OUR artist has this week illustrated a comic singer, of no mean talent, known as Mr. Boss. He represents the hero of his song, a certain " Sam Hall," and certainly for an un- romantic gentleman of an appearance not exactly taking, he contrives to invest him with a good deal of interest. We went down, the other night, into that well- known place of nocturnal entertainment, the " Cyder Cellars," where L'rapula, Methe, and Musica, are ( in the two former instances) adored with all the physical powers that the votaries of eating and drinking ( regardless of all expense) can possibly be possessed of, and we were just in time to hear this same song, which has ( we are informed) become quite " a feature" of the establishment. As we sat at some distance off, we did not distinctly hear every word that was said; but we heard quite sufficient to enable us to say a little regarding it. If we are not out in our judgment, it purports to bo the last chaunt of a con- demned felon, just uttered as he is about to be hung, and, certainly, a more harrowing picture can scarcely be imagined, than the singer formed by his peculiarity of manner and gesture. There was the spasmodic thrill of horror, in the shuddering form, in the broken and paralysed voice, in the demi monotonouschaunt, in the intense whisper, which would be likely to affect a living being, when in one moment he closes his eyes upon the scuffling multitude below him, and the next dangles a lifeless corpse in the death- dewed air. The spectacle of a man being hung could scarcely affect us more; but the iufamous and scandalous line at the termi- nation of each verse deserves the severest stricture, deserve s the most unmitigated reprehension. We protest against this mockery with the feelings, we pro- test against the downright blasphemy, which negatives the really legitimate and good sentiment of sympathy and pity, which the beginning of each verse awakens. Detailing all the horror of his doom, the wretched victim is made to utter these words:—" B— t my eyes ! " or " your eyes ! " The toleration of such a liberty— such a licence upon the forbearance of the company, is, to say the least of it, sur- prising. We look upon it," for our part, as a decided insult to each one present personally; but, particularly, it is an atrocious outrage upon the common- sense of every man who lays claim to such a commodity, and while we pay tribute to the really excellent vocal abilities of the artist, we cannot avoid censuring him in this instance. 1 There is one man belonging to the vocal corps of the " Coal Hole," whose filth and ribaldry in singing beggars everything ever heard: we should be sorry to say anything approaching to this regarding Mr. Bruton, whose songs are certainly broad enough, broader by far than they are long— but the other is unapproachable. We make this comparison because the " Cyder Cellars" prove to be conducted with more regard to common decency. Things are different here to what they used to be some years ago. We went with a friend to visit this place once, and not being conversant with the rules of such places, namely, to spend the most money in the shortest space of time, and then to vanish, we received the most rabid abuse from Mr. Rhodes himself, personally; which we think he would have spared us, had he not been instigated to it by a waiter whom we had the same evening " remembered" ( as their shameless and degrading beggary is termed) at the " Coal Hole," and on seeing him again shortly after, at the " Cyder Cellars," we did not comply with his request. The truth was, that being neither hungry nor thirsty, we called for what we thought sufficient, and only found out our mistake when leaving. Mr. Rhodes' conduct on that evening to the strangers who had not in any way provoked his wrath, will not be easily effaced. This is the first opportunity we have ever had of : telling him so. At present, if you do not remember the waiter, you are not abused— that is something. At this class of houses these waiters are generally a very peculiar class of men. They can most of them fight, and they can lie most glibly; and a man may be beaten to a jelly before he knows where he is, without the slightest clianee of redress. Your best plan, therefore, if you will go to such places, is to submit to every- thing with a good grace, pay everything however exorbi- tant, " remember " every waiter rather than incur the anger of one. They never have any wages, and, consequently, they levy contributions where they can. It is a solemn fact, that in London there is a civilized class of men who subsist by brigandage of the most open and undisguised kind ( which there is only one way to terminate), who, without the fear of the law or of man, take their tithe from every individual who once comes within their reach. More of them anon. THE FRAIL SISTERHOOD. PIVOINE. CHAP. IX. THE FIRST NIGHT. ( Continuation.) A few stray locks from her raven hair, still moist," escaped from her Normand cap, and flowed negligently down her cheeks, and over her white and delicate shoulders. In a second she had adjusted and smoothed her curls. Virgil contemplated her as she did it, and smiled. " Come," he said to her, " you are pretty enough now; sit down and let us sup." " Gladly," replied Pivoine. " But you will not make me drink much cider, it is too strong." " Be easy about that," replied the student, " this cider never does any harm." Pivoine seated herself, but instead of eating, she com- menced observing her host, whom she now distinctly saw for the first time, for, thanks to her preceding numbness, she was as yet ignorant whether the man in whose room she found herself was young or old, tall or shor1-, ugly or hand- some. The result of this examination was satisfactory. Virgil, who noticed it from the expression of the eyes of the young girl, polished his moustache and pulled down his red. fez over his l ight ear in the most killing manner. " What name shall I call you, my charming companion," he at length said. " Pivoine, sir." " Oh! the pretty name! pretty as yourself, Pivoine." " And you, sir, what is your name," said the young ga- in her turn. " Virgil." " Oh!" exclaimed the Normande, with a somewhat jesting grimace. " I can imagine," continued the student, " I can imagine that my name may be unknown to you, owned as it was formerly at Rome, by a very celebrated specimen of man- kind ; nevertheless, such as it is, I place it fit your feet, con- jointly with all the rest of my person and of my social posi- tion, consisting of eight nominations in the college of law NEW PAUL SERIES. PRY " IT IS A VIRTUOUS ACTION TO EXPOSE VICIOUS MEN."— DRYDBN. No. 37.— NEW SERIES.] PUBLISHED WEEKLY. [ PRICE ONE PENNY. THE CYDER CELLARS—" SAM HALL." PAUL PRY; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE, 3 two thousand four hundred francs by way of income, pay- able monthly, and a father quite independant, who resides at Bar- sur- aube! I must add to this, just by way of remem- brance, a heart almost new, a constitution of which the world speaks kindly, a very distinguished amateur talent 911 the cornet- a- piston, a brilliant speciality in the parisian cachucha, the art of making punch, and the science of tbe billiard table, There!" This grotesque tirade did not produce on Pivoine the effect anticipated by Virgil. The young girl comprehended none of this phraseology, presumtuously trivial, which has no very precise meaning, except amongst those of the latin quarter. Still, as she supposed that the student intended to say something very agreeable of himself, she displayed in a smile the double row of pearls which served her as teeth. " Eat, my little love," said Virgil, placing the wing of a owl on the" young girl's plate, and replenishing her glass, which she had emptied for the second time. Xet us look at the situation of Pivoine, let us carry back our memory to the cruel trials of body and mind she had lately suffered, and we shall easily comprehend how this se- cond glass of wine sufficed to produce in her a commencement of nervous over- excitement, Which Virgil faithfully promised himself to increase to his own advantage. " My dear girl," he murmured, pressing her hand and bending towards her, " we will make of life a veritable para- dise, for we shall adore each other— I adore you already, Pivoine, and you— you will soon love me, will you not ?" " Yes, " yes," replied the young girl, whoso confused ideas were already in a whirl, and who only heard as through a cloud the words and the voice of the student. " All that you wish for, I will give yon," continued the latter; silk robes, Ternaux shawls, nothing shall be too styl- ish nor too dear, I have an allowance of ahundred louis, and besides, I will go in debt! Yon shall be the best dressed of all the students' mistresses, as you are the prettiest ! I will take you everywhere, to the theatre, to the ball, especially to the ball, eh, my love?" " Yes, yes," again replied Pivoine, already agitated with nervous tremblings. " But you scarcely reply to me, my angel, one would think you were suffering; you do not drink, your pretty lips are dry and burning; there, Pivoine, there." And the student approached to the mouth of the young girl the sparkling foam of a glass filled to the brim. She again drank, her head fell back, her eyes half closed, and an almost complete swoon succeeded to the preceding agitation. A burning crimson invaded her cheeks, she passed her hand two or three times across her forehead, and appeared to become drowsy, murmuring in a voice scarcely distinct— " I am too warm— I am burning." Virgil amazingly well understood the meaning of these words, and took off the Normand cap worn by Pivoine, whose features relaxing announced an immediate relief. He could now admire in all their splendour the rich masses of hair on which the young girl rested her head. He knew not how to resist the desire of untying this splendid crown, and, to make use of the ravishing expression of an old poet, " of bathing his caressing hands in the waves of this flowing hair." It was easy. Pivoine did not encumber her head- dress either with pins or ribbands; a very small and plain comb alone held and retained in their place her negligently- plaited bands, Virgil took out the comb, and Pivoine half disap- peared beneath a velvet mantle— " Longer than the mantle of a king!" as Alfred de Musset says, one of the charming geniuses of our age. A rapid and amorous intoxication passed like a flame through the whole body of the student. He knelt before the young girl, and covered with kisses this dishevelled hair, which he collected with some difficulty, and which his two hands could not contain. Pivoine, however, appeared partly to recover from her heavy swoon, and again murmured:— " I am burning—- I am stifling"— These few words served as a pretext for Virgil to with- draw the neckerchief that covered tbe shoulders of the poor girl. He broke the fastenings of the robe; attempted to un- lace the corset, and, unable to succeed, be took a kuife from the table and cut the lace. The next moment Pivoine was half- naked in his arms, and he placed his burning lips on the round and luscious dim- ple of a breast, as pure, as firm, as white, and as round, as if the chisel of some Phydias had created it from an immacu- late block of Carrara marble. The young girl, however, trembled and palpitated un- consciously under these ardent kisses, under these caresses; her mouth half opened, and her lips became as luscious as the grape. The student, inflamed more and more by these voluptuous symptoms, glued his thirsting mouth to the amorous mouth of Pivione, and felt that she half returned his kisses. " Bravo!" he exclaimed, as he lifted in his arms and carried towards the couch the prey of which he imagined himself secure. Whilst he crossed the room, Pivoine- pressed against his bosom, and he heard her murmur— " George— my George— oh, how I love thee!" Virgil was astonished at these words and this name, but kill advanced. He almost touched the bed, when suddenly pivoine opened her eyes, and regarded him with a bewil- dered air; then, uttering a loud cry, wrested herself from his arms, and took refuge in a corner of the room, where she endeavoured to veil her seducing and lovely bosom with her two little hands. Virgil, accustomed to the feigned and frail resistances of the easy beauties of the Quartier Saint- Jacques, supposed that the young girl simply wished to add a greater value to the victory by postponing for a short time the moment of her defeat: he approached her, and, in his endeavours to press her in another embrace, he tried to close her mouth with his kisses. Pivoine violently repulsed him: she appeared as if mad, and her haggard eyes expressed a strange bewilderment and fear. In fact, during the few minutes of her rapid intoxication, the poor child had had a delicious dream, a sweet dream of love, which had carried her back to those days of happiness in which George d'Entragues had promised to love her so. And now, she suddenly found herself face to facc with re- ality, alone and almost naked, in a strange city, in an un- known chamber, and with a stranger. So that she was seized with fear, and her head wandered. Virgil, unwilling, as yet, to believe in the reality of this perverse resistance, attempted once more to seize " Pivoine, saying to her, in a half- angry, half- tender voice, for impa- tience began to get the better of him— " Why resist, my dear girl, why repulse me? Come, my Pivoine! I love you— I adore you! ' Tis happiness that calls us— that awaits us! Come, love-— come at once!" Pivoine struggled, hut she was the weakest, and for the second time Virgil carried her off vanquished. All was not over, however. The young girl, collecting her remaining strength, writhed like a young eel, again escaped the phrensied ^ embrace of the student, and falling on her knees before him, her eyes bathed in tears, her hands clasped, her bos<) m heaving with convul- sive sobs, she murmured these scarcely audible words— " Have pity on me! have pity on me!" There was in the tone of this simple prayer something so profoundly touching, that Virgil, subjugated despite himself, drew back a step or two, regarded the child thus at his feet with almost a paternal look, and felt that it would be cow- ardly to obtain by violence that which it would be so sweet to obtain from love. A short struggle then commenced between the excited senses and the heart of the young man; the heart obtained the victory, and Virgil said in almost a calm voice— " Ah! Pivoine, you do not love me, then?" " How should I love you?" replied the trembling girl; " how should I love you ? I do not know you." " ' Tis a very poor reason; for neither did I know you, and yet I loved you at once! However, what is deferred is not lost! Have no more fear, my dear girl; I give you my word of honour not to touch the tip of your finger without your permission." Pivoine, reassured by the evident good faith of Virgil, rose up, adjusted as well as she was able her little Indian neckerchief, to remedy the extreme disorder of her dress, and then timidly seated herself once more at the chimney corner. " Come, said the student, dry up those villanous tears that redden your pretty eyes. I was wrong; I confess it. I be- haved just now like a fool, and like a brute; but you must not be angry with me— my passion was stronger than my prudence." " I am not angry with you," murmured the young girl." " Thanks, Pivoine! Let us make peace; and in sign of reconciliation, give me your little hand." The young girl presented it to him, smiling through her tears. " But this is not all we must think about," resumed Virgil. " You must be exhausted with fatigue, is it- not so?" " Faith! ' tis true." " Well, you must go to bed." " Here?" " Certainly. Where the devil would you go?" Pivoine did not reply, but shook her head. " I understand," continued the student, " you cannot trust me?" " Faith! I have still some doubt!" ( To be continued in our next._) THE GREAT QUESTION. DURING the past week there has been a great deal of talk about the state of the nation; and with all the talk, what has been arrived at? Why, that there is a vast amount of distress existing in the United Kingdom. Where is the man in this free country who was not aware of the fact, long, long ago? We all knew it, and were looking out for some remedial measures to check the growing evil. We all know, too, from whencc the source springs, and arc heartily sick and tired of waiting for that " good time coming," which appears to be as far distant now as it was this time last year; and we are only convinced the more, from the windy speeches lately delivered in the House of Commons, that until the people arc determined and united in their efforts to obtain that which has been so long withheld, and show to those in power that they are determined, come what may, to have a voice in the State, and check the growing extravagance, the misery and pauperism of their homes must continue. In heaven's name, let us have no more talking,— let us find the remedy, and having found it, let us manfully deter- mine to carry it into effect. This has at present been a do- nothing session, and to all appearance is likely to close ere any measure will be carried that will at all benefit the toil- ing masses. Lord JOHN RUSSELL has actually said that there may be a time when it will be our duty to return again to protective laws— that there will be an actual necessity for the Govern- ment of this country to place a tax upon articles of consump- tion- and that it will be for the benefit of all classes when it does take place. We care not, for our part, whether the restrictive laws come into force again or not, provided the means are placed within our grasp whereby we may be enabled to earn wages in proportion. But this we must say, that while the country is in the famishing and pauperized state it at present is in, it would be next to an impossibility for the people to endure a heavier tax upon consumptive articles. We are now all but starving, and are at that point at which forbearance becomes a vice. Is it not enough to see our artizans walking through the streets of the Metropolis, with haggard looks and ill- clad persons,— to hear our children crying for bread, and we none to give,— to see our wives with tearful eyes and de- spairing looks, almost upbraiding us for being less than men, — but we must hear the representatives of the aristocracy, in the House of Commons, debating for two whole nights on the state of the nation— all agreeing that there is great dis- tress existing, and yet not one endeavour to find out a panacea for the working man's misery? Do we expect any relief from the present House of Com- mons, or from any other house, as things are at present con- j stituted? No; we do net. They belong to a class who have robbed us for centuries, and are fully resolved to continue the robbery while they have it in their power. Let us, then, arise as one man, and tell these oligarchs we are determined to be robbed no longer,— that God, in his in- finite goodness, never intended one man should starve whilst another lived in wasteful extravagance,— and that, unless some great and sweeping measure of reform is broached and fully carried out, we are determined from the length and breadth of the land to agitate, and eveu to die in the struggle, till from their tottering pinnacle they be hurled in the dust, and their worthless names be buried in oblivion! " Doctor," said a lisping fashionable belle, who had gra- duted at half a dozen boarding- schools, to a friend of ours, who had just been introduced to hei^ at an evening party, " Doctor, which do you prefer, tholidity of intellect or briUianthy? Thum admire tholidity; but ath for me, ath Tlmkspeare thayth in hith Bride of Abyloth, I prefer tholidity and Brillianthy combined." The doctor sank into the nearest chair, and fainted away as dead as a log. PAUL IN THE PLAYHOUSE. LYCEUM. Guy Mannering was given at this theatre, on Wednesday evening, Miss Cushman making her first appearance, previous to her return to America, in the character of Meg MerriUes, and in which she is so well known to evince powers of the highest excellence. It is one of tbe finest in the whole range of melodrama, and though she may occasionally be too im- petuous, still there are scenes which remind us, by their power, of the drama in its best days, when actors studied Characters as artists, and made them stand out boldly and life- like— such realizations are now few, but when they'do come, they are appreciated as much for their rarity as their excellence. Mr. Charles Romer made his debit as Charles Bertram— he sings with taste, but his success was by.: no means decided. SURREY. There is a time, at this favourite theatre, when themelodrama ceases to attract. With the opera season, the Surrey puts on quite an aristocratic tone, the Tiabitues discourse anent the cantilena so charmingly given by the prima donna and the new cadenza so felicitously introduced into the rondo finale, — the fastoso singing of the basso, the flebile of the tender tenor, and the portamento of the baritone— whilst the merits of Bel- lini so redundant in expressive melody, Donizetti so dramatic and effective, Meyerbeer so grand and elaborate, ( though with too much tendency to an everlasting change of key); Mozart so everything that is beautiful,— and so through the whole catalogue raisonne of composers— and yet the operas given at this theatre are very well rendered, and we have rarely seen the Sonnambula better played on the English stage than it is here. Miss Romer as the Amina sings with taste and feeling, and her acting is far superior to most artists, so that we question much if any English singer can surpass her in the character. Travers, too, was very good as the Elvino, and Leffler makes an excellent Count; and as the chorusses and orchestra are both well disciplined, the opera is given with a spirit and effect that really deserves warm commendation. The Favorita of Donizetti is an- nounced to be produced next week, and as the company is well adapted for giving this opera, it is likely to prove a very attractive feature. NON- APPEARANCE OP THE GERMAN OPERATIC COMPANY AT MANCHESTER.—- Owing to various circumstances arising in London, a series of representations of German operas are delayed for the present, if not wholly abandoned. So long ago as tho 19th ult. a written engagement was signed by Rceder, then the manager of the company, and by Pischek, the singer. The lessee ofthe Theatre Royal agreed to advance to the corps their railway fares to Manchester, and a friend in London was ready, on their appearing at the railway station, to pay tbe fares to the railway company; but in the meantime Mr. Roeder not having paid the corps their salaries, had lost their confidence, and being also arrested for debt, ceased to be their manager. Mr. Knowles was then asked if he would abide by the contract made with Roeder, if the management were transferred to other hands, and he at once agreed to do so. It was, therefore, expected that, according to promise, the entire corps would arrive- in Manchester on Monday last. But they did not make their appearance, and Tuesday Mr. Knowles was informed that new difficulties had arisen; that Mr. Rceder held the music, and refused to give it up; that vain attempts had been made to procure the neces- sary music all over London, but without success; that iladlle. Von Romani the prima donna, positively refused to go to Manchester, and that, in short, amidst much quarreling and angry feeling amongst the corps, it became obviously impos- sible that they could be got to Manchester in time to per- form on Tuesday evening. The company were to receive a certain nightly amount, whatever the receipts of the house, and they took no risk. THE ASSES OF LONDON. Number Of Asses in London 10,646 Number fed on bits and scraps 4,797 hay and straw 9 Cabbage leaves, leaves"! of the Great Metro- f r „. polis, and other Gar- f J' 84" bage ) There are many popular errors relative to this useful animal which the author takes this opportunity of correcting. Coleridge talks of its " asking footsteps," and Wordsworth speaks of the " pivot of its skull," and its " staring bones." The author can assure the jpubiic that the ass's footsteps never speak, that its skull has no pivot, and that he never saw its bones staring. It is also a common belief amongst the vulgar that the ass never dies, forgetting the Dead Ass mentioned by Sterne, and the impossibility of the author's immortality. MEDICAL EXAMINATION.— UNIVERSITY COLLEGE. Q. How do you define Tic douloureux ? A. Borrowing teif shillings on a three guinea case of in- struments over night, ana losing the duplicate in the morning. Q. What medicines are most likely to have a direct sym- pathy with the muscles? A. Cockle's. Q. How can you tell the difference between a test and a precipitation ? o A. Seeing how mnch impudence a man will stand before he knocks you down in the gutter. An old offender was lately brought before a learned jus- tice of the peace. The constable, as a preliminary, Informed his worship that he had in custody John Simmons, alias Jones, alias Smith. " Very Well," said the magistrate, " I will try the two women first; bring in Alice Jones." My uncle P— was an awful snorer. He could be heard further than a blacksmith's forge; but my aunt became so accustomed to it that it soothed her repose. They were a very domestic couple— never slept apart for many years. At length my uncle was compelled to attend assizes at some distance. The first night after his departure my aunt never slept a wink; she missed the snoring. The second night- passed away in the same way without sleep. She was get- ting in a very bad way, and probably would have died, had it not been for the ingenuity of a servant girl— she took the "" mill into my aunfs chamber, and ground her to sleep at K once ! ! On dit, that the nobby boy of Brittania- place, Wandsworth- road, early next month, will lead to the hymeneal altar the young and lovely S— h S— & of South Lambeth. After the ceremony, it is intended . by the young couple to visit the bridegroom's extensive property in the north (?). PAUL PRY; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE, 3 PAUL ADVISES Mr. W—, of Smith- street, Northampton- square, to stay at home aud mind his own business; or Paul may give him another poke. Mr. G. M— n, of Stanhope- place, not to deceive young women. How about the 2s. 6d. per week? A. W—, of Laystall- street, not to be seen with a parcel of boys. You bad better attend to your business in Camden- town, and get somebody better. Mrs. C— k, of Husk- row, Pimlico, not to encourage Mr. G— m to be sneaking into her house at eleven o'clock at night. The neighbours say it don't look well. J. C— e, of Russell- court, not to brag so much of his jumping and running. R. B— tt, snob, of Tavistock- row, Covent- garden, not to be so conceited. We know he gets Is. 6d. a- week for clean- ing boots and knives, next door. Corporal H— t, of the 11th Hussars, Kensington, not to gain the affections of Miss M. D— s, and then play the fool with her. Also, not to think so mncli of Ovid's " Art of Love;" but pay more attention to his duty; and not to ad- mire the ladies' bonnets, nor take so much notice of their ankles. The young man with barnacled- mug, not to pocket the ends of puddings and lumps of beef at Bow- creek, Blackwall. iSjrs. D— n, vocalist, now singing at the Sun- tavern, Gray's- inn- lane, to change her name, as the frequenters often make a mistake and call her Mrs.— something else: rather a nasty name to go to bed witb. J. P— y, alias " Frenchy," of Tavistock- street, not to be so confoundedly conceited. G— t, the auxiliary postman of Hackney, not to deceive servant girls, but look to his wife and family. Does your tailor ever call for the 9d., or the baker for the 6d. you owe them? Miles' Boy, not to cadge for old clothes and then sell them at the Thornbill Arms. M—- n, alias " the Elephant," of Homerton- walk, to go to his half- penny barber and get his mug scraped. That ignorant puppy, J. S— t, not to attempt to make himself a greater ass than he is at present, as that would be an impossibility. The shopkeepers of Hackney, to give the above worthy in charge the next time he enters their shops threatening them to give him in charge, and send word to our office, and we will bear all the expense of his prosecution. j. P—, of the " Jane Shore," Slioreditch, not to treat the frail fair, when his wife has gone to bed, for, should he do so, Paul must certainly inform Mrs. P. J. T— r, of Denham- yard, Drury- court, Strand, not to boast so much of his governor and his garden, as we don't think much of either. I{. R— s, the coachman's daughter, not to run after that good- looking young man, as we have been told he doesn't think much of her. The black- leg, of Weston- place, to pay his poor wife tho 2s. 6d. per week, and by no means to have anything to say to his wife's sister, Charlotte. Mrs. W— d, of Snow's- fields to keep a civil tongue in her head. How about the children's thing a my, and the grocers? Mr. G. II— m, coachman, of Denmark- hill, to pay proper attention to his amiable wife and family, and by all means have nothing to do with turned- off cooks. Mr. P. F—, the noted saw- dust man of Carlisle- street, Lambeth, not to talk about ill- using his wife, for if he does he may repent it. Miss M. N—, of the Walnut- tree, Lambeth, not to ima- gine the baker is in love with her, as we know he is not. II— s and E— s, of a large establishment on Bread- street- hill, not to boast that they will thrash Paul Pry, when they catch him. Paul has always a couple of bull dogs at his command. Mr. R. R— s, of the same firm, not to curl his carrotty poll with the snuffers, and then say it twists naturally. Mr. H— n, the would- be comic singer, of the Nag's Head, Tower- hill, not to imagine himself a ladies' man. Mr. H. D— s, of the Mahogany Bar, Wellclose- square, to leave off eating fried fish in the streets. Mr. G— n, alias " Straps," of the Britannia Saloon, not to run after all the servant girls in Hoxton, or Mrs. G. may be jealous. Sarah S— ns, of Liverpool- road, opposite the chapel, to stop at- home, and not be running about to every public- house, after the stone- masons, for Paul is about Islington. R. L— y, the Nelson- street cheroot, not to be seen going down Roan- street so frequently, or he may find himself in a very unpleasant situation, and not to associate with that would- be pet fly, N— e, and likewise to behave better to a certain young lady in G— e- streCt. C. P- t- r, the Stepney milkman, to pay less attention to certain ladies on his walk, and more to his wife; he cannot care much for her, when he wants to marry another. The Goughites, of Pym's theatre, to look out, as Paul in- tends paying them a visit the first opportunity. C— s, the little barber, of the Minories, not to imagine that he can sing, nor to chatter so much about the length of time he has lived in the parish. BERKSHIRE.— Mrs. C—- n, near the Moor, Maidenhead, not to allow her daughters to stand at tho windows quizzing- tho neighbours and to teach them to be less proud, and to keep her boy at home and make him learn his A. B. C. Mrs. S— e, of Staines, not to behave unkind to J. G— rt, whilst she is residing with her. BUCKS— Mrs. R— p, at the Rose and Crown, Slough, to wear a bustle in front as well as behind. Do yon know anything of a long carpenter? Mr. T. H— n, tailor of Stoke- common, not to attend so many cricket matches and attend more to his business, or you may have a young cricketter brought home. Mrs. S— h, the soldier's widow, of Slough, not to make so much difference between her daughters, making the younger one do all the drudgery. KENT.— Mr. D— y, of the Royal Oak, Dartford, not to tell his potman to get a man to put his forms and tables in their places after the Whitsun festivities, and give him a pot of beer and make the poor old man pay for it. Mr. G. M— d, jun., alias " Barnacles," alias the " Star- gazer," of Gieenwich, not to say he is a twenty- five pound a- year quill driver— nor to make such ail ass of himself as to tell people that life shall now soon pick up a good match. Better leave off visiting the sweep's daughter in East- lane. N— d H— n, of Greenwich, not to make such a fool of him- self as to tell people that bis visiting Nelly was the causc of A— w being jealous, and taking her back under his protec- tion. DORSETSIIIRK.— G. to think less of Ellen F advisable to fix his eyes' u stare the young women nut 1 ( V tbe grocer we think lister it? untenance. -- LIOV, fcf ! woiitii 1' i! chapel • pole, ' be more . than to J. K— s, of Poole, to give up a certain watch or he will get a thundering poke in that blubber- belly of his, which will burst his boiler. The grocer's- boy, of Poole, who loft the mortar- board for the shop, to despatch his three- farthing customers with ease by day and in his over- time to do some odd jobs for his mis- tress, and rise early in the morning to toach his servant- girl the art of white- washing. SURREY.— J. T— r. the tap- room lurcher, Richmond, to do something for his living, and be less burthensome to. his old father. M. L— s, the housekeeper at Mrs. M— m, to pay more respect to her mistress and less to the grocer, Mr. G— d, who lives opposite a public- house in Addlestone. NEWCASTLE- UPON- TYNE.— J. C— y, of the Spital Tongues, not to cut it so fat on the Sundays, with his ring and white hat, as the latter is rather seedy with the last three years' wear. How about the little singing girl? J. B— r, the little confectioner of Dean- street, not to run after cooks in Albion- street, as we think you scarcely want the cook, but the scraps from the pantry, and not get drunk I on the Saturday night and go to chapel on the following morning. J. S— n, candy- maker, to marry Miss J— s as soon as pos- sible, or somebody else will, who will be more agreeable to Miss J— s's family. How about the whip- maker's daughter? ESSEX.— Mrs. C—, of Burlington- place, Woodford, to keep in- doors and not stand gossipping with Mrs. Bone over the way. P. O. of Woodford, to attend more to his wife and family, and less to the Stay. W. P., of Chingford- lane, not to go up to the washer- woman so much, but to stay at home and do his work. R. R., near the Well's Colt Break, to marry the girl he pays 2s. 6d. a week to, and to go less after the girls at the Jew's. Mrs. G. O. to keep her daughter, B., in doors, and not let her visit the snob of Chiugford- lane. RETEOBD.— Mr. T. B— o, joiner, not to be caught in the shoemaker's garden again, but to take better care of Miss S— w, the dressmaker, or she'll melt through his hands, as there is a grinder winking at her. Little Billy, the good old trump, to keep sober on a Sun- day, or Red Dan will lay hold of him. Take this advice and be a good lad.' Mr. J. B— y, of Grove Street, not to frequent the Durham Ox so much, as his old friend has got to learn something; but more in a few days. How abmt the spree at Sheffield fair? Mr. J. W—( 1, grocer, not to be seen so late at night in New Street. Keep better ho urs, Joshua. MIDDLESEX.—- The cook at a certain boarding school on Gig's- hill, Thames Ditton, to attend more to her own busi- ness, and not so much to her fellow- servant's. Have you any liare skins, Jenny? How about the potted cake? J. A— r, butcher at Hampton Court, to stay at home and keep tbe old cook company. The widows at Hampton Wick and Ditton do not care anything about him. HERTFORD.— J. S— s, alias lantern- jawed Joey, the bootmaker, not 100 miles from Old Cross, to behave honour- able to S. R— h W— t, living at a certain place not far from the Plough, and to think less of Miss C— k, alias the " moun- tain pecker." J. R. C— k, alias staunchcr, alias handsome, the fancy cabinet maker of St. Andrew- street, not to make an ass of himself by thinking every girl he meets is in love with him. F. S— s, not to let yourself down by walking with such a boy as " Stauncher." We know all about the banns being published in a certain church in London. GLASGOW.— A young man, by name T— s D— d T— 1, employed in his father's office, not to treat his friends so scurvily, to refrain from swearing at every unfortunate that passes him, and not to procure such lots of naughty songs from London. If Paul tells papa, he'll stop your pocket money, my boy. Some of the members of the Athenaeum, not to suppose they arc genteel, when, in reality, they are only vulgar counter- jumpers. Two young women, called A— s B— k and Rose L— n, not to let their master's son take liberties with them. Also the above- mentioned youth to reflect on the conse- quences before he goes any further. MARONE; or, THE WINE OF LOVE. CHAPTER IX. ( Continued from our last.) " I took a fancy to a pretty milliner the other day; not long after, I saw this scamp of a nephew in the shop, who, under the pretence of ordering a dozen pairs of gloves, was making love to her. I must— he! he! ho!— I must call him out I think, or dammee if he'll leave me a chance shortly;" and he strode up and down the room. The valet, in the mean time, with the wig in his hand, was waiting very leisurely for his master's mood to change; but Lord George was still muttering to himself:—" I think if I made love to an old washerwoman, he would do the same thing, out of sheer rivalry; the scamp seems to have made a dead set at me. Egad!— ha! ha! ha!— it would be rare sport to try;" and lie laughed heartily at the idea. " Suddenly he called out, " Farral!" " My lord?" responded the valet. " Here, give me my vest. How does my wig do this morning?" " Very becoming, my lord; it has the air of Versailles about it." " Give me my coat, I shall go into the breakfast parlour." And ho was walking to the door, humming an air from a ballet, when he suddenly turned round and said:—" How is my complexion this morning. Eh?" " Excellent, my lord— yet," said the valet, " but there is a delicacy— a paleness— in fact, the slightest tinge of rouge — a— would"— " Well, I'll have a little." And Lord George resumed his seat, in order to be painted like a harlot— so that, with pen- cilled eyebrows, false teeth, and carmined cheeks, the dc- crepid old man of eighty to all appearance took the graceful aspect of an airy fop of between thirty and forty. " Ah! my lord," cried the valet, with an enthusiasm pe- culiar to him, as lie surveyed his master, and probably con- gratulating himself upon his skill, " your eye sparkles with a fire, not to be expected at your age!" This was honest and candid, but unfortunate for the old beau; the allusion to age was too true, and he cried out sharply:— " Age! d - n the puppy, what do you mean?" " Pardon, my lord— a thousand pardons! I meant that— you— have all— the— tbe fire of youth, with limbs strong, supple, and graceful." The volatile nobleman was still humming to himself, going through part of the evolutions of a dance,. when %\ suddenly half- stumbled, and uttered an ejaculation of pain., " My lord, are. you unwell?" asked Farral, hastening fo, him. " I've got the gout, you old fool," cried- liisj lordship, rathei- taken aback. " It's a very, fashionable complaint my lord," replied the- valet. " Very true," assented the dissipated nobleman, " but it's a complaint I would very willingly dispense with; come, help me into the. breakfast parlour, and let me know when my. nephew returns," and they were leaving the room. whon. the valet intimated that he had. another piece, of information to convey. " Well, what is it?" demanded Lord George. " Why my lord, I was told that my Lord Duke, your nephew, went last night to see the.<? e& « t of a new danseuse named Marone, and"— Farral suddenly stopped, he often did so, but now he was compelled to do it, the old rake - had fallen back into the chair, with a face all pallid and ghastly,, and whether this arose from tbe valet's news, or a sudden spasm, he could not tell; be applied a restorative, and in a, moment or two his master recovered. " Marone! Marone!" were the first words the old man muttered, " who spoke that name? who mentioned her?" " My lord," said Farral deferentially, " I was merely saying that the papers are full of the triumphant success of the beautiful new dancer." " Yes, the— the name," murmured the old man. " Marone!" " Marone!" echoed the old nobleman, and fell fainting to the floor. The reader will, therefore, feel some curiosity to kaow something of this singularly strange and beautiful girl, who could be an object of such devouring interest— siicli passionate adoration to one— such an appalling reminiscence to Lord Arlenden, and who seemed to Lord GjJorge Vere de Vere like some ghastly spectre raised up out ofthe bottomless pit Let us, then, seek out Marone. CHAPTER X. MARONE. The scene is laid in a little chamber or boudoir, which opens from a bed room, the snowy draperies of whicb bang gracefully around. The furniture is somewhat cumbrous, but elegant; but there are a great many articles, not to speak of some frail but elegant ornameDts which betray female occupancy and taste. There is an argand lamp upon a table, which spreads. n soft effulgent light, and falls upon a muffled figure standing in the very midst of the floor. The figure is. slender and light, but the shape which, the strange garment clinging around th, e- Hm. bs. discloses, is of the most faultless symmetry. Everything is dead- still in the chamber, save the monoto- nous time- piece, a specimen of fine old Sevres china,, gilding and machinery, now rarely seen. After a long pause, the form, gives utterance to a long- drawn sigh, it plunges its face with a convulsed motion into its hands, which are then withdrawn, disclosing in tlie' clear light a facc all white and pallid— nay, ghastly. It is the face of Marone! But with all its pallor, it ' is as lovely as the. facc' of a mourning Magdalen. This poor child, who appears to have been so unrelent- ingly pursued by the powerful and the wealthy, is evidentlv doomed to expiate, in moments of unutterable anguisTi, some crimes, either her own, or belonging to others. Alas,! she is " more sinned against than sinning." When she beheld Passion, with his wild and burning eyes, gazing upon her at the wings of the theatre— when she had enjoyed her triumph, and when she was fascinated by the gaze of Father Fineau, and finally encountering again the eyes of Passion, which re- assured her, she said to herself, " ! will go no more to the theatre." Aud then she added: " No! my path is clear, my course of action is clear. I live for love— for love!" and she clasped her hands with a deli- rious joy together; " but first," she added, with a darkening face, in a voice deepening with wrath, " first, to be avenged!" And then when a cloud of terror swept across the brain of this proud, this haughty woman, she shrank and trembled. It seemed as if in a thick, blinding darkness, straight before her, there, was a wild beast— a hideous, coiled, rustling snake that she was to kill. It must be done, she must gripe the knife, close her eyes, set her teeth, and then with limbs of steel, spring into this darkness and kill, and then be free. And then this— thing, dead,— she would turn to tbe radiant light, and with dove- lilj^ eyes, let her head fall with wordless fondness upon the bqsom of her lover. But who was this lover? And was there really one, who loved her? She would ask herself these two questions and smile, even while the tears dimmed her sweet eyes. She was now standing in her chamber, on the night follow- ing her debut at the theatre. Florine, who seemed to have fallen into her new position with all the ease in life, who, without having been exactly engaged by Marone as her maid, had yet become one, that is to say, a lady's maid, for in sooth poor Florine was not precisely maid for a man. Florine, we say, had left Marone to herself. At. the same time, the chat- tering ex- danseuse expected that the young girl was full of her triumph, that the next night, ( tor she was to appear three nights a week.) she would again be in the theatre. She did not know Marone's determination. Marone at last flung from her shoulders the ample garment and flung herself upon a couch. But with all the abandon of youth, of innocence:— it is a strange paradox to assert Marone's innate'innocence—' she who knew what love really was— she who had gone through ( I know not how to term it) a course of awful lessons— where sexual love was tbe theme— yet pure, innocent, and sinless, there she sat, or rather lay, and in casting off her garment, she had left herself nearly naked, just as a little child would when fqll of play. And liad the most ardent voluptuary, the most debauched sensualist, beheld her at that moment, sitting pale, rigid, barely clothed, with her wondrous hair tossing like wild, black waters around her throat and shoulders, I will venture to assert that no impure fancy— no vile emotion, Would have moved him. There is a certain nameless power in woman sometimes, which can awe the mind, tame the passions, drive back, as it were, every prurient fancy, afljcl- make even tbe unblushing, colour for very shame. Her forehead lay in her hand, one arm hung loosely down, and the snowy globes, white, firm, and rounded, were per- fectly bare. Nothing can be. imagined more perfect than that sculptured throat, that noble head, those plump shoulders, where the flowing undulations fell beneath her garment, and Ihc beau tiful lower limbs ill all tliqii- perfection, terminated, in small, white feet; the only remarkable thing about them," was that PAUL PRY; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE, 3 th? instep was more rounded, and the toes somewhat longer than is usual to the female foot. A slight noise startled her, she loaped up, uttered a cry of surprise, huddled her scanty dress over her bosom, and then listened. All was silent. On the snowy cover which was drawn over a little tabic, lay a golden cross, and a strong stiletto. It was on this weapon that the fierce eyes of Marone fell. She again listened, all was still and silent as the grave. " Florine!" she said softly. Deceiving no reply, after waiting a few moments, she ad- vanced to the door of the chamber, opened it, and started hack with every mark of horror upon her countenancc. A tall bearded man stood in the doorway. The infernal smile of malice which curled his lips, the exciting glance of his snake- like eyes, the gesture of almost fiendish delight which he exhibited, seemed to wither the limbs and paralyse the heart of the poor girl. It was Father Fineau. " Good evening, Mademoiselle," said he mockingly, " accept my apology for interrupting you in this charming deshabille, you have no idea how lovely, how interesting you look." She did not speak, she shuddered and drew back. " Fie now," he continued, " are you not delighted to see me? Frankly acknowledge it." Marone thought of that hideous thing in the utter dark- ness, which she was to kill before she could be happy, before the could smile, before she should be at liberty to love. He entered the chamber, and closing the door, fastened it after him. Nothing in the world else could have made that horrible, deadly sickness come over the heart of Marone, like his hated presence. After having escaped onee, she was again in the toils. Poor girl! poor Marone! ( To be continued.) LETTER- BAG. THE « BIT OF PORK." Mr DEAR PAUL,— I have been amused, this last day or two, by the adventures of a bit of pork, which has caused so immense a sensation— to show you how gigantic trifles may sometimes become— as to give rise to a leading article In that most amiable, sympathise- with- everybody, quiet, Quaker- like journal, the " Morning ' tizer," or, more pro- perly speaking, " Advertiser,"— yes, a leading article about a bit of pork; therefore you may ( following an example so illustrious) give this brief history of spoilt pork a corner in your hebdomadal. At a certain coach- office, kept by a Mr. Clemmitt, ex- pressly, as the " ' tizer " feelingly asserts, for the accommo- dation of everybody, and not for any other purpose— a parcel containing pork was left on the Saturday, addressed to a Mrs. Brooks. This lady calls for it at ten o'clock, and. begs, as a favour, that it may be given to her— although past " office hours." ( We did not know there were " office hours " with coaches.) She is told " it's past time"—" can't be got— un- der no end of things," & c., & c. She represents that if kept till Monday it will be spoiled; but by this time coach- office- clerk gets angry— won't stir nohow,— pork spoils— she sum- monses proprietor— he comes— says it's hard she couldn't come sooner than she could— wonders at his own infatuation in taking parcels, charging for booking and carriage— and what's more— wonders that Mrs. " B. don't see the pro- priety of putting up with the loss of the pork— ought to be ashamed of herself for making such a piece of work,— re- minded of the Arab in the desert— hungry— got a bit of pork — roast or biled,— thinks of Mahomet— hungry— thinks of his latter end— is hungrier— eats— it begins to thunder— " Ah!" cries he, " what a fuss about a little bit of pork!" so also in this case. Now the pathetic leader of the ' tizer for Saturday, is as powerful as a chapter of Lamentations, but not quite so clear. First, it says that Mrs. might have come sooner, or the pork later, or both have staid away,— or— she might have taken the coach- office home, and examined the parcels for herself,— or— she need'nt if she did'nt like,— or— the pork would'nt spoil if she would'nt flurry herself,— or— put the clerk in a fever,— or— he'd be d— d if he'd stand it,— or— Mr. Clemmitt mayrecline for everintheoffice upon a spring couch, from which he should be upon the everlasting watch, for people who come for parcels of pork,—- or— he did'nt see the exact fun of the matter. Out of all this tremendous mess, the magistrate draws, a conclusion that the ' tizer most feelingly protests against, pork is perishable, it says, and Mrs. B. may afford to lose hers; but not Mr. Clemmitt, who may be a publican ( tbe ' tizer takes ' pertickler' care of them) and a sinner, which is very likely, as he had to pay 13s. for pork, costs, & c. & c. The editor of the ' tizer went home and took to his bed, after vainly endeavouring to waken- up the magistrate's remorse; how he is to day, we do'nt know. Yours, Dear Paul, A LOVEK OF PORK— IN TIME. Glasgow, July 18th, 1849. DEAR UNCLB PAOL,— I hope you're well, and Mrs. Pry, and all my little cousins Pry. Supposing that you would like to hear from time to time from your nephew, about the great city in which he lives, second to none in Scotland for wealth and commerce; second to none in Britain for wicked- ness, I herewith present you with the first of such a series: although I do not intend to encroach on the ground taken up by my esteemed friend and your talented correspondent " P. and W." To begin, then, Mr. M— is one of our resi- dents, a gentleman well known in sporting circles; a year or so ago, ho married a Miss H—, long celebrated as a great romp. He keeps an elegantly furnished house in Bath- street, for the use of a bevy of the " frail and fair " to beguile his leisure hours. Another character celebrated for mistresses, is an old fellow called C. D. He has four or five in different parts of the town. Miss M. of Jamaica- street, walks about often, nodding familiarly to every swell she meets. She is not old, dresses fashionably, and appears to much advantage among the more tawdry, though more respectable females. Now, dear uncle, is it not a shame that such things as these should exist, and still no outcry nor attempt at reform be made. Hoping this has not exhausted your patience, I remain, dear uncle. Your affectionate nephew, ADAM PRY THE YOUNGER. The outside trappings which we assume when we go into public are more frequently wanted at home than abroad. PAUL AMONGST THE PUBLICANS. " BONOS, HAVE AT IE ALL!" DUKE OF ARGYLE, LAYSTALL STREET, CLERKENWELL. We have paid this place of amusement several visits lately, and feel a pleasure in being able to pronounce it one of the most entertaining resorts we have ever found it our duty to notice. Mr. Atkinson, the landlord, appears to us to be one of those kind of hosts who takes great pains to make his customers happy. He has not spared expense iu procuring talent to amuse the lovers of harmony. AVc earnestly recommend Mr. Atkinson to the notice of the concert goers, knowing him to be a persevering, civil, and obliging landlord. Mrs. Harrison, the pianist, still keeps the position she has gained by her superior style of playing, which, accompanied with her singing, renders her a very useful lady in the pro- fession, Miss French on the night of our first visit " came out" in character, and certainly ( thanks to rouge) looked blooming enough. Oh 1 Polly, Polly, you " dancing dolly," AMUSED US much; it did by " golly." Miss Lee sung one or two songs with taste. This young lady to become a favourite, should keep herself more to her- self, and not frisk and flirt about in the manner she does. We now come to the male portion of the pro's. In beginning with Mr. J. Lawson, we cannot depreciate his style, which is certainly very spirited— very much so— exceeding spirited— too spirited. Drop the style a little, James, or it might be mistaken for conceit, a word which we DON'T THINK applies to you. Mr. A. Sloman very much amused us with his delineation of a farm yard. Mr. Spencer Ford, and Mr. W. Cubit, form part of the company here, and are received nightly with that applause, which they so justly merit. Before we close our remarks, we wish to impress upon Mr. A. the necessity of serving good beverage. However we may approve of the manner in which he conducts his establishment, and his civility, we cannot concientiously praise his liquors. There is nothing lost by selling good drink. If Mr. A. will attend to this hint we are sure he will not injure himself in the smallest degree. WORKS SELDOM HEARD OF. WRITTEN BT AUTHORS QUITE AS MUCH IN THE SHADE. " The Pleasures of Sobriety." By H. Smith, of Sun Tavern notoriety. " The Art of Truth- felling." By M. Gardiner, of the same establishment. Beautifully Illustrated by Nondescript Freer, also of the same place. " The Screamer." By Charles Gibson, Esq., of Saffron Hill. " Jump High! Jump Low!" By N. T. Hicks. A QUESTION. Will you have the kindness to let me trouble you, my dear Paul, by asking after the health of Mr. Barnard John Graham, the owner of Long Hedge Farm, of Battersea; as I am afraid he has scarcely recovered himself after the noble, manly, pugilistic assault he committed on two little boys who got into his field; these boys, to be explicit, are named respectively, William and Frederick Bond. The detail of the case before the magistrate shewed a power of " pitching in" which I should scarcely imagine Mr. Barnard John Graham, the aggravated, to possess. It was " one down, and ' tother come on." A man to thrash two boys, must be a stiff customer to deal with, far stiffer than vour stiff friend, you now and then mention. CORRESPONDENCE, *** Every letter for the future, containing advice, must be ac- companied by three postage stamps. i ANTI- HUMBUG.— The manner ia whieh you state the case is perfectly correct. You have no right to a dinner under such circumstances, nor to any at all unless you think pro- per. What we said about France could not have been said until it happened, as you observe. When you say that „ ur talented correspondent's letter to Lord John Russell ( in our last) reminds you of the " style of Junius," we caunot suffi- ciently express our gratification. As for Punch, it is evident you are deep in his books; and, as the protector of his property, you shall have them back— and welcome. Our correspondent of Homerton- row has no occasion to sond stamps with his communication. Wc have his name and address, which we hold sacred, and can rely upon his well- intentioned remarks. ADAM PRY THE YOUNGER ( Glasgoiv).— We are glad to find you are better, and hope, you young dog, you'll pay atten- tion to your uncle's interest, in the unco gude city of Glas- gow. A. C— D ( Woolwich).— Have the goodness to write more legibly, tbat we may understand what you mean, and we will gladly insert your communications. Your last one is quite unintelligible. PLOVER ( Poole).— Send us a batch of laughable things, ancl never mind the postage- stamps. T. D. ( Newcastle).— Send as many as you like, old fellow; always happy to hear from you. *„* Our Sheffield correspondent is thanked for his promises: we hope to hear from him every week. DICK TURPIN" ( Norwich).— Have you quite forgotten us, old boy? Most happy to bear from you as formerly. SARAH JANE.— If your lover snubs, you snub again, and if he then continues his bearish tricks, leave him and pay your devoirs to Tom, who, by your description, appears a much more agreeable swain. PHILOS.— Mr. N. T. Hicks was apprenticed to the painting and glazing business, though, whether he served his ap- prenticeship out, we cannot tell. It's all fudge about his saving two children from the flames. TIMOTHY.— Mr. Witldicomb, the Widdy, is not dead, and to all appearance, wc should say, not likely to die for the next century. INQUIRER.— Mr. Charles Ruckman is a professional singer; but whether his abilities are on a par with Mr. John Parry, we cannot possibly say. We rather think not. Wo beg to refer you to a Mr. Peterson, theatrical manager, Vinegar- lane, Ratcliff. IIAUPY ( Shoreditch.)— Wc cannot inform you whether Charles John Freer is fond of fish, though we are quite ! iwqi « of his penchant for Maids of Judali. TO OUR SUBSCRIBERS. This is to give NOTICE, that on the Anniversary of this our august Journal— that is, when it shall have reached its Fifty- second Number— we intend to present to every Subscriber who shall produce his or her last Twenty- six Numbers, a Magnificent Picture of " HER MAJESTY'S FAMILY CIRCLE," taken from Winterhalter's Painting of the same, and now in possession of Her Most Gracious Majesty. The superb plate shall be worth at least, in the Trade, ONE GUINEA ! ! ! YOU MAY BE CURED YET. HOLLOWAY'S OINTMENT. CUKE OF RHEUMATISM AND RHEUMATIC GOUT.— Extract of a Letter from Mr. Thomas Brunton, Landlord of the Waterloo Tavern. Coatham, Yorkshire, late ofthe Life Guards, dated September28th, 1848. To PROFESSOR HOLLO WAY.— SIR,— For a long time I was a Martyr to Rheumatism and Rheumatic Gout, and for ten weeks previous to using your medicines, I was so bad as not to be able to walk. 1 had tried doctoring and medicines Of every kind, but all to no avail, indeed I daily got worse, and felt that I must shortly die. From see- ing your remedies advertised in the paper I take in, I thought I would give them a trial. I did so. 1 rubbed the Ointmentln as directed, and kept cabbage leaves to the part thickly spread with it, and took the Pills night and morning. In three weeks I was enabled to walk about for an hour or two in the day with a stick, and in seven weeks I could go any where without one. I am now, by the blessing of God and your medicines, quite well, and have been attending to my business for more than seven months, without any symptoms Of the return of my old complaint. Besides my case of Rheumatic Gout, I have lately had proof that your Pills and Ointment will heal any old wound or ulcer as amarried woman, living near me, had had a bad leg for four years, which no one could cure, and I gave her some of your Pills and Ointment, which soundly healed it when nothing else would do it, For your information I had the honor to serve my country for twenty- five years in the first regiment of Life Guards, ana was eighteen years a Corporal. I was two years in the Peninsula War, and was at the Battle of Waterloo. I was discharged with a pension on the 2nd September, 1833. The Commanding Officer at the time, was Colonel Lygon, who islnow a General. I belonged to the troop of Captain the Honourable Henry Baring. ( Signed) THOMAS BRUNTON. CUBE OF A BAD LEG OF TWENTY ONE YEARS' STANDING.— EX tract of a Letter from Mr. Andrew Brack, Blacksmith, EycmoutU near Berwick, dated the 10th of August, 1848. To PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY.— SIR,— With pleasure and gratitude have to inform you that after suffering for twenty- one years with a bad leg, which yielded to no kind of treatment, although I consulted, at different times, every medical man of eminence in this part of the Country, but all to no purpose. I was frequently unable to work; and the pain and agony 1 often endured no one can tell. My leg is now as sound as ever it was in my life by means of your Pills and Ointment, which I purchased from Mr. I. Davidson, Druggist, Ber- wick- upon- Tweed, who knows my case well, and will, I am sure, be happy to certify with me, if necessary, as to the truth of this wonder- ful cure. ( Signed) ANDREW BRACK. ABIPUTATIO* OF Two TOES PREVENTED.— Extract of a Letter from Sir. Oliver Smith Jenkins, dated Falkirk, August 13th, 1848. To PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY.— SIR,— I was superintending about six months ago, the erection of one of our Railway Bridges, and by the fall of a large stone my right foot was seriously bruised, which ulti - mately got so bad, that I was advised to go to Edinburgh to consult some of the eminent Surgeons, which I did, and was told that in order to save my foot, two of my toes must be taken off. In despair, I returned home to impart the melancholy news to my wife, intending to submit to the operation, it was then a thought struck me to try your valuable Ointment and Pills, which I did, and was by their means in three weeks enabled to resume my usual occupation, and at this time my toes are perfectly cured. ( Signed) OLIVER SMITH JENKINS. AN EXTRAORDINARY CURE OF A DESPERATE SKIN DISEASE.— On the 21st. July, the Editor ofthe " Mofussilite" Newspaper published in India, inserted the following Editorial article in his paper. " We know for a fact, that Ilolloway's Pills and Ointment act in a most wonderful manner upon the constitution, as an eccentric Coolie, called Eliza, employed in our Establishment, was afi'ected with myriads of Ringworms, which defied all the Meerut Doctors, anil promised to devour the poor man before he was underground; we tried " Holloway" upon him, and in a month he was perfeotly re- stored to his former condition and cleanliness of skin. The effect was miraculous." The Pills should be used conjointly with the Ointment in most of the following cases:— Bad Legs Chiego- foot Fistulas Sore Nipples' Bad Breasts Chilblains Gout Sore throats Burns Chapped hands GlandularSwel- Skin- diseaseg Bunions Corns ( Soft) lings Scurvy Bite of Mosche- Cancers Lumbago Sore- heads toes and Sand- Contracted and Piles Tumours flies Stiffs- joints Rheumatism Ulcers Coco- Bay Elephantiasis Scalds Wounds— Yaws Sold by the Proprietor, 244, Strand, ( near Temple Bar,) London, and by all respectable Vendors of Patent Medicines throughout the civilized World, in Pots and Boxes, Is. l£ d., 2s. 9d., 4s. Gd., lis., 22?., and 33s. each. There is a very considerable saving by taking the larger sizes. N. B.— Directions for the guidance of Patients are affixed to each Pot and Box. EXTRAORDINARY SUCCESS OF THE NEW REMEDY. — UPWARDS OF 17,000 CURES WITHOUT A SINGLE FAILURE. F\ R. WALTER DE ROOS, L Ely- place, Holborn- hill, London U earnestly invites every one suffering from those dangerous dis eases arising from Solitary Habits, Excesses, and Infection in a their stages and varieties, which from improper treatment so frequently end in Skin Ernptions, Gravel, Inflammation of Kidneys. Pains in the Back and Loins, Stone in the Bladder, and ultimately DEATH!— to avail themselves without delay of his important dis covcries, by which he is now enabled to treat with the utmost cer tainty of cure every stage and variety of this calamitous class of clis eases. It is a distressing fact that Secondary Symptoms, which is a species of lingering DEATH, are too frequently the result of the old method of treatment; but, thanks to science, he is now, after 22 years of study and experience, in possession of a remedy by which he guarantees a perfect and lasting cure. This fact has already been manifested in upwards of 17,000 cases ; and as a stronger as- surance he undertakes to cure, without hindrance to business, the most inveterate case in comparatively few days, or RETURN the MONEY. All those deemed INCURABLE are particularly invited. Country patients will be minute in the detail or their cases, as that will render a personal visit unnecessary. Females may, with^& e utmost safety, confide themselves to the care of Dr. DE ROOS, as the most inviolable secrecy and delicacy are observed, and as no two patients are ever admitted at the same time, to the same room, or allowed to depart together, the posssibilitv of contact, or exposure, is entirely prevented. — Advice, with medicines, £ i. Patients corresponded with till cured. Hours, 10 till 1, and 4 till 8 ; Sundays, 10 till 1.— Post Office Orders payable to Walter de Roos, M. D., 1, ELY- PLACE, HOLBORN - HILL, LONDON. Read Dr. de Hoos' Celebrated Work. Just published, 64th Thousand, 144 pages, Illustrated with numerous Coloured Engravings, in a sealed envelope, from the Author, in English or French, 2s., or free by post for 32 Stamps. THE MEDICAL ADVISER. An Essay on the Obligations ot Marriage; the Treatment and Cure of all those Secret Disorders arising from early Excesses and Infections, with plain directions fo r the removal of every disqualification. " This work is indeed a boon to the public, as it has the two- fold advantage of plainness and being written b£ a duly qualified man who evidently understands his subject."— Daily Times. The following are our appointed Agents:— London: W. COLE, Bedford- street, Oxford- street, Mile End.— Deptford: F. L. LYONS, 8, Broadway.— Greenwich: H. HILL, 9, Market- place.— Bristol: COOK, Sims- place.— Manchester: HYE, WOOD, Oldham- street.— Leeds: A. MANN.— Glasgow: W. LOVE, Nelson- street.— Derby: BROOKES, St. Alkmund's- churchyard.— Leicester: BILLSON, Bellgrave- gate.— Beverley: WARD, Butcher- row.— Banbury: BUNTON, Cherwell- street. — Sheffield: ROGERS, Fruit- market.— Brighton: TOURLE, 57, Edward- street.— Newcastle- on- Tyne: FRANCE & Co., 8, Side.— Bradford, Yorkshire: W. COOKE , s.