No. 33— NEW SERIES.] PUBLISHED WEEKLY. [ PRICE ONE PENNY. NEW PAUL SERIES. PRY " IT IS A VIRTUOUS ACTION TO EXPOSE VICIOUS MEN."— DRVDBN. £ 20 REWARD! It having reached the ears of the Proprietor of this Journal, that several malicious and evil- disposed indivi- duals have, for some time past, been holding out threats against any person or persons who should sell the PAUL Pur; and as the whole of the contents are under the supervision of a professional gentleman, this is to give notice, that the sum of TWENTY POUNDS sterling will be paid by the Proprietor, for any information which may lead to the detection and conviction of the party or parties. All parties, therefore, in town or country, so threatened, will do well to communicate with the Pro- prietor, Mr. George Johnstone, No. 12, Russell- court, Brydges- street, Strand. MA RONE; or, THE WINE OF LOVE. CHATTER VI. CContinued from our last.) " Why, the cove's, to be sure, Blockey— whose else should I go to ask for?" demanded Nobbly Jem, in return. " I forget wot his blessed name is," was the grumbled reply. " Howsomdever he's a tall fellar, and a reg'lar Blue- beard, for he ground his teeth like a mad dog as he spoke of her." " Well, he's a scaly vagabone," observed Nobbly Jem, with a laugh. " But there's another dodge he's up to," said the first speaker, in the tone of a man who could be patronising, and meant to be so; " and I shall want a cove or two to lend a hand. She's out of his way, now, for a time, and he'll be trying to give me a lift to the mill; but I'll be square first." " Lcok here, Blockey," said Jem, taking his pipe out of his mouth, and marking his periods with great emphasis on the table; " when a fellar is in with another, and ' nose as he can depend on him, as you can on me, wot's the use of going for to say ' you wants a cove,' When I'm at your elber?" '• All right. You know Orchard- street, Portman- square?" " Yes, in course I does," responded Jem. " Well," continued Blockey, " this fellar— devil take his ! name— lives there; leastaways I'm to meet him there. But just slue your head round the corner of the box; this must be kept very dark, or else I loses my reg'lars." His com- panion dyl so, and his eye caught sight of Passion's hat, just as he was drawing his head back. " Halloo!" he exclaimed, " ware hark! Here's a cove been a bobbing his nose in business he's got no right to." " Let's have a sight of him ?" said Blockey, very quietly; then passing his companion, and standing out inthe middle of the floor, giving at the same time a jerk to his arms, hy way of preparation it may be presumed, just as a man does when he thrusts his shoulders into a tight coat; and then, turning his hard and savage face full on Passion— who in- stantly recognized the man he had followed from the Shades — he said: " I wants lo speak to you!" Passion sat outside, next to the floor; and though tbe various groups were engaged in their own matters, several turned their faces and watched the progress of the new row, where mischief towards the youth was evidently brewing. '' I wants to speak to you!" repeated the man. Passion turned his handsome face towards the strong ruffian's; and the physical contrast was so great and evident, that even Blockey himself felt the force of it. For the pale, handsome, and graceful countenance had so intelligent a superiority, a refinement so great, a power, even, so immense, that the cool and audacious contempt which sat on his lip cauld scarcely add to it. He was smoking a cigar, and a wreath of blue smoke was exhaled out of his mouth till it clouded the sullen features of the bravo. If he was merely savage before, his lurid face and hideous eyes manifested now the most murderous ferocity; and though he trembled with his suppressed rage in every limb, something for the moment seemed to hold him back. With a terrific oath, his closed hands, like two hammers, were held down to his side, and he determined to wait patiently till Passion got up, that he might then discharge his anger in a punishment that threatened to annihilate the youth. His companions were still talking very quietly over their liquor, of which there had been no stint, and were so much engaged that they had not taken the slightest notice of what was going forward. Passion was ' still smoking with the greatest unconcern, and appeared to take no more notice of Blockey than if he had not been there. The youth, having ended his cigar, tossed it as if by accident into the ruffian's face; and then, with a yawn of weariness, he placed his hand upon Gaffin's shoulder; the man turned quickly, but perceiving that the young man wished to speak to him, he respectfully inclined his head towards him. " I want to quit this place directly!" said he. " But"— began Gaffin; when, with superb gesture, the haughty youth arose, and said: — " I am going— you promised to accompany me to the Abbey." " So I did," replied the man; " honour bright. But"— he hesitated. " Well; what is it?" demanded Passion, impatiently. " These fellows expect— a— little— a— trifle!— they are a rough lot." The man hesitated, for he caught sight of the scowling Blockey, who was still waiting in the floor. " You promised that I should be safe, and I trusted you. I have, therefore, told you ray wish to leave the place," said Passion. " And d n me if I deceive you!" and the ma » struck his hand energetically on the table, exclaiming:—" You have paid like a king already. I only spoke to part smooth— but what's here?" Gaffin addressed the question to Blockey, who coolly replied :— " I'm just a vatin' to have a word or two to say to your pal here," and he indicated Passion with his finger. " What can such a dirty- looking scoundrel as you want to say to me?" asked Passion, quietly. Even Gafflu seemed utterly appalled by this insulting temerity; and Blockey himself, execrating his blood, cried: " As soon as you're up, I'll let you know, for curse me if I don't cut the heart out of you!" " Go to bed, sirrah, and sleep yourself sober," said Passion, rising up from his seat. But no sooner had he done so, than Blockey precipitated himself upon him, and, unexpectedly catching him by the throat, he dragged him into the floor, and said, exultingly:— " Now, my small fellar, I'm agoing to spoil your beauty for you," and lifted up his powerful hand, which for a mo- ment he held suspended in the air— while Passion, to the astonishment of all, merely smiled contemptuously upon him, and, with singular dexterity, threw the ruffian to the ground at his feet. CHAP. VII. THE DREAM or THE VOLUPTUARY. LEAVING Passion still to extricate himself from the dilemma in which he had fallen, return we now to Lord Arlcnden. - The night had worn away. The patient had literally given himself up to the physician's directions in every way The nurses had departed, and the doctor, having first given Lord Arlenden a small draught that acted as an anodyne upon the man's languid frame, had taken his leave also. Prospere only was at hand; and Father Fineau had not returned, . THE DREAM OF THE VOLUPTUARY. 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE The singular remedy, that last extraordinary and incredi- ble source, from which the shattered frame of Lord Arlenden was to draw once more health and strength, had not been ineffectual— at least it seemed not. It was not to be sup- posed that, in so short a period, anything like a good result was to be obtained— but the breathing was more regular; the spasms which contracted, the limb* appeared to have vanished; the cheeks were B& t so ghastly; and though the thin hands still exhibited an unnatural tenuity, still the colour of the flesh was no longer livid or blue. He had fallen into a deep sleep. The warm, perfumed air of the chamber pressed upon tbe faint eyelids of the slumberer; and the almost Eastern luxury of the jplendid room, with its curtains, its carpets, and its thousand nameless details, seemed to have some ab- stract power over the dormant energies, a « if they could refine and mould them, so as to receive impression* of a BOrresponding kind. . Prospere, who appeared always in attendance, morning, jioon. aria night; who never seemed weary, and who never yawned, or appeared to need sleep— Prospere, whose toilet was always elaborate, and of scrupulous cleanliness— he, we say, was, during this interval, engaged in perusing listlessly Chesterfield's Letters, the lax morality of which suited the cosmopolite valet exactly. The nobleman was beginning to dream. The teeming shadows that haunted his sleep were, at the first, mingled confusedly together; and for a while it was a mere chaotic panorama, mingled with light and shade, now brilliant and blazing, and anon black as the bottomless pit. Then, the strong, unconquerable, sensual faculties of the sleeper exerted themselves to produce before him shapes of the most radian beauty, with wild eyes, dishevelled hair and mosti- uby lips, mingling in those wild, maddening embraces of passion— till that unknown faculty of the imagi- nation, to re- produce in sleep the dominant waking thought, shrank from the unnatural tension,— and the whole spectral train, enchanting as it was, vanished as if blown into nothing- ness by a mere breath. Only to return again, however. The glaring, shameless paintings in the chamber— those masterpieces of depravity, those gorgeous evidences of pro- stituted talent, and of a bestial taste— became imbued with life. They spoke— they moved— they flew through the thick trees, their half- naked limbs being exposed as their scanty robes were lifted by the wind. Their pursuers fol- lowed, with breaths hot and panting, and caught them in some little hidden nook, whence the half- stifled kiss rose from the struggling lips. Tho drunken Bacchantes danced lasciviously to the pipings of Pan, before the terminal Priapus in the Cyprian groves. Everything that a heated and impure imagination can conceive, rose up before the mental vision of Lord Arlenden. Such was a literal transcript of this man's mind. It is almost altogether incredible— and we may be accused of drawing upon our own fancy for those ideas, which indeed, from a constitution naturally cold and phlegmatic, rarely troubles u; but the confessions of physicians who have had such patients under their hands— confessions which, in one instance, were made known to us, and of which this is a faint exposition— prove that men may pursue pleasure with such sincerity and zeal, as to transform every faculty, good, . bad, and indifferent, into vehicles for the fostering a pre- disposition to voluptuousness. Those who knew Lord Arlenden, however, knew not the gigantic pageant of harlotry which for years, in his sleep, surrounded his bed— until he himself became appalled at the frightful consequences— at the spell from which he could not escape. To the world, generally, he was a man whose fame was not very white— whose was? whose is?— No; quite the contrary; Lord Arlenden could support morality, quote mo- rality, and insist upon the necessity of its existence. Morality!— that splendid name, which, like a patched mantle, shelters the whole round of vice; beneath which, the sins in turn play their hideous game. Morality!— it was this word that Lord Arlenden had perpetually in his mouth. It was he who dilated on this topic, with a grace and unction, with an eloquence and a ponderosity, when he pre- sided over charities, or dined with the bishops; and then rode off in his warm equipage, to be amused with the com- panions of his secret and infamous pleasures, in his own harem, or in the house of the courtezans. Morality!— he spoke of it to his poor tenantry when he met them; but he, at the same time, seduced their wives and their daughters, and publicly lamented the decay of this principle. To return:— His dream became more methodical. Its rationale became more distinct. It began to he retrospective— it took form- in fact, it formed one of those episodes in his life, under the influence of which he was suffering at the time our story opens. It is an old wainscotted chamber— all of black shining oak. The furniture is covered with cloths, cushions, & c., of the deepest crimson. The windows are closed— thick cur- tains are drawn, and a wax- taper, together with a flashing sea- coal fire, illuminate the recesses. It is a mellow and sober light, after all— not gay and glaring. He— Lord Arlenden, strong, healthy, and several years younger— is seated by the table. His thoughts are bent upon an amour. The female is in the house; in another chamber. He is waiting for a signal, which she is not to give— but another. That other enters. It is the form. of a woman, whose luxurious, large, and stately form has heen pampered and fed with rich meats, and richer wine, till,' in her person, she combines the pro- voking graces, and the full and ruddy flesh, which charac- terise tme " Venus of Rubens. The face is fine— has been beautiful; but its beauty is marred by uncontrolled passions. The hair is black; the eye, black and brilliant; the scarcely- confined breasts are still round, hard, and elastic, and still pant under the tightened silk, which heaves beneath their motion. But, beautiful and captivating, in a sensual comprehen- sion, as that woman is, there is something sinister and menacing in her eye. She approaches Lord Arlenden— the dreamer— and he starts. " Well!" he ejaculates. " She is secure— She is asleep," is the reply; and an inde- scribable grin of hate distorts that mouth made for amorous contentions. A living fire courses through the man's veins. " You will owe me much for this triumphant ecstacy," the female continues. " It was full of danger to seize her. She is but a girl, yet attempted to stab herself." " She is averse, then?" he enquired. " She is a mere child," she answers. " What of that? I have sworn to do it. Do you not see how far the love of vengeance aids your pursuit of pleasure? In the ruin ofthe child, I shall be avenged on the father." He, who is dreaming, beholds himself start, and turn pale, " She implored curses upon your head; but her limbs aro locked, and her will is dead. Go— all is prepared." But, as this imfernal woman thus tells him— the tone of mockery that she uses makes him feel self- abased and ir- ritable. The plot by which he is obtaining the mastery over his victim is so black and base— the amour on which he is resolved is so devilish and unnameable— that he grinds his teeth; a cold perspiration stands on his forehead: but so intense, so overwhelming, is the passion which devours him, that he cannot escape— he cannot turn away from it— he cannot escape the horrible fascination. This lovely pro- curess stands before him, and points to the inner chamber with a glance at once commanding and provocative— at once full of lust and menace. " I never saw your lordship so averse to keeping an assignation with— a woman!" she says. He is seized with vertigo; with his brain heated, his blood all flame, his imagination excited, he rushes out of the chamber, and the depraved but lovely woman follows. The scene changed. The dream— its influences, its madness, its flaming fire— all its delirious evolutions, followed the dreamer. There was something indescribably terrible about the lover — the circumstance— and the act. Entering into another chamber, where a soft, faint light, darkened as it were by thick folds of ground glass, covered the lambent source— or as if the taper were placed in the centre of an alabaster urn, All was dim, yet seen— all was dreamy and vague. There were pastiles burning, unseen— there were wines on the table— there was a large and gor- geous bed, on one side of which the curtains were drawn up. On this bed lay the form of a young girl, apparently in a deep sleep. And, like a watcher over the Syrian mysteries, was a man clothed in a strange dress. " Aha!" thought the dreamer, " this is my mentor— it is Father Fineau." At the same moment this man advanced, and, while the stately and hold female who followed him stood beside the door, the dreamer heard Father Fineau discourse to him— ul ter words, draw pictures, and delineate scenes that Juvenal's eleventh satire can alone give an idea of. And the woman, casting the modesty of her sex aside, echoed the execrable sentences. Without, the thunder was heard growling in the distance; it came nearer; it broke above their heads. The voluptuary giuld not hear it, for his own blood was beating louder in his temples; the storm howled and shrieked past the windows, but it was nothing as compared with the storm of passion in his soul. " Do you hesitate?" demanded the woman ofthe dreamer, in a tone that was mingled with scorn and sarcasm. The dreamer glanced on the form upon the bed. It was slight, but cast in the finest mould. It was so exquisitely beautiful in its placidity, almost in its rigidity, that it seemed like a marble figure, over which a garment had been flung, as if it had come fresh from the studio of Canova. The young, almost childish, face was slightly flushed; the lips were moist, and like a coral for redness; the long, silken lashes, like a fine pencil- mark, made two arches beneath a brow, pure and spotless as that of innocence sleeping. The wild tresses of magnificent hair were tossed upon it, and streamed on the bed like a silken stream. The dreamer gazed upon it, and his eyes flashed— he shuddered. It was an amour from which he shrunk. " To pursue, to obtain— after repulse, and scorn, and withering words— and then to fail: you cannot be such a child?" continued the woman. The young priest— dyed as he was in the black and putrid waters of sin— with soft and inflaming words also assailed him. There were, however, two or three appalling reminiscences which came between him and the possession of his victim; which it was the object of these, the evil ministers of his blighting passions, of his infamous pleasures, to dissipate. Finally he was left alone. To " screw his courage to the sticking pitch," that is to say, to make him bold, reckless, and insensible to every- thing, to quell feelings that had never before deterred him— to complete a ruin began on such a gigantic scale; he stag- gered to a table and drank off a bumper of wine, and as it began to course and throb in his veins, he turned his lurid eyes upon the reclining girl and sought to forget everything. He advanced to the bed, he took her hy the hand, it was warm and moist, and as he gained composure, and gazed upon the face, so young, so miraculously beautiful, a tremor of a different kind stole over him ; more in keeping with the luxurious scene, more allied to those sensual emotions which had in the first instance inspired him, was a passion to possess her, and by consequence he gazed upon her as a Sultan does upon the slave he has purchased at an immense cost for his pleasures. He bent his face to hers, and felt the warm perfumed breath coming like a breeze over a bank of flowers. It played amid his hair, it warmed his hot cheeks. She stirred, the touch had roused her. She was sleeping evidently under the effect of some powerful narcotic— there was no fear of her waking up. He had now calmed himself— the dreamer had— of the fear that haunted him. He delayed, and drank wine to inflame himself still the more. He drew her towards him, and then, as her head fell back, deliriously clasped her to his breast. At the very moment he felt himself grappled with as if a wild'beast had leaped upon him, and was about to rend him into a thousand pieces. A hot, fiery breath was on his shoulder— hands of iron had grasped him by the arms. A face, young, boyish, classically beautiful, but writhed into such a ferocious and deadly expression hy the passion of hatred, that it seemed as if the divine face of Minerva was suddenly distorted as we see it in the pictures of the Gorgon on her shield. Then there was a struggle— a stabbing— a plashing of blood— a scream of agony— a rushing of forms to and fro—- a blinding, crushing blow— and the dreamer was found on the ground wounded— panting— foaming with impotent rage. His prey had escaped! Such was the dream of the voluptuary. Lord Arlenden I awoke, and stared wildly about him. ( To be continued in our next.) A WARNING TO WIVES! There is a case in this last week's papers which wo would have every wife in London read, the more especially those of the middle and of the poorer classes; for the other, we have little or no sympathy with them. Let the wives of that class act as they please. They are insolent, hold, defying— be the consequences on their own heads. This case is a sad, pitiable, heart- breaking affair. It is the death wound to a man's happiness, It is the most fatal blow . to him in every shape and way. We most deeply sympathise with the husband, and deplore this domestic calamity whioh makes a wreck of his heart, and we trust that he has strength and fortitude enough, for his children's sake, to bear up against it; though, if he can forgive so dreadful au error on the part of his wife, he will have more of Christian charity and human forbearance than we our- selves have. Briefly the case is thus:— Mrs. Mary Ann Darbin was charged with having stolen a purse from a commercial traveller, whom she met in a coffee- house, and invited to go with har to a house of ill- fame, as it was so late she dared not go home. He consented— she robbed him,— she was given in charge, and fully committed for trial! It is an entire tragedy, take it how you will! THE FRAIL SISTERHOOD. P1VOINE. CHAP. VI. CContinued from our last.) A RETROSPECTIVE GLANCE. Besides, we have not the slightest pretension to write for young girls. Young girls, in our opinion, ought not to open any romance; and if they read them in secret— if to do this they deceive their mothers— if, at night, they kindle a furtive light to devour the book hidden beneath their pillow— they are on the road to destruction, and it matters little whether the work they procure is Grandisson or Aretine. We think we have said enough; nay, too much. Pardon, reader, we now commence. It was on one of the last days of the month of December, in the year 1845. The sky was sombre and loaded; thick mists rising from the Seine crept heavily over the great city; and, although it was scarcely 4 o'clock in the afternoon, it was already enveloped in darkness. At this moment a young and pretty girl, who appeared exhausted with fatigue, arrived at Paris by the barrier du Eoule. The young girl might have been, at the most, sixteen years of age, and she wore a costume which, although very simple, attracted, by reason of its originality, the curiosity of the idle cockneys. This costume consisted of a woollen robe, with a brown corsage, and a short, striped petticoat, displaying the ex tremity of a very enticing leg, defended by a blue stocking, and a charming foot, despite the thick shoes which magni- fied its proportions, A large Normand cap and a flowered Indian neckerchief completed the toilette of the young girl, who carried on her left shoulder, at the end of a small hazel stick, a little bundle, enveloped in a check handkerchief. This pretty child was Pivoine. The majority of our readers have long been acquainted with her, at least we have the presumption to think so; still we ought here ( for those who have not read, or for those who have forgotten The Chevaliers of Lansquenet) to retrace, in a few words, what had been the antecedents of our heroine, and why we now find her arrived at Paris, quite alone, on foot, and her eyes inflamed with tears, at the end of a cold winter's day. Pivoine, a graceful flower from the fields of Normandy; Pivoine, whose sweet image had passed too quickly amongst the sombre profiles of the personages we have just referred to, was the only daughter of the head steward of the Viscount Jules de Nodesmes. An artless but coquettish childj she had for the first time felt her heart beat for the young, viscount, who, also as candid and mora timid than herself, discoursed with her of love beneath the splendid shades of the Park of Nodesmes, but dared not— chaste young man!— kiss even the tip of her finger! The departure of Jules for Paris, in company with George d'Entragues, the chief of the hidden association of the Chevaliers of Lansquenet, had destroyed in its bud this growing passion. A few months afterwards Jules had returned, hut this time he was not alone; he brought with him Dauae, the courtesan duchess, and he no longer dreamt of the melting eyes of his humble vassal. Unfortunately, at the same time as the viscount, George d'Entrague also returned to Nodesmes. He took a liking to Pivoine, and became her lover. Strange mystery of the hearts of young girls! This man who, from the first moment, obtained almost by violence that which she had long refused to the candid passion of Nodesmes, was for her, probably from this cause, the supreme type of strength united to beauty. She loved him with idolatry, with respect, and also with terror. She had divined that energetic nature which nothing re- strained, nothing bent. A smile from George seemed like an unhoped for favour, and when the features of ber lover became gloomy, when his brow became cloudy, a heavy and jealous melancholy invaded the young girl, for she felt that in the life of the Count d'Entragues, she, the poor Pivoine, was nothing, and could be nothing. Now George had only visited Normandy for the purpose of carrying off Mademoiselle de Choisy from the so- called Count de Fly, afterwards Prince of Falckemburg, with whom M. de Choisy, the father, wished to marry her. One fine evening Pivoine demolished by touching them the audacious projects of George d'Entragues, All was pre- pared, the post chaise was ready and waiting, and that same night, the Count was to carry off Esther de Choisy, and start with her for Paris. Chance so directed that Pivoine found herself in the vestibule forming a conservatory at the moment the dictator of the Sansquenet Chevaliers entered the pavilion from the Park, a pavilion which Jules de Modesmes had placed at his disposition. Pivoine frequently passed many a long hour in this piece, where leaning against the box of some immense orange tree, she allowed her mind to revel in some sweet dream of love or happiness. On this day she experienced that gloomy and m « lanchply disposition of mind, which, whatever may be said to the contrary, is the precursor of some fatal event. A moveable lamp fixed against the wall only shed throughout the conservatory a faint and dubious light. George, on entering, did not see Pivoine, concealed as she was by a double hedge of pomegranates and laurel roses. The young girl was about to speak to him, when she heard him push the two bolts of the first gate. This circumstance astonished her, and her heart agitated by an instinctive emotion, she remained silent, and waited, M. d'Entragues ascended to his room. In a few moments Pivoine saw him return, enveloped in his paletot, and his hat on his bead. Instead of leaving the park by the ordinary egress, George opened a secret door which led to the country, and left, ' To be continued in our next.) 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE PAUL ADVISES j. w— d, the grocer's boy of Britannia- place, Wands- worth- road, not to he seen with Jenny Bind, as soon as he leaves the lady's- maid at Montpelier house, South Lambeth. If your intentions, John, are honorable to Sarah, break off all connection with Jenny. Mrs. Ct-— n, of New- court, Moor- lane, not to dress up her daughter in such a fantastic manner and then allow her to promenade Finsbury- parement, watching the poor unfortu- nate females. , , , , , j H— e, of York- place, York- road, Lambeth, not to be seen in Granby- street, Waterloo- road, as the place cannot possiblv add to his morality. Mr. B. M. not to be seen so frequently'in the neighbourhood of Covent- garden on Saturday afternoon, as it is entirely useless. T, S. has his eye upon him, and will not less Miss escape. Miss H. B— d, of Wootten- street, Comwall- road, to give a little more to her poor mother, and lay out less on her ''" llr. s y, of Duke- street, Stamford- street, not to be seen talking to the servant girls in Stamford- street. Mr. J. P. S— e, Staining- lane, Gresham- street, to marry Miss A. C. S— t, of the same street, as quickly as possible, as there are several suitors now soliciting her hand. If she accepts either of them Mr, J. P. will rue the day that ever he forsook her. Mr. B., of Wilstead- street, Somers Town, not to spend all his time in tlie ale shops. The Milliner's girls, of Parker's- row, Bermondsay, not to stand at the windows in the afternoon, larking with the boys as they return from the city. H. F., of Mary- street, Hoxton, not to think so much of himself'since his landlady has taken to dress him up for a walking stick. F. W., of St. John- street, not to be so fond of running after the carrotty girl of Greenhill- rents. Mary F— h, of Old- street, St. Luke's, not to fancy every young man is in love with her. How about the policeman, Miss? Flash B— k W— s, of Church- street, Stoke Newington, to be more civil to bis passengers and not think quite so much of himself. Miss M. D— n, of a certain number of New Church- court, Strand, to keep further away from that printer's boy, G. B. of the Atlas. Beware of him. Mr. F— s, not to be seen so often at a certain house at the corner of St, Martin's- street, Leicester- square, a cigar shop, at such unseasonable hours, instead of being at home with his new wife. C— s P— y, of Tavistoek- street, Covent- garden, not to be so fond of going to Cremorne, with a penny cigar cnt in two between him and bis friend J— n L— a. W m D— g, of Newton- street, Hoxton, not to kiss Sarah g n g0 much at her brother's shop door of a Sunday night, when he goes out to take a walk, as we do not think it looks well in the open street. Miss H. B— t, the pale- faced butcher's daughter, of Shore- ditch, not to go for her grocery in her black satin visite, and dirty silk gown. The cooks and housemaids of Bedford- square, not to be loitering at the doors so much. Mr. F. S— s, ship agent, of High- street, Poplar, not to make quite so free with the poor sailor's money. Has he killed another pig lately? Mr. G. B— h, alias Snoozer, the driver of the red omnibus from Hill- street, Upper Clapton, not to take the housemaid at the doctor's, in Buccleugh- terrace, down Craven's- walk of a night, as it does not look well, although Paul is aware the cook has given him the sack; ah! old boy, you have got bit at last. j— B— r, the fascinating barber, of Hanway- street, not to ape the swell quite so much, W— m R— n, the linen- draper's boy, of Paradise- row, Chelsea, not to be quite so fast in prying into other people's business. C. A—, of Clock- lane, City, not to be seen in Great Tower- street so much, looking after a certain clerk, as he does not want her. Mr. C— n, of High- street, Kensington, to stay more at hoine, and attend to his business, and not be seen so often ringing at his door at one o'clock in the morning. J— g G— n, whose aunt keeps a cigar shop in Drury- lane, . not to boast about ber shop, for we all know what her shop is. J— a B-— r, Belgrave- terrace, Pimlico, not to call so often at Black Horse- alley, and to pay the young woman the hajf- crown a week regularly, be cautious, old boy, or we shall tell your mother. Mr. A. L— y, in the Commercial- road, not to go swelling about with other people's money, but pay them what he owes. Miss B— n, of Wilstead- street, Somers- town, not to be quizzing over at her neighbours' windows so much; how about that young man that she kissed in the passage the other night? Miss J— e S— n, a servant of Tredegar- square, not to look after a certain young man, who is of a rather grumbling temper. W— m O— 1, tailor, of Russell- court, Drury- lane, not to tbixik so much of himself, as we all know him by the name of the Lankey Snip. W. W— n, of Yine- ya rd, Tooley- street, not to be so flash with his dancing, nor to pull his coat to pieces at the same time; he had better stop at home a little more with his mother. Mr. F. P—, tbe noted sawdust man of Carlisle- street, Lambeth, not to go to see the big woman of Bishop's walk, so much, nor go to the coffee- shop, to see the painted lady, but take more money home to his wife and children. Long L— t, the landlord of the Bell, Newton- street, Holborn, not to be so nutty on his bagatelle playing, and fancy none can beat him; why not make a more respectable appearance, and not go about the streets in such a condition? The housemaid at B— h- terrace, not to be seen with the cook in the same terrace, running after the fellows so late at night, it does not look respectable. Miss Emily H— k, of Sydney- square, not to be seen so often waiting for George F— h: she must remember he is but a school boy. R— n M— r, that little oooper, who struts up and down Snowsfields, Bermondsey, not to have so much to say to the girls, and to take more care of his wife. MIDDLESEX.— W— m L—, gardener at W— ds- H— e, Edmonton, not to waste his money having his hair curled twice a week: he thinks more of himself than other people do. KENT.— Mr. C. T. C— k, of Rochester- common, not to be so precious conceited, and not to imagine himself a clerk when every body knows he's only a shop- boy; for you have to shake the mats and empty the slops, Charley. Mrs. T. T., the Waterman's wife of New- street, Deptford, to pay attention to her domestic concerns, and not be Been in the cat's meat shop. Mr. G. E. W— g, of C— e- place, Broadway, Deptford, to be a little more circumspect when he is walking the Broad- way of an evening with the laundress's niece. SURREY.— E- h G— y, of C— d H— e, Barnes, not to think so much of herself; how about the pencil- case? ESSEX— J— n S— t, the old tailor, of Leyton, not to be so proud of himself, and not to boast so much of his money, he had better pay his old debts. SHEFFIELD.— A certain spirit merchant, of High- street, to get his book made and published. R. W— m, Hard Head, not to make a book the two Atha neaum, to join together and the Norfolk- street, not to build BRIGHTON.— Mr. R— n, and- Mr. K— 1, at one ofthe tally shops in Edward- street, not to run after servant girls in Dorset- gardens, nor to annoy their next door neighbours. BUCKS.— Mr. J. C— k, of West- street, Great Marlow, not to be seen walking in Gun- lane, and Dean- street, late of night with a pale girl, who is evidently young enough to be his daughter. The landlady of the Cross Keys, Great Marlow, not to wear the yellow quite so much, and whatever she does keep herself sober when she visits the bank. Mr. C. W— tt, waggoner, to leave off going the road, and take care that his house be not left to the mercy of any one for two or three days together. BERKSHIRE.— Mr. W. W— d, of Temple, and Miss H- of Great Marlow, not to kiss in the open street, as such conduct would be quite unbecoming. The landlady of the Queen's arms, New- road, Windsor, to give her customers a pleasant look and fill the measure to the brim when serving them. The conceited journeyman harness maker of Maidenhead, when making halters for horses, to have the charity to think of himself and make a strong one while he's about it. Mrs. M— r, of Maidenhead, not to backbite her neighbours. Your own sense will tell you, we are sure, such' conduct is highly improper. NEWCASTLE- UPON- TYNE.- T. S- h, of George- street, engineer, not to be so conceited, but to try and pay his debts. Dont tell libs, Tommy. PAUL WISHES TO KNOW Whether the old lady with a white drawn bonnet, so ofteu seen walking out with Mr. S. B. of the White house, Somers- town, is his grandmother or not. Take care, old lady, or the widow at the grocer's- shop will spoil you. Why Mrs. B— w, of the B— h- street ale stores, continues to wear a widow's cap when she has given it ont that she has been married two months'. KENT.— Why Mr. M— n, of John- street, Blackheath- hlll, don't look after his two daughters and keep them at home a little more. Why S. M— r, of John- street, Blackheath- hill, has been so foolish as to take her sister's advice and leave her comfort- able situation. We scarcely think it can be sisterly love on the part of Maria. Why Mr. J. W— k, of the Mitre tavern, laid that affair to H— 1, the gas collector concerning the rump steaks and ale at the Gloster coffee- house, as Paul is quite aware that he has the first person to mention it in public company. SHEFFIELD.— Why L— y and Sons, have behaved in such a manner to the little barber at the West end? BRIGHTON.— Whether Mr. K— 1, of Edward- street, has gained what he wished— the lady with lots of money, we rather think not as he has been in a desponding mood for some days past. TEDDJNGTON.— Whether W. P., the long cobbler of Teddington, continues to pay the half- crown a week, re- gularly. Why not act honorable to the old woman's daughter, Bill? Why Mr. J. G— n, of Hornsey, is in the habit of going into the kitchen and poking his nose into the saucepans and informing the cook how long this thing takes boiling and how long that one takes frying. Leave off these tricks, young molly coddle. PENCILLINGS ABOUT TOWN; OB, LEAVES FROM PAUL'S SKETCH- BOOK. No. 3. Sic transit gloria mundi— or as it hath been recently ren- dered— it always rains on a Monday— well, be it so. Paul will never enter into a controversy on a point so dubious and uncertain— hail, rain, or shine— what mattereth it to him, seeing that with waterproof Hessians, and redoubtable Alpaca, he is at all times ready to sally forth, note- book in hand, for the amusement and instruction of his numerous patrons? It must be rough weather indeed to scatter the verdant leaves of his sketch- book to the winds, or stop for a single moment the facile movements of his flowing and graceful pencil. How hard it rains! But what care we?— even when> lad at school, what minded we a good ducking ? — if we remember right, we preferred a wet day, and rather sought out the puddles in our way, than avoided them. This disposition, we are proud to say, has rather grown upon us than otherwise. How it pours to be sure! We devoutly hope we shall get wet through, and reach home with a wet shirt— Mrs. P. is sure to give us our breakfast in bed to- morrow morning— being—( she will have it so)— so very sus- ceptible of cold. But after all, what is a shower or two of rain— in early summer or retiring spring? A mere nothing — for no sooner is it oyer than we are greeted with warm rays of pleasant sunshine— so we shall be in no hurry to strike our colours, or in other words, to lower our umbrella — preferring to walk with it up for the next half hour at least, in order that every thread thereof may be perfectly and indubitably dry— It would never do to put that away wet. Well! here we are at our destination— under the very " shadow of the Grasshopper;" and as there appears nothing particular to require our notice for a minute or two, we will just step over and pass a " good morning" with that ancient and venerable friend of ours— the Bank Beadle, whose flow- ing skirts of scarlet and gold have caught our eye, and whose staid and sober visage now looming in the distance is very soothing to contemplate— there is a repose in that quick eye, together with a grave admonitory appearance in our friend's countenance, well calculated to impress a stranger with a sense of the vast importance and responsi- bility of the station which he ( the Beadle) fills. But we are blocking up the entrance to the Bank of England it appears — and shall perhaps be told to " move on" by that stout pock- faced man, or his red- haired fellow messenger, and that would not be very pleasant— a scuffle might probably ensue— this however would entirely depend upon the man- ner in which the pock- marked man expressed himself. Paul is the most tractable and obliging creature in the world, and would willingly creep into a nutshell to oblige any per- son who requested him to do so in a polite and persuasive tone and manner; but when these tones are abrupt and peremptory, Paul will not move a peg, indeed lie could not do so if he" tried, so that the " stout un vaccinated" had bet- ter mind what he is about, and think before he speaks, or we may be tempted to " try a fall" with him on the inner stone- paved courtyard of the Bank of England— and as it is not quite clear to us, whether, under the circumstances, the directors would grant a small annuity to a man who bad in- jured his spine in their service, we should sincerely regret such a casualty, on account of his wife and large family. But who is that careworn, cadaverous, though natty little man, whom we have noticed pass and repass at least half a dozen times in as many minutes? Judging from the plain respectability of his dress, and the sedate gravity of his air and carriage, we should take him for one of those " merchant Princes," whose name is synonymous with vast opulence and countless treasures. That's the man to " do a bill" at a low figure— we will follow him— farewell, Mr. Beadle, for the present' our friend walks fast, but no fear that we shall keep up to him; thanks to the course of medicine we underwent the end of last week, we feel unusu- ally lightsome and buoyant this morning, the only thing that grieves us just now, is that we omitted to bring those two heavy bills in the cash- box into the city with us this morning— we are sure we could have got them discounted for next to nothing. It is very singular! dear me! very singular indeed!— very!— but the nearer we get the more convinced we are that those sallow features and that agile form are not unknown to us; what if our " merchant Prince " should turn out to be merely a " merchant Tailor," after all!! Let us quicken our pace— this uncertainty is worse than death. " ' Tis he, by Gum! We know him now by his rather parenthetical legs and waddling walk. But the ground that little man gets over! How lucky it is Paul is a well- breathed man! very few editors would keep Sir Needletum Thimbleton in sight long together— and truly if it were not for divers peculiarities, which have become habitual to our friend's manner of walking, we should before this have lost him in the crowd. Before proceeding further, we feel it due to the reader to say a word or two illustrative of the meaning of the term " divers peculiarities." Know then, dearest reader, that if at any time our esteemed friend and neighbour, Mr. M—, of street, Covent- garden, tailor and shareholder, become lost for a moment among the crowd of pedestrians, Paul wonld have no difficulty in singling him out again, on account of his re- markably stiff bearing and the protuberance of the hinder part of his person— which two circumstances taken together, suggest the idea of hisTiaving adjusted tbe " sleeve- board " down the vertebrae of hi's back, and hung his " goose" there- on by way of bustle. On a closer inspection, however, we perceive that the protuberence is simply occasioned by the peculiar position of his hand, which he has a very fanny way of hiding under the tails of his coat, in such a manner that two only of the fingers are visible— these serving as hooks to draw aside his coat tail, that there may be no impediment to a free circulation of air, and at the same time facilitating the escape of any noisome vapours, noxious gases, choke- damp, or what not, that may have " engendered there;" now for our part, we see nothing unseemly in all this, but are rather disposed to applaud the ingenuity of our friend in in- venting a personal- self- acting- refrigerator, at once so simple and efficacious. Who has not heard of the " ventilating hat?" or, rather— who that had once experienced itsdelicious coolness, would be ass enough to purchase any other? Not we, believe us, who, arguing as we do, that if it be necessary to ventilate our head, it is equally necessary to ventilate our tail; and in pursuance of such argument, the very next time our ingenious friend measures us for a pair of breeches, will instruct him to make an opening in the same, some four inches square, and fill it with invisible wire- work, or some similar substance, and we hereby, in order to give him the full benefit of the idea, and that nothing may be wanting to Its success, recommend that the article be called The Reticu- lating Trouser, or The Patent Ventilating Pantaloon,— but of this, anon! in the meantime, what can induce our worthy friend to frequent the city so much? he never used to do so some years back, but latterly, we are given to understand, he may be seen hovering about the entrance to Capel- court, looking anything but happy in his mind. Those cursed railway shares! He is a lucky man whose fingers tbey have not burned, but still we have no reason to say so, having ourselves realized very considerably on all ours— as we in- variably do on all our speculations; we always take things easy, and our maxim is to combine pleasure with profit, who but a fool would do otherwise? Now, how do you suppose dear reader, that Paul managed. Well! listen and you shall hear. Having then, after due consideration, made up his mind to dabble a little in shares, he was in no hurry to rush into the " market," with the hot- headed enthusiasm of a juvenile, but tempering his enterprise with caution, waited with calm- ness the proper moment " to operate," and then bought largely in the very " nick of time," after which, accompanied by Mrs. P., who never leaves town unaccompanied by Betsy Jane, paid a month's visit to the Isle of Wight, enjoyed himself like a " jolly good fellow" and a real " brick," lived like a fighting cock all the while, had a warm bath and a bottle of port every day, tickled Betsy Jane on the stairs, flirted with her on the " sands," and whenever it was prac- ticable to do so—( for we sometimes cannot help thinking that Mrs. P. has an eye in her— we mean under the corner of her shawl)— treated her to short donkey rides, and sherry negus; but Tempusfugitl one month's expired! and happy Paul returns to London, three quarters of a stone heavier than he left it. Railway shares had risen in his absence more than SO per cent., and Paul came down stairs the next morning to breakfast— A RICH MAN !! I !!!!!!!! ! There! what do you think of that Mr. Snip? what trouble did we have? where was the anxiety? where was the loss? No, no! we don't do business that way, we gained weight both in purse and person, and paid our broker his commission with a smile, and a general invitation to dinner, besides treating the worthy fellow to a bottle of sound Madeira at " Garro- way's;" but you! you always look like a man in a funk, occasioned by an over- dose of aperient medicine: it grieves us much to see your hollow cheeks and cadaverous aspect as you flit by us like a ghost; one would suppose that for the previous fortnight, you have had nothing better for dinner thap cabbage and bacon. Now, our dear sir, just listen to a word of advice, we feel qualified to speak on the subject, and what we advise; you to do isnothingmore than we should do ourselves, under the same circumstances; there- fore, make the be6t of your way home, and the moment you arrive, gather together all and sundry the papers you have connected with railway shares, without any exception, whether they be of the nature of securities, scrip, or by what- ever and whatsoever term or terms the same may be desig- nated or known— we say collect them all in a single heap, and taking a couple of sheets of coarse brown paper, proceed to " make a parcel" of them, cording the same well up, and thumping it close, in order torenderit compact andhard, andthendeposit it very carefully in the seat of your pantaloons, next turn your back ty tbe fire ( which the nimblesfrfiiny"* in the establishment • The terms " Durif the Thimble, auc " and " Flint" are understood by all Knights of : require no explanation.— En. 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE should be previously instructed to keep burning clear and bright) for such a space of time that the said railway docu- ments be duly baked and calcined to a cinder, and all evi- dence of their previous existence be thoroughly " burned and purged away," then by way of making assurance doubly sure, we would further advise that the most stony- hearted " Flint" on the premises be dir icted to moisten oc- casionally with naphtha, vitriol, and aquafortis, what might remain of the hinder portion of the pant iloons, and then to search, grope, and batter the same with poker, tongs, and shovel! the more effectually to dissipate and destroy every particle indication of gold- dust, or deposit of any kind; after all this purifying purgation, it would be nothing but right that the most feeling and tender- hearted Bung should be forthwith requested to make for the sufferer a new pair of latitudinary inexpressibles, lining them throughout with very undoubted Diachylon. Enlightened by tbis treatment, we think the chastened snip will surely never more leave the shop- board again, but stick to it like a tailor and a man. Trusting to his good sense to follow this advice, while we whisper" these few words in his ear— more valuable to him than all tbe railway " specs" in the United Kingdom— the Thimble of Industry urge the Needle of Content. But no! he will not hearken to the voice of the charmer as well might we " whistle to the winds;" off he is again, at a spanking pace, up Bartholomew- lane, round the Royal Exchange, then down Finch - lane into the street of " Thread- needle," ( instead of threading his needle at home,) indul- ging all the while in the insane hope that during his short absence something may have occurred to give a favourable turn to the market. If one could but read his thoughts during these short, but frequent perambulations, one would be quite astonished at the vast mental calculations he has made, involving great imaginary profits, with an unliearJ- of rise in the market. What a pity it is he cannot realise these splendid day- dreams ofthe mind! Observe the work- ings of tbat animated and speaking countenance, we would wager a guinea, that at this moment some new idea has struck his fertile fancy— some half- formed vision of the brain— with sweep of " golden pinion, is luring him onward in pursuit of some imaginary Utopia— giving him just one gleam of hope ere it vanishes away; but he is determined to gain nothing from experience, alternately confiding and deceived, he again confides, and is again deceived: we would not be in his breeches for a trifle, still less would we venture to cross his path, just yet; let us stand clear, we have no wish that he should trample us to powder— at present he is so intent in the pursuit of his " air- drawn phantom" that there is no such thing as keeping near him; he is regularly uncorked, and the spare gas is rapidly evaporating: poor fellow! he shows signs of exhaustion as he whips round the Sun Fire- office in a jiffy, and in another jiffy stands pant- ing in the entrance of Capel- eourt, gazing in a very deter- mined manner at the open door- way of the Alliance Marine Insurance— until another freak of fancy sends him again on his travels, which this time appear to be in the direction of Tlirogmorton- street, and we merely catch a glimpse of his retreating figure as we stand admiring at a distance the diminutive, though splendid arch, described by his legs, as he vanishes under the archway, and is lost in the dim haze of Austin Friars. Where we must leave him for the pre- sent, as Mrs. Paul will be expecting our return to the new villa— Regent's Park. RASP. exists, no one can be held safe. A man, therefore, who can act as this villain Green did, to this unprotected woman, ought to be deliberately shot down like a dog ! Yours indignantly, JUNIUS. LETTER- BAG. STREET AND OTHER OUTRAGES IN LONDON. To the. Editor of Paul Pry. giB( I would beg to take up a little of your time upon the above- named subject. Yon among other powerful organs of public opinion, devoted to the public good, have reprobated and censured the conduct of those members of the higher and aristocratic classes, ( whom wealth enabled to encourage excesses of every degrading kind,) when they have been guilty of wanton and unprovoked attacks upon tlie helpless and the unoffending. It is remarkable also, that these ruffians shew extraor- dinary judgment in the selection of their victims: as cowardly as they are brutal, you have not read that they dared to attack bold or resolute men, bat that three or four attack one; attack a weak unprotected man, whose physical powers they are first assured will be unavailing against them; or what is still more vile, degrading, and disgusting— they insult— they strike— they kick— a woman! Mr. Editor, if you censure those rascal members of the snob- oeracy who are thus criminal— the man of the middle class— the member of the artizan class— both of which we admire and respect for their many excellent qualities, I say — the man belonging to either of these, and particularly the latter, has no right to escape, when he too is guilty of as scandalous an outrage, as ever was brought before the attention of a magistrate in a police court. I therefore hold up to public execration, to public scorn, three members of that noble, honest, courageous class of the people— three respectable looking mechanics! named WILT. IAM GREEN, EDWAED CANNON, and EDMUND GREEN; who en- tered the shop of Mrs. Ann Ashby ( the wife of a tobacconist, living at 46, Rathboue- place), in a half- tipsy state, helped themselves to three cigars, which they refused to pay for, and when Mrs. Ashby went to the door to prevent their egress, the respectable mechanic, WILLIAM GREEN, felled her to the ground. This diabolic ruffian ought to be expelled from society. We brand him as one of the most brutal vagabonds that ever disgraced his kind. One snatched the key of the door, and they ran off. They returned. This same William Green, after all this, took hold of her by the shoulders, and threw her with great violence upon some railings, in the front of the shop. Her head was much cut, and blood flowed all over her dress. All this done, too, by an artizan of London. It is almost incredible. Subsequently they were taken up, and fined 20s. each. The fines were paid. Now, I wish to ask, setting aside the indelible disgrace that this " thing," for he is no man, has set upon his own class— is this a sufficient penalty? It was a punishment that we required here, not a fine. The poor woman receives no compensation for her injuries, and she is half killed for twenty shillings! This, I repeat, is not a punishment— is it even the shadow of a protection? I myself heard a man ask the other day, what risk he ran, if he were to attack some one he had a grudge against, with a thick cudgel—" Only twenty shillings, or seven days," was the reply. " By G— d!" said he " I should like to have a five- pound's worth." In Italy, you can hire a man to kill another— so it is said — and elsewhere also— in England you can hire a man to attack a man— or a woman— for a crown, and the cost of the penalty upon being taken. Surely while this abominable latitude for personal outrage SUPERNUMERARIES AND MANAGERS. To Paul Pry, Esq. DEAR SIR,— I beg permission to draw your attention to the following spirit, evinced by the Manager of one of the theatres on the Surrey side of the water, towards the super- numeraries in his employ. Not content with their attending and working hard in the first, and sometimes the last piece, he expects them to do that work which no other man would, unless he paid them extra for it: the work I mean is the pumping up of water into receptacles for the same at the top of the theatre. The men are compelled, night after night, in tbeir turn, to work this pump, or, on the other hand, be fined. The worst part of it is this,— these men may pump sometimes, and it will not have the desired effect, owing, perhaps, to a creature in the manager's employ and confi- dence, who has it in his power to prevent any water from reaching its destination. I do not say that he is guilty of such an unmanly action, but he is quite likely to do such a thing, if it were only to give the poor devils additional trou- ble. And in the event of this not being done as it should be, or not enough water supplied, what is the result? Why, those men whose turn it was for the week, are one and all severely fined out of their pitiful stipends, alias salaries. Nor is this the only fine inflicted upon them; for scarcely a week passes but there are some of the most extraordinary fines imposed for the most trivial circumstances; such, for instance, as disarranging guns, though what the Manager means by it, I must leave him to explain. It would be al- most an impossibility for me to give any idea of the numbers night after night robbed, for it is nothing less than robbery, and many of them depending upon this for their support, — though" some of them have been as well off as the greatest actor on the establishment. Now, Sir, you will see from this that these men are the most abused, although the most useful body of men on the establishment. And it only requires them to combine one with the other, and say, We will not submit to these de- grading insults— we will not be pilfered. Let us agree one with the other, and the Manager would be most happy to accede to them. I trust, Sir, your inserting this will be the means of con- ferring a great benefit on this despised body of men: and not only on them, but on their wives and families. And may one and all thank you for being the means of assisting them in this glorious cause. I remain Your obedient servant, A SUPER. [ We insert the foregoing letter in justice to the body of men of which the writer is a member, and trust that the few hints contained in the letter may be attended to, or we shall be compelled to be more pointed and severe in our re- marks.— ED. P. P.] PAUL IN THE PLAYHOUSE. DRURY LANE. Flotow's beautiful opera of Martha was repeated twice last week. Formes was as fine as ever in his singing and in acting, but we missed Madame Marlow with her charming- comic humour, her naivete, and above all, her delicious sing- ing. Faust was announced for Herr Piscliek's benefit on Satur- day; but for some unexplained reason, it was not performed; nor was there ( that we know of) any reason given for this strange omission. On Monday Sphor's grand opera of Faust, was performed with the most splendid success, chiefly through the power of Formes, who proves himself as successful in diablerie as in representing humanity. The dress, the face, the sardonic smile and shrug, the fiery declamation, the triumph and the despair were all rendered in a most masterly manner. The choruses were as fine as ever, and we trust that their benefit will prove itself worthy of their real talent. Mdlle. Von Romain, as Kungonde was very effective, and the debut of Mdlle. Oswald was successful, while the Faust ot Herr Stepan was full of energy and feeling. MARYLEBONE. Spicer's play of the Witch Wife, produced last night at this theatre, was more successful than any he has yet offered for public judgment. The plot turns upon tbe prevalent superstition of a dark time, and the determination of the Witch Wife" ( represented by Mrs. Mowatt), to destroy this ridiculous belief by the all- powerful weapon ridicule, while holding a pretended witches sabbath. Hopkins, the notorious witch finder, and his myrmidians surprize them— the jest turns to earnest, and the fair Witch is in danger of being burnt. The plot is clever, the dialogue is at times purely poetical, and the success was most unequivocal. R- C.— You have evidently misunderstood us. We did ot mean that you had spoken of the place in a bad spirit, or that you were dealing unfairly wrth the house. We meant that the landlord had been hardly dealt with, by one or two of his hypocritical neighbours, who managed to get his licence suspended, and after having done so, actually turned round when he obtained it again, and gave the host a supper. We are acquainted with their motives for so doing, and shall take good care to expose the canting scoundrels. Your article shall not, however, be lost sight of, if after a personal visit we find no improve- ment. Could you send us another article on any other house? Why not make the " CHEESE" into an article, and remit it? we will gladly insert it. 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. CUBE OF RHEUMATISM AND RHEUMATIC GOUT.— Extract of a better Irom Mr. Thomas Brunton, Landlord ofthe Waterloo Tavern Coatham, Yorkshire, late ofthe Life Guards, dated September28th 184s' To PROFESSOB HOLLOWAY.— 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 I 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. I rubbed the Ointment in as directed, and kept cabbage leaves to the part thicklv 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 tlie day with a stick, and in seven weeks I could go any where without one. I am uow, by the blessing of God and your medicines, quite well, and have been attending to my business for more than seven mouths, 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 m the first regiment of Life Guards, and was eighteen years a Corporal. I was two years in the Peninsula War, and was at the . battle ot Waterloo. I was discharged with a pension on the 2nd September, 1833. The Commanding Ofiicer at the time, was Colonel Lygon, who isTnow a General. I belonged to the troop of Captain the Honourable Henry Baring. ( Signed) THOMAS BRUNTO*. CURE OF A BAD LEO OF TWENTY ONE YEARS' STANDING — Ex- tract of a Letter from Mr. Andrew Brack, Blacksmith, Eyemouth near Berwick, dated the 10th of August, 1848. To PROCESSOR HOLIOWAY— SIR,— With pleasure and gratitude T 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 Couutiy, but all to no purpose. I was frequently unable to work- and the pain and agony I often endured no one can tell. My leg is now as sound as ever it was in my life hy 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, J am sure be happy to certify with me, if necessary, as to the truth of this wonder- ful cure. ( Signed) ANDREW BRACK. AMPUTATION OF TWO TOES PREVENTED.— Extract of a Letter from Mr. Oliver Smith Jenkins, dated Falkirk, August I3tli, 1848. To PROFESSOR HOI. LOWAY.— 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 trv 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 ( JURE OF A DESPERATE SHIN DISEASE — Oil 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 Holloway's Pills and Ointment act in a most wonderful manner upon the constitution, as an eccentric Coolie called Eliza, employed in our Establishment, was affected with myriads of Ringworms, which defied all the Meerut Doctors, and promised to devour the poor man before he was underground- we tried " Holloway" upon him, and in a month he was perfectly 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— Bad Breasts— Burns— Bunions- Bite of. MoschetoesandSand- flies— Coco- Bay— Chiego- foot— Chilblains — Chapped hands— Corns ( Soft)— Cancers— Contracted and Stiff- , omts— Elephantiasis— Fistulas— Gout— Glandular Swellings— Lum- bago— Piles— Rheumatism — Scalds- Sore Nipples- Sore throats— Skin- diseases — Scurvy— Sore- heads— Tumonrs- IJlcers— 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. ljd., 2s. 9d„ 4s 6d lis 22° and 33s. each. There is a very considerable saving by taking the larger sizes. ' s N. l!.— Directions for the guidance of Patients are affixed to each I ot and Box. CORRESPONDENCE. Every letter for the future, containing advice, must, be ac- companied hy six postage stamps. JUNIUS.— You can send the Paul Pry by one stamp. Your letter is far too long, and in our opinion tinged with malice. DICK TURPIN ( Norwich).— Have you quite forgotten us, old boy; or are you too busy to send us a line? RASP.— We shake you by the hand, old boy, and feel proud in your communication. We shall be always too happy to insert your raspings whole, when they are of moderate length. We only wish our space was larger, that they might be extended. H. B. ( Poole.)— Have you quite deserted us? Most happy to receive any trifle from you. *** Our Bridport friends should, to insure insertion in our current number, send their letters at least four days prior to the day of publication. JEMMY AT THE GATE.— Please to read the notice in our first page. Some unprincipled scoundrels have been endeavour- ing to stop the sale of our journal, but thanks to the public and the majority of the trade, they have been foiled; and PAUL PRV is now daily rising in the estimation of all true lovers of unflinching integrity in the cause of truth. We defy any person, from our first number to the last, to find a libel in our pages, or anything inserted in malicious sport. Truth must conquer; and the only way in which we can account for our increased sale is, that truth and justice ever having been our motto, the millions are now- beginning to appreciate the manly and independent tone of our weekly sheet in rooting out and fearlessly exposing the many sinks of iniquity which abound in this great metropolis. EXTRAORDINARY SUCCESS OF THE NEW REMEDY 0F 17' 000 CITRE8 WITHOUT A SINGLE JB AIL U KILI. " TvR. WALTER DE ROOS, l, Ely- place, Ilolbom- hill, London U earnestly invites every one suffering from those dangerous dis- eases ansing from Sol. tary Habits, Excesses, and Infection in all their stages and varieties, which from improper treatment so frequently end m 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 coveries, by which he is now enabled to treat with the utmost cer tamty of cure every stage and variety of this calamitous class of dis eases. It is a distressing fact that Secondary Symptoms, which is a species of lingering DEATH, are too frequently the result ofthe old method of treatment; but, thanks to science, he is now, after 22 years of study and experience, in possession of a remedy by which he guarantees a perfect and lasting cure. This fact has already been manifested in upwards of 17,000 cases ; and as a stronger as- surance he undertakes to cure, without hindrance to business the most inveterate ease in comparatively few days, or RETURN the MOMEY. All those deemed INCURABLE are particularly invited. Country patients will be minute in the detail oftheir cases as that will render a personal visit unnecessary.— Advice with medicines, .£ 1. Patients corresponded with till cured. Hours 10 till 1, and 4 till 8 ; Sundays, 10 till 1.— Post Office Orders payable to Walter de Roos, M. D., 1, ELY- PLACE, HOLBORN- HILL, LONDON. Read Dr. de Roos' Celebrated Work. Just published, 64th Thousand, 144 pages, Illustrated with numerous Coloured Engravings, in a sealed envelope, from the Author in English or French, 2s„ or free by post for 32 Stamps. THIS 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 for the removal of every disqualification. " This work is indeed a boon to the public, as it has the two- fold advantage of plainness and being written by a duly qualified mail 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 II n, r,' 9 Market- place.— Bristol: COOK, Sims- place.— Manchester • HEY- WOOD, Oldham- street.— Leeds: A. MANN.— Glasgow- W LOVE Nelson- street.— Derby: BROOKES, St. Alkmunifs- churchyard — Leicester: BILLSON, Hellgrave- gate.— Beverley: WARD Butcher- row.— Banbury: BUNTON, Cherwell- street.— Sheffield • ROGERS I' ruit- market.— Brighton: TOUBLE, 57, Edward- street.— Newcastle- on- Tyne: FBANCE & Co., 8, Side.— Bradford, Yorkshire: W. COOKF Vicar- lane. Printed and Published by the Proprietor, G. JOHNSTONS, 12, Russell- court, Brydges- street, Strand. ' '