bennett?) what with liis delightful voice, terrible bowlings, and winning love scenes, Paul was truly glad every time he made his exit. However, the tragedy was unquestionably very successful, being placed on the stage in first- rate style. The scenery also deserves great praise. STANDARD. | Mr. John Douglas seems determined to marc. li onward in j producing novelty after novelty. Movie Christo, has been put upon the stage of this really respectably conducted house, in a manner that reflects the greatest possible credit upon the management. The whole, strength of the company, combining the names of N. T. Hicks, Honncr, Herbert, Gates, C. Williams, vvith Mrs. W. Daly, and our own favor- ite, Mrs. R. Ilonner, are called into requisition, and afford & treat to the play- going public of which we recommend them to take advantage. THE THREEPENNY GALLERY. Whoever has cast his eyes arouud the gallery of a low- theatre, where every dangerous sentiment is continually pandered to, will have witnessed a scene that comes as near to our ideas of a human Pandemonium as it is well possible to be. The theatrical saloons, tho low minors with all their- atrocitius, are neither more or less than vast nurseries of crime, where not only is vulgarity propagated, flash and slang superseding the good old Saxon tongue, till, in the Thieves' Latin that is belched in execration and blasphemy around, one ceascs to recognise it altogether. We say, not only does this take place, but on the stage is paraded every crime the human mind can form, and vice, stripped of its- dark trappings, takes the ? hnpe of virtue. Murder in every several shape is taught. Burglary in its number of set lessons— lust, sensuality, and drunkenness, follow by turns. Of all the abominable temptations held out to the young outlaws of society, noth ng can be more fatally attractive than the temptations arising from the threepenny gallery.. The price is within the reach of the street beggar even. And as his taste is a very highly seasoned one, so the performance niust be as atrociously effective. Ilere, then, congregate the utterly depraved : the young, lads who belong to organised thieving establishments; the hanger- on at the street corners,— those, who as yet may be uncontaminated, which will be wonderful after all if such be found, seeing that > vhen the child is ten years old, vice comes to play by his side in the streets. Vice in tbe heart of youth is impulsive, fiery, flaming. It burns in liis blood, and fills his veins with irrepressible pas- sions which rage uncontrolled— and the garbage gathers by tbe more it feeds upon. In the representation of dramas, where highwaymen, smugglers, villains " bold and brave," women loving to a delirium, and then surrendering to their lover every principle of honour and shame, figure in turn,, these representations must deaden the heart, strangle moralities, stifle the conscience, and prepare them for those daring violations of the law, the very zest of which is con- stituted by the danger consequent upon them. Men, women, and children of all ages, are to be seen in tliese- galleries; . brawny ruffians with savage and sensual - faces, whofe bloated appearance form a comment on their lives, and denote their peculiarities. Women, bold, brazen, anil impudent, sit in tbe front rank and proclaim what they arc. Ill addition to the filthy ribaldry some of the impudent low comedians of tbe day are guilty of, insulting to common sense, they also fling their nasfiness over dclicacv, and make a right- thinking man blush for the insult any woman must feel, when tbe wretched mimic thinks to obtain tin- suffrages of tbe gallery by some expression for which in tho- street he ought to be roundly horsewhipped. The minor theatre, with its threepenny gallery, therefore robs the legitimate theatre of its rights. It takes away its audiences, debases the drama, and substitutes a meretricious and vile counterfeit upon the public. It is the public alone, however, that. can alter all this; and we trust by laying tho case thus openly before them, they will see the necessity of avoiding such places; for there is but one way of purifying this filthy Augean stable. Avoid it! Maria her sex's foible slums; ller tongue no length of larum runs; T wo phrases answer every part,— One gained, one breaks iier husband's heart; " 1 will," the said, when made a bride; " I won't"— through all her life beside. PAXIL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE". LETTER- BAG. • was not fit. for it. His family says lio is fit for nothing, and X believe it, and so do most people, so they've let master j— n p— e loose upon town, aping everything that is vain or gentish, being a fair specimen of that long lost, and long desired genus— the connecting link between the man and the monkey. I trust this will effect an amendment, or I shall expose some birds of a similar feather— so G—- w look to yourself; why man you'ro getting quite thin, you can't be such a fool as to starve your interior man to decorate your exterior one; come Gr— w, come, dispose of that platod Albert, and then revel in beef for a week— decrease in gentility, but increase in substance. 1'— e, at M— n's, the hairdresser, should not think so much of himself, for it is a sure sign when a man entertains a high opinion of himself that the world entertains exactly the reverse. But it is time for me to conclude this. Give my kind love to aunt; and accept tho same from Your ever affectionate nephew, JEREMIAII 3? RY. 1-\ S,— I have enclosed patterns of Welsh flannel for aunt's inspection. | £ DEAR PAUL,— I see by your last number, being a constant reader, that some benevolent individual has been kind enough to expose a few of my weak points in a remarkably malig- nant manner. I am perfectly aware who the individual is ; which is the cause of my troubling you with this scrawl. The gpspel says, " pluck first the beam from thine- own « ye, before thou attemptest to pluck the mote from thy brother's." This applies to the ahove named gentleman, who . is kind enough to torture the tenor violin at our soirees, and the cause of his malcvolenee proceeds from my having made a wretched attempt at a joke by say ing, that it would be advantageous to the harmony if his instrument were like that spoken of by Gray, iu his " Elegy" " They kept the noiseless tenor of their way." The roar which this villainous sally caused, so irritated • our friend, that he was heard to say afterwards to the prin- cipal obce,' " that he would show- mc- up." I think, dear Paul, you will agree with mo, that it, shows a contemptible little mind to be. so irritated by such a miser- able j ok 3 ; which would not have been laughed at, only that the spirits of the club, were so depressed through hav- ing performed a high art piece of Mendelsohn's,, of this gentleman's especial selection ; that they were glad of any- thing, however bad, to laugli at. With regard to my assert- ing that I possessed great fascination for the fair sex, I deny it in toto; that must be taken from his own qualifications, as he is constantly boasting of " making it all right," with cer- tain modest and respectable females. The moustache and imperial, I confess. I would not my dear Paul, have troubled you with this ; only that I think you will agree with me, that it ill becomes a Member of an Amateur Club, to he severe upon a fellow member, in the manner in which he, has done. He is kind enough to say that I am, " a well dis- posed individual," I would I could say the same of him; hut the heartless seduction of a young female at Kentish- town, rises in black judgment against him. Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones." Hoping that as you have inserted his letter,_ you will in strict justice be equally indulgent to mine. I remain, Your constant reader, W. B. Y— e. [ In justice to our correspondent, we insert his letter entire, which bears upon it the mark of a thorough good nature. ED. P. P.] THE FRAIL SISTERHOOD. CIGAR SHOP BROTHELS. ( To Paul Pry, Esq.) SIR,— The Public ought to feel themselves indebted to you, for your manly exposure of notorious houses, within and out of London. Allow me as a humble individual to award my meed of praise, and thanks, for your unflinching exertions in the cause of virtue. In your very neighbourhood, my dear Paul, yes ; in Brydges- street, there is a house, nearly op- posite Vinegar- yard, where vice, in open days, sits enthroned on its demon pedestal ; there you may see several young girls, handsome ones too, sitting in the shop by way of bait, to entice the unwary into their toils. This place is kept if I mistake not, by a woman of the name of Carter, a perfect bully in her little way. Now is it not disgraceful, that in a neighbourhood so close to Bow- street, the chief Police office of the Metropolis, such a placc, should be allowed to exist. A friend of mine was decoyed into this den the other day, when he was told by the girl in the shop, that the placc be- longed to herself. He was induced to stay a short time and smoke a cigar ; when he was about to leave, five shillings, was demanded by the Proprietress, for the privilege of having a few minutes converse with the frail beauty. He of course refused to pay it, and the Billingsgate he received from this Mrs. Carter, was really frightful. ft is to such dens as those that young and inexperienced girls are decoyod from their homes, and find, when too late, that they have consigned their keeping into the hands of perfect fiends, after having broke the hearts of their sorrow- ing parents. I trust, Paul, you will go on in the way you have began, until these plague'spots be wholly wiped" away from our Public streets: Yours, & c. $ # * * Mecklinburgh- square. P1VOINE. CHAP. II. AN ARTIST'S TOILEX.- " Yes," pursued Fra Diavolo, continuing to twirl his moustache like a musketeer, " yes, the thing is evident; ' tis a woman; but what one ? An old flame of mine ? She would abstain from all such mysterious dodges.— A model, amorous of her painter? Models have no money to devote to boxes in the dress- circle.— A grand lady? A Countess of the noble faubourg Saint Germain, as the poet Barbier says? This wanton idea tickles me, but I think ' tis erroneous. The Theatre Bobino is not aristocratic enough; a marchioness would not have chosen it! " Can it be an actress, ail artiste, a lover of the fine arts, struck with my genius, and anxious that I should sketch her in black- lead, that I should dip her in water- colour, or im- mortalize her in oil, and the whole, iu the coquettish costume of Venus issuing from the bosom of the ocean! I'll bet a hundred of it! It must be so! " Thalia beckons me, Momus crowns me, and Cupid smiles at me! Long live joy and potatoes! Olibius, what o'clock is it?" " You know well," replied his Mercury, with a shade of ill- liumour, " you know well that the watch is at my aunt's, where my uncle takes care of it!" " Then decamp; cut down the stairs; consult the chro- nometer of the grocer at the corner, and look at the bill of the theatre at the angle of the Rue Madame, to give me an account of the composition of the pieces, and of the hour at which they commence!" Whilst the Mercury acquitted hirvfel of the double com- mission confided to him, Fra Iliiivrlo resumed his place before his clothes- horse, and gave a few touches with his brush, right or wrong, through- the middle of the painting he had commenced— a mythologies! land anacreontic picture representing a sleeping nympli, J'^ htly attired, surprised in I a grove by a Silenus, with ardent and searching eyes. In about five minutes Olibius re- appeared, quite out of \ breath. " Well?" demanded Era Diavolo. " It is ten minutes past four." " They commence?"— " At a quarter past five." " And what do they play? ' " Here is the bill; I stole it out of the frame." " Hush— hush— hush!" ; " Yes;, aud. the porter of. the theatre,. who saw me. do it, commenced gratifying me with a torrent of filthy abuse; the passengers began to congregate; I cut my lucky; and here I am!" Whilst spe. aking, Olibitt drew from beneath his blouse a large sheet of pink paper, closely folded up ; he unrolled, it, and displayed to the eyes of Fra Diavolo the following placard,_ iri all its splendour;— LUXEMBOURG THEATRE. First Representation of MADELINETTE; OR The G- risette of the Quartier Latin. A BALLET, in Three Acts. SWANSEA. JEREMIAH TRY'S LETTERS TO NIS UNCLE TAUL. Letter I. Dear Uncle.— Having now had sufficient time fully to in- vestigate this town, I shall commence at once laying before you the fruits of my search. I think that Swansea contains a more than average quantity of snobs, gents, and humbugs, classes which if we cannot reduce by gentle hints and ad- vice, then I fear dear uncle we must " cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war," and consume them in our bitterest, in our most burning satire. Perhaps the most prolific snob, or gent, that infests our thoroughfares is, J— n P— e, of Goat- street; oh, you would split your sides with laughing if you could see him walking down the streets. He has a perpetual grin upon his stupid, ignorant face, and such a pair of lack- lustre, vacant eyes— a short cutaway coat, he has a stick under his arm, or he is cutting the air with it, or else he is sucking the knob— a monkey's head, " a fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind." He smokes cigars, for which he never pays, and insults per- sons whose shoes he is not fit to wipe. Sometimes he lolls and grins with persons, if possible, as senseless as himself, at the post- office, or at the door of the C— n office. What pleasure G— w, of the customs, or W. B— r, can feel in his company I can't tell. He was intended for a lawyer, but Mile. PIVOINE WILL MAKE HER DEBUT IN THE CHARACTER OP MADELINETTE. It will Commence with PICOLO, A Vaudeville, in One Act, by M. X *• » * * *. MADKLINETTE will be played at 8 o'clock precisely. " Pivoine!" exclaimed the painter; the name is original, therefore it pleases me! Do you know this young artiste, Olibius?" young " How do you suppose I should know her? Do you ever give me money to go to the theatre ?'' ". No; but I suspect you of hunting the neighbourhood of the theatre at the hour of rehearsals, especially on dirty days." " What to do?" " To study the shape of the actresses' legs, hopeful!" " My faith, no!" " Quite sure?" " On my honour!" " Well, ' tis all one to me; but time flies, and I must pre- sently think of my toilette; let us proceed to this matter." And dinner?" " I am not hungry; I shall sup when I return. What is there in the cupboard?" " Some of yesterday's bread, and some Italian cheese, about two pen'orth." " You will eat one moiety, and leave me the other." " Agreed." " Now, give me your opinion, Olibius?" " Willingly." " What coat ought I to put on, according to you?" " Alas!" " I ask you what coat"— " You should put on?" I perfectlv heard." " Well, then?" " But I did not comprehend." " What?" " You have several coats then, at present?" " No, I have but one." " Green?" " Yes." « With chased buttons?" " Undoubtedly." « ' Tis the only one?" " Can't deny it." " Well, then, choose that one." " You are perfectly right: bring me this luxurious gar- ment, that I mav verify its degree of presevation." Olibius brought the coat, and, at a sign from his master, endorsed it on the dummy. Fra Diavolo walked round it,, and threw an affectionate and satisfied look on this old and ffithful companion. " Do you know that this coat is a very elegant one?" he said, suddenly. " Nothing is wanting to " it. The cut of it is audacious; the paddings solid -, the buttons of an irre- proachable model! I had it made in a day of prosperity! I had just been paid fifty crowns for a picture— a chef- d'oeuvre ! ' How the times are changed!'" And a sigh accompanied this classic quotation. " It appears to me that the seams have turned somewhat white," hazarded Olibins. " Do you think so? ' Tis possible. Wc will remedy it." " How?" " You shall. see; prepare me some green of the same shade as the coat, on the pallette." Olibius executed this in a moment. Era Diavolo then took a brush, and restored, then and there, to the damaged seams their primitive freshness. " All goes well!" he said; " give me my white pan- taloons?" " They are dirty." " By all that is holy, but this is serious! Never mind, show me this inexpressible." Upon an examination,' it was acknowledged that the tick, formerly white, had arrived by degrees to a nankin tint, per- fectly original. Fra Diavolo was not a man to he embarrassed at such a trifle. He prepared some rose- colour, and performed on tho pantaloons, to the great astonishment of Olibius, a multitude of shades, which completely disguised the suspicious cleanli- ness of the stuffl " Better and better," he then said; " let us now pass to the waistcoat." " There are none." " What! there are none?" " No." " This is rather strong! I confided two to the washer- woman, with four false collars, more than a fortnight ago." " Yes, and the washerwoman brought them back last week, I forgot to tell you." " Well?" " Well, she pretended that you already owed her forty- one francs, seventy- one centimes; and she added that she would keep the linen until you paid her something handsome on account." " Virtue, you are but an empty sound!" exclaimed the artist; " a woman to whom I promised my love!! • O tem- poral. O mores. 1' Give me some white paper and a scissors?" " Here they are." " Now, search in the trunk of worn- out clothes for an old velvet waistcoat in rags, which no clothes- merchant has been willing to purchase." " There." Era Diavolo extended on the table the rag presented to hini by his factotum, and cut out the white paper, following with exactitude the contours of the ex- garment. " Olibius," he . said, on finishing, " you shall paint me oil this something rich aud admiring, a damask after Paul. Veronese, and quickly!" Whilst Olibius obeyed, the proprietor of the place reviewed a pair of boots and a pair of shoes, and observed with grief that these adjuncts to his toilette smiled in a most lamenta- ble. fashion. But the ingenuity of Era Diavolo did not fail him. He could not hide the gaping. wounds; he determined to render them improbable; and he covered the damaged leather with a thick coat of picture- varnish, very judiciously supposing that no one would suspect the holes in these shining boots. These preparations concluded, Fra Diavolo put on the pantaloons, and encircled his neck in a cravat of black, flowered satin, much faded, but which he terminated in a negligent tie. He fitted on, with pins, tho false waistcoat which Olibius had just illuminated, and which boldly stood the ordeal of inspection; he smoothed his long black hair, drew it into clusters, and adjusted its luxurious curls; he twisted to a point with varnish the conquering twirl of his moustache; put on his coat; looked for his gloves, and found but one, which he decided upon wearing in his right hand, burying the other hand in the depths of his left pocket. He covered his head with his wide- brimmed felt hat, which he cocked on one side over the right ear, after the fashion of the portraits of Van Dyck, and at length said to Olibius:— " You will put the work- room in order— very good order; and you will carefully make the bed?" " Why so, then?" " Because it is possible I may not return alone!" replied Fra Diavolo, in a pompous air. " Enough! I will conform to it." " Now, fold the bill you stole, and give it me." " Do you mean to restore it to the office of the theatre, by chance?" " No, I simply mean to save myself the costly purchase: of a play- book, by making use of it as a programme." " Ah! What an idea!" N, " It is in the best taste. Good uight, Olibius.*' " Good night, master, and good luck." " Thank you." Fra Diavolo descended the staircase, humming:— " Come, gentle dame; Come, for I await you!" And proceeded towards the Luxembourg Theatre with a forced movement of the shoulders, and a gait that reminded one of red heels and Louis XV. ( To be continued in our next.) 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. PAUL AMONG THE PUBLICANS. " Bungs, have at ye all!" THE GLOBE, IIATTON - GARDEN, HOLBORN. Wc once heard the Boniface of this tavern express a most illiberal and bad- tempered opinion: illibetol, because he was then, and is now, ignorant; bad- tempered, because he endeavoured to injure the unfed and industrious devil, striving to keep himself from the parish workhouse— because he pre- vented the poor man from following that occupation whereby he might have obtained food. D r, you are an aristocrat, a bad citizen— and not a man of the world. What did, or do you know of the present Paul Pry, or other works of a simi- lar character! each and every one of which can indisputably prove to men like you, that society has beon improved— not degraded— by their existence. Let us refresh your memory. A starving fellow came to your bar, selling periodicals, to gain a crust for his helpless family, and Paul thought you an unmanly cur, as he heard you exclaim you would kick him if he dared to enter your house again with anything like those damned publications. Bah! wc then wrote you down, and we still write you, anything but a scholar, and a very illiberal fellow. The Times newspaper— the shifting, fluttering Times: the poor man's curse— the tergiversating Times— the friend to none on earth— the false lie- eating Times— recently levelled an attack on us, and dealt its bitter venom, and its dark Italian- like assassination against the protectors of the op- pressed. Paul challenges the holder of the Globe tavern, Hatton- garden, or the editor of the Times, to prove in any one solitary instance, up to this date, that he has either in- jured man or woman in reputation or in trade. Now we daily and hourly witness the sad effects of fre- quenting public- houses, and the Globe comes in for its full • hare of the crime in asssisting to demoralize society. We have often been sorry to see a once celebrated man, now fre- quenting this house, in a state of, intoxication. We allude to T. J. W— r, formerly editor of the Black Dwarf. We do not intend to injure— we seriously wish to reform the ci- de- vant reformer. The general company using the Globe is assumingly aristocratic, silly, and well- dressed. Should you drop in on a Sunday night, really you would be amused. We witnessed a most elaborate piece of puppyism dis- played the other Sunday evening, by Sergeant J. C— o, Queen's Counsel, from Nicholson's, of Bow- street. We re- collected the fellow, and smiled accordingly. According to our own ideas, and those of other monkies who have seen the world, it is not " all gold that glistens." The awful mo- saic fittings- up of this swell frightened us; and we re- flected on the evil attending the consummate impudence that is to be arrived at by a little patronage. We should seriously advise little R— n, the talented comedian of the Grecian Saloon, when next he wishes to perfect himself in a comic song, not to monopolize tho attention of a whole room, by acting as amanuensis to the aforesaid individual. There are other days beside Sunday, in the week— and there are other men besides theatricals in the world. R— n, you are a cleTer fellow ; ergo; you should know better. By express desire, ( that is by a desire received per express,) we intend re- visiting this celebrated house, for the purpose of showing- up the good and bad properties of its frequenters, and shall pass an hour or so with Mrs. J— es, the bar- ntairf, ( making some enquiries about the Captain,) likewise taking a " dog" or two with our old friend Lacy. We shall so fashion our visit, that the majority of Mr. R. Moseley's firm, the celebrated gold pen maker, will come within the focus of cor ( crutiaizing If it is true that the Misses M— t, dressmakers, of Mar- sham- street, Maidstone, prosecute the poor girls because they run away. Whether Mr. J. B— k, did have his usual kiss from Miss G— d, of Mare- street, Hackney, the other evening ? AVhy M— y, H— e, alias the queen of Spain, house- maid, at M— s, Tanby cottage, Norbiton ; does not follow her old trade, instead of taking a respectable situation ? The King- stoners know your character. UXBRIDGE.— If II— y, A— n, is quite tired of S— T—? Whether E— d, N— y, is in love with Tom M—' s, wife? Why Henry Thomas R— is not ashamed to walk the streets in company with Mother M— If Ann H— n— t thinks Henry L— v— 1 will marry her ? We know better. Whether T— B—, of Cowley, thinks he is the fine old English gentleman ? Whether J. S—, of Hillingdon, knows why the servant girl was discharged? Whether John P—, of Iver, told his father who was his bed- fellow the night he slept at Uxbridge? Whether Jack D—, of Dcnham, means to pay the half- crown a week ? Why F. H. W. of Paradise- street, Rotherhithe, has altered so much for tho" best lately, is he trying to gain the affections of thebandsome young servant opposite, in Union- road, Rother- hithe, we wish you success, hope is a good breakfast, but a bad supper. Paul wishes to know, whether it is true that G— e T— n, of the Greenman, Blackheat, is still such a conceited little ape as heretofore. Whether B— y, intends to desert that young lady at the pastry cooks Triangle, in the same manner he did the bakers daughter of Goldsmiths- row. How about the cabinet makers daughter Charles ? If the Scottish linendraper of Bow, Mr. P— y— y, alias the beer- bibber slanders his neighbours now, do you remem- ber the thrashing you had in the Commercial- road, you old libertine. Whether H— y D— y, of Little George- street, Greenwich, still keeps company with the butcher's daughter, of Blacis: • heath, and whether he has been playing any tricks with her under the trees at Morduant- college, beware or a Magistrate's order might compel him to pay 2s. 6d. a week. Whether G— e T— n, of the Green Man Tap, and F— y M— e, the stay- maker, are still guilty of such mean and dirty actions. Whether T— a C— e. alias hoppy jig at Mr. F— s, of Lam- beth- walk, has left off his nasty under- handed practices of telling lies about the other assistants in the same house thereby depriving them of their situations, be careful Paul, has his eye upon you, hypocrite that you are. How about the Chapel, eh? Whether C— e W— s, residing near Kings- cross, ever sees J. J— s, or if he made her an April fool the other Sunday, Paul, rather thinks he did. How P— 1 U— n, of Millbank, and servant at the pastry- cooks, in Hungerford Market, gets so many new dresses. What about the grocer, opposite, behind the screens, and the German Count. Mrs. R— m, grocer, London- street. If one out of the two and thirty blessed babbies, which she brags so much about having been the mother of, received christian burial, and how much the Sexton got for his fee, and if not, why not. B W A N S E A. PAUL WISHES TO KNOW Why a certain young gentleman the son of a highly re- spectable clergyman of Harlow, Essex, residing at Barns- bury- place, Islington, as surgeon's assistant, does not pay more frequent visits to his sweet little lassie, S. D. A pretty wife and £ 12,000 is not to be caught every day, my boy. Take Paul's advice— go down as soon as possible, and all things will go right. Paul knows all about it, though you do keep it to yourself. If Miss E. B—, ( or Mrs. P— s), at the Nigger Artificial Flower Shop, Ossulston- street, Somers- town, recollects the long grocer, of Greenwich ? Whether W. M— n, of the Hare and Billet, Blacklieath, keeps up his weekly payments, also if his father contributes his share towards the young offspring ? How about the servant girl Mary, that went away in a hurry. Why Miss D— y, of the stay shop, near King-, street Deptford, does not take down ( on Sunday) the exhibition of stay stiffners, topped by an enormous bustle ? Recollect that " want of decency is want of sense." Why H. H— n, left L—' s the grocer's at Maidstone.? Was it on account of the 2s. 6d a week, or was it through the transaction with the young man at Sutton, and the young lady at the Bower? Don't think that you will gain the young lady with the money. It's no go. Whether there is any prospect of 160 " U" of the Wands- worth- road, police - station, behaving like a man. Pay more attention to your wife, and don't be seen drinking at the bars of public- houses. Why Mrs. C— e, of Unity- place, Samuel- street, Woolwich, does not look better after her daughter, and not let her go to the twopenny hops. If Miss J— p, of Wescott, near Dorking, Surrey, intends backbiting her friends after this notice ? Remember we could a tale unfold that would surprise some of the Natives. Re- form, or look out for the rod. Why Miss W— n, not far from the Anchor Inn, ™ h « ns- Street, Kingston, does not take a siting in the old church, and not cause the owners of a pew, to go into an other ? Take this warning Betty. Whether C. P— t, of Hungerford Market, goes to meet Miss R— n, of Long Acre, coming out of St. Martin's church every Sunday evening,— and whether he takes her for a walk over the Suspension bridge afterwards? You must be at home by nine o'clock Susan! Why M— y, A— n, D— s, of College- street, Belvidere- road, Lambeth, leaves her place so often? We think it is because she can go out at night to concerts and plays with her young mau. Why the station agent, Mr. W— e, of Mortlake, Surrey, makes himself porter and policeman? Ho really ought to he content with his own situation. WINDSOR.— Why Mr. J. L. B— d, of Park- street, Windsor, goes to York- place, again? It is very certain, money is his object, not the lady, Ah, Jemmy ! Paul's got his eye on you. Why Miss C. D— r, of Teddington, Surrey, visits the shed so often after the family have retired to bed, in company with H. St— s, known by the cognomen of Tit Lark? It does not look well. Why do you not get married, and what have you done with the parson ? Why W— m, C— g, tea dealer, of Union- street, Maidstone, deceived P— y, and married the widow, of the Good Intent; thereby cheating the three children of 2s. 6d. per week, and a gallon of flour ? Paul considers he ought to be ashamed of himself. IT IS NOT TRUE That James G— s, of Clifton, is going to destroy himself because Miss E— s, of Castle- square, will have nothing to say to him. That Mr. H. T— s, of Clifton- street, wishes to know if Miss Mary R— s, High- street, will allow him to accompany Moll, the Greyhound, to the promenade to be held at White's, on Whit Monday next. That Mr. G. F— s, of B— s Lodge, intends taking the surveyorship of the Town Hall out of the hands of Mr. R— s. We are sure F— s is not fit for it. CORRESPONDENCE. *„* No letter whatever ( town or country), containing more than one advice, can possibly be attended to. JENNY LIND.— We shall be happy to hear from you when convenient. SHEBE.— Extremely well, thank you. Mrs. P. was never in better health. EMMA. ( Wandsworth.)— We should be most happy to oblige, but we have adopted a new rule, which we feel bound to abide by. Please read our first notice. If you will send us one at the time, you will find them punctually attended to. *„* Wc are extremely sorry at times when reading over some of the letters sent us, containing as they do excellent advice, to be compelled to destroy them. If our friends would only remember that we are in receipt of several hun- dred letters weekly, and each person sending anxious to see their friendly hints attended to, we are sure they would preceive the necessity of writing only one advice each week. We can only say that when we receive a letter containing more than one, wc consign the whole to the flames. JOLIEN.— We thank you for your information, but would much rather have had their full names. However, we have endeavoured to make ourselves understood. H. S— R, ( Windsor.)— Send us full particulars, and we will give the thick headed brings such a whipping that will make them hate the day they ever interfered with Paul. Poor ignorant things! H. S. C West Ham.)— We are obliged to you for calling our attention to the spurious thing, a single glance at which ought to be sufficient to warn people from purchasing it; besides, our journal cannot be had for less than onepenny, of any bookseller. JANE,— Try again, and if, after a second apology, he does not forgive, you may consider yourself very fortunate in having got rid of a person with a very bad temper. A FATHER.— Nothing whatever. If, as you say, we have been the means of reforming your son, we can assure you, it gives us more pleasure than were you to pile in our lap all the wealth of the Indies. We are most happy to inform you, that your letter is not the only one by many we have received, thanking us for the good we have done in stop- ping the headlong, downward course of youth, of both sexes. SCIPIO.— Wc know no such person. If he should ever make his appearance again at your house, have the goodness to give him in charge. We will undertake to prosecute him, as far as the law will allow. FLORENCE.— We arc not proud. Send us your real name and address, and we shall be too happy to communicate with you. A DISTRESSED PARENT.— If it lays in our power you may command us. We launched our vessel in the cause of the oppressed, and feel too happy in lending our helping hand ever to think of time or trouble. Paul delights more in grasping the horny hand of the peasant, than he does having a tete- a- tete with the richest peer in the realm. MIRVIN.—" Love a pretty girl under the rose?" We love a pretty girl anywhere, and hold him but a silly elf who does not. In fact, if there is such a being, who does not love the whole sex, we can only say he is not fit to live. Only think of the pleasure— the ecstatic pleasure,— the soul- absorbing happiness he foregoes. Faugh! Paul cannot credit what you write. MINSTREL.— You will see your wishes attended to: at the same time we beg to thank you for your unbiassed opinion of our tale of DISSIPATION. Our present original tale of " MARONE; or, the WINE of LOVE," will we are confident outrival anything of the sort ever written. *** Our Swansea correspondent is thanked. He will find Paul ever anxious to please. TIMUS ( Brighton.)— We are always happy to hear from the good folks ofBrighton. HAPPY LAND.— No. 24 is in print, and can be had to order. You will see the gentleman alluded to in your letter has been taken notice of. PHILOS.— The party named in your note is one of the greatest scamps and liars in or out of the kingdom. We purpose giving a short memoir of the individual in the course of a few weeks, under the head of " Scamps about Town." We will enlighten the nation as to many little affairs anything but pleasant to the parties concerned. There is a little story extant of forging orders for theatres and disposing of them, with a few anecdotes concerning him whilst living on the prostitution of an unfortunate female; and in fact, such an infamous career of scoundrelism that must startle humanity. JUSTICE.— We intend giving a sketch of the " Justice Hall," in Bow- street, with a memoir of the presiding judge, quite a different memoir to any yet published. A few facts have been furnished to us, by an individual lately connected with the Baron's establishment, perfect gems in their way.— To the latter part of your letter we answer, yes— he has been married, but we believe separated for some time from his wife. TOM TRIM.— Your lines have never come to hand. TOM NODDY. ( Sheffield )— The ' circulation of our journal exceeds 45,000 weekly. CORRECTION.— Perry andjCo., Bemers- street, Oxford- st. are notorious quacks, and are trading under fictitious names. JUSTICE. ( Portsea.)- We are extremely obliged to you for your interest in our welfare. As to any fear, we hold all parties selling our publication harmless. The whole of our advice is superintended by a professional gentleman of well- known abilities. MARIETTA.— The only reason why you have not seen your advices appear is, that your letter contained more than one. Send again, and be more careful for the future. J. G. ( Bread Street.)— We thank you, and shall be happy to receive a few more from your valuable collection of books and new music. PHILLIS.— By no means. We should look upon any female purchasing Ruch a periodical with a suspicious eye, for we are positive no really modest woman would be seen with it in her hands. Ask yourself the question seriously, and if you do, we feel convinced you will agree with us. EAST- ENDER.— None whatever. We should be very sorry to have anything to do with so contemptible a rascal. Write again, wc are alyvays happy- to hoar from you. A SURREYITE.— Mr. H. Widdicomb, of the Surrey Theatre, is a brother of the " Evergreen Widdicomb," and we believe a younger brother. He was never engaged by Webster, at the Haymarket, for Tragedy; though some of our morning contemporaries were cruel enough to say that his powers for serious business were much greater than for the line Mr. W. engaged him. As for ourselves, we think that his tragedy ( if he ever attempted such a thing) would be on a par with his comedy, both insufferabfy dull. We have heard something aboutjthe Worthing affair. HAPPY JACK.— Have the goodness to write only on one side of the paper. The advice is applicable to the whole of our correspondents. MAT MERITOW.— The person mentioned, did, some years since resided near the King's- cross. AMELIA.— Don't say so. If we have overlooked your letter it certainly is an error we have to apologise for; but we have no recollection of the contents mentioned in your last note. We have always given the ladies the preference, and shall continue to do so. Gallantry commands it. FLORA. ( Croydon.)— Your swain must be a complete booby. If he has not the sense to appreciate the possession of a pretty girl, he deserves to lose her. Tell him in serious earnestness, it is your intention to marry. If that has no effect upon him; mention the name of one of your male friends, the best looking of course, and then if he does not speak, let him go, he's not worth caring for. THEATP. ICUS.— Miss Fortescue is under the protection of Lord Gardiner, wo have been informed. We are sorry that we should ever have had cause to hint at such infamy. 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- streot.— Leedi: '! ANN.— Glasgow: W. LOVE Nelson- street.-- Derby: BUOCKT... St. Alkmund's- churchyard.— Leicester: BILLSON, Bellgrave- gate.- Beverley: WARD, Butcher- row.— Banbury: BUNTON, Cherwell street.— Sheffield: ROGERS Fruit- market.— Brighton: ToimtE. 57, Edward- street.— Newcastle- on- Tyne: FBANOE 8C Co., 6, Side.— Bradford, Yorkshire: W. COOKE, Vicar- lane. [ Advertisement.'] TO THE THEATRICAL WORLD! Published every Wednesday, beautifully Illustrated, price only One Penny, Eight Quarto Pages ! ^ HE STAGE- MANAGER- A Weekly Journal of Dramatic Literature and Criticism. This periodical is acknowledged to he 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 of publication in the STAGE- MANAGER. With No. 13 is included a splendid Portrait of Mr. N. T. Hicks. In No. 14 a Portrait of Miss Helen Faucit. OFFICE:— 12, RUSSELL- COURT, BRYDGES- STREET, STRAND. Printed and Published for tbe Proprietors, by G. EDWARDS, at the Office, 12, Itussell- court, Brydges- street, Strand, where all commu- nications to the Editor are to be addressed. *