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Paul Pry, The Reformer of the Age

01/01/1849

Printer / Publisher: G. Edwards 
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 29
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Paul Pry, The Reformer of the Age

Date of Article: 01/01/1849
Printer / Publisher: G. Edwards 
Address: 12, Russell court, Brydges street, Strand
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 29
No Pages: 8
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ENLARGED IT IS A VIRTUOUS ACTION TO EXPOSE VIQIOUS MEN - DBYDBN. No. 29.— NEW SERIES.] [ PRICE ONE PENNY, ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION OF HER MAJESTY PAUL PBY is a loyal subject. He pays willing homage ' to the constitutional sway of Victoria. He honours the sovereign and respects the woman. He watches admir- ingly and lovingly the first lady of the land, in her rela- tions of wife and mother, to use the words of Bishop " VVilberfoi'CC, " helping to maintain by example and by- action, the purity and sanctity of the English family life." PAUL would like Prince- Field- Murshal- Chancellor better if his sympathies were a little more English, and his hand a little more open; but there is much to be said in favour of tho Queen's husband. He has a store of negative virtues, and if not very active for good, he does little harm. He has never meddled with politics or the intrigues of party, and his few public appearances, except for ceremonial laying of first stones, and such like, have been in aid of some great object of philanthropy or charity. In short, placed in a high station with a limited range of action, he lias so conducted himself asto obtain the general approbation of tho nation. PAUL is no flat- terer, but on Saturday morning, after much meditating, lie came to the conclusion that Queen Victoria deserves to be, as unquestionably she is, the most popular sove- reign in Europe, and lie determined to assist in the cele- bration of her natal day. PAUL was to be seen at the parade of the household troops in the morning, and his cheer for the Queen was mingled with the loyal aspira- tions of the Duke and liis comrades. PAUL was to be seen afterwards peeping into the carriages which bore along St. James's Street, rank, wealth, beauty and inno- cence, but also, alas, much of arrogance, ostentatation, avarice, moral ugliness, and impurity, little suited for the Drawing- room of a Queen. The vices however were well masked, and splendidly costumed, and in court, dress, plumes, and diamonds, looked like very respectable vir- tues. It was a fine show, and Paul reflected that Eng- land might be proud of the wealth of her aristocracy, the trumpets of her life guards, and the legs of her footmen. Having witnessed tho termination of this state cere- monial, PAUL mixed with the crowds who were making holiday, and shortly after six o'clock in the evening he found himself sauntering through the Green Park. He observed a line of people formed near the rails bounding Constitution Hill, to watch the return of her Majesty from driving in the park. He saw tlie Queen's equipage, an open landau, emerge from under the triumphal arch, t. he royal lady divested of all the insignia of Majesty, seated with her children, without guards, or more atten- dants than usually accompany a lady of rank. On she came trusting to the loving loyalty of her people, more sacred as the woman and mother surrounded by her beautiful children, than if she glittered in all the " pomp and circumstance," of queenly state and dignity. On she came, and PAUL had just caught her gracious smile as, hat in hand, he humbly saluted her, when the report of a pistol was heard, a cry arose from the multitude, and a man in the garb of one of the humblest of the la- bouring classes, who had been seen to discharge a pistol through the rails, in the direction of the royal carriage, was instantly seized. The Queen rose for a moment to inquire of one of her attendants " what is that," and being told that she had been shot at, calmly resumed her seat, and addressing some words to her children, continued her course. The witnesses of this scene were with dif- ficulty prevented from inflicting summary punishment on the wretch who had perpetrated the outrage, and PAUL confesses that his umbrella, tremulous with indignation, was descending on the blackguard's head, when his arm was arrested by General Weinyss. It is as well here to clear up a doubt, as to the identity of the person who first arrested the pretending assassin. The park- keeper, George Moulder claims that honour (?), but General Wemyss states that a gentleman in a brown coat was the first to lay hands on the prisoner. This gentleman did not take any prominent part after the prisoner was se- cured. The reason is, simply that he is a man of unob- trusive, retiring disposition, who dislikes unnecessarily to challenge public attention. He is— Mr. PAUL PRY, and as there is plenty of evidence without him, he is satisfied in his retirement with having done his duty to his Queen and Country. The name, the station, and the object of the wretch who wantonly alarmed a lady and a Queen, and outraged the feelings of the community by his abominable and presumptuous folly, have been made clear enough by the fiolice examination. John Hamilton, a bricklayer's- abourer, out of work— perhaps lazy— desirous of obtain- ing a berth for the winter in prison, borrowed an old pocket pistol into which he put some coarse powder, and as many starving creatures break a gas lamp, fired in ! open day at the carriage and person of the Queen. It has been ascertained beyond a doubt that the pistol con- tained no bullet or missile of any description. The act was that of an idiotic blackguard, with sense enough to be mischievous, but incapable of understanding the full a- trocity of the outrage. The man had no accomplices, no wish to injure the Queen, no grievance, no apparent motive beyond a stupid device to proclaim his poverty, and to obtain the shelter of a prison. He is not insane, in the proper acceptation of the word, but his mental faculties are of the lowest description, little above idiocy. His forehead is remarkably low and his features are sul- len, brutish, and unintelligent. When Oxford, within a few paces of where Hamilton stood on Saturday, made an attempt on the Queen's life, and when a merciful verdict saved him from the scaffold for the enjoyment of learned leisure in Bedlam, the pub- lic, although not quite satisfied with the event, felt the horror excited by the crime somewhat allayed by a belief in the insanity of the criminal. When the guilty folly of Francis and Bean subsequently irritated the community, regrets were rife that the ambitious pot- boy had not been subjected to tbe extreme penalty of death, and the ina- dequacy of the law for the protection of the royal person — requiring in effect either a capital conviction, which was too much, or a virtual acquittal which would encou- rage other fools— was strongly felt. To meet this, the 5th and 6th of Victoria, chap. 41., was passed seven years ago, making it a misdemeanour to " fire and discharge a loaded pistol at her Majesty, with intent to alarm or in- : jure, & c.," punishable by public whipping, with trans- portation, or imprisonment with hard labour. Under this act Hamilton has been committed, and he is likely to discover that there is little of heroism attendant on the idea ofthc cart tail. A few words before leaving this subject. There is not a man or woman in the empire who would not grieve if any harm were to fall on the head of Queen Victoria. There is no right- minded man who must not feel indig- nant at the wanton outrage of Saturday. But there is something in the declaration of Hamilton to give rise to sad reflections:—" He had been driven to the commission of the act by poverty." It is possible that the pressure of want on an uninstructed and imperfectly organised in- tellect— may have thus operated. People in high places would do well to recollect how many are the ignorant 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. and the wretched. Day after day the newspapers pub- lish accounts of persons committing crimes to obtain the food and shelter afforded in our gaols. County magis- trates in the House of Commons, and in published letters complain of the cost of maintaining these criminals of poverty, and of the increase of vagrancy. We hear of emaciated wretches in Ireland, from whence Hamilton has come, wailing at being discharged from the docks, and rushing to the commission of fresh crime to qualify for a return to the comforts of a prison. There is great danger in the- growth of such a class. Ignorance and hunger are dreadful stimulants to crim#. The desperation of one starving man might inflict incalculable calamity on the nation;— the palaces are not safe when want is in the cottages. The wealth of England is great, great its cha- rity, but both require to be better used and'directed. How much money has there not been collected this May in Exeter Hall, for distributing bibles amongst savages; for scattering clouds of tracts over the land; for convert- ing Jews who wont be converted, or buying Papists who appear to be a dear commodity, for we find but few brought into the establishment for the tens of thousands spent; for sending bishops amongst the Cannibals, and for every possible object that perverted ingenuity can devise, while our own people are left ignorant and hungry. AVhile sects are squabbling about a catechism the people are untaught. While tears are shed over the spiritual des- titution of Timbuctoo, and money poured into the cof- fers of missionary societies, the material destitution of England is left to destroy its annual thousands of bodies and souls. PAUL does not often talk politics, but here is a disgrace and a danger to the state which should not be overlooked. Political economy may be a very true scieiiCe, but it has not found work and bread for our po- pulation. More is wanted, and Ministers of State should look to it in time. MARONE; or, THE WINE OF LOVE! very flimsiness of the disguise; with the first rush of the bounding and magical music, she plunged with kindliDg eyes and parted lips into the measured cadence of the dance. The music soft, tender, and plaintive, suggested the idea of a profoundly affectionate heart left to wither in scorn, appeared by the reading which Marone gave to. it in. action, to affect the prince. He was disturbed, he grew uneasy, he fidgetted. Some indefinite recollection ofhis discarded slave was awakened, and he was ill at ease. During all this time, a young man, handsome to effemi- nacy, and elegantly dressed, was watching every motion from one of the side- wings of the stage whereon he stood. As her action became more energetic and impassioned, his handsome eyes began to emit a singular fire from beneath the silken lashes. His gaze became fixed; his breathing thick and panting; and when the prince of, the ballet sprang forward, in order to advance to this slave, whose motion, so replete with grace, reminds him of something that he had in the past, but which he has lost in the present— he seemed about to spring on the stage, and wrestle with him for the superb slave. She unveils— the prince is at her feet, kneel- ing, with amazement and love, before his disguised favourite — the tableau, brilliant, beautiful, and delirious, was scarcely over, when the curtain was lowered amidst thunders of applause. Instantly, through the theatre, there rung a tremendous shout for " Marone!" The prince of the baflet led her on, and, as she passed the young man at the wings, their eyes met. As if by infusion, some magnetised rays touched the soul of the young man— he coloured and trembled— but she was passed. On the stage, a shower of applause and bouquets greeted her; and, while curtseying to the audience, she bent a firm, unflinching gaze upon one of the side boxes, and met there a pair of eyes, from which she shrunk as from a serpent. She met the gaze of Father Fineau, whom she had reason to know. As she was led tottering off the stage, she met the ma- nager, who, in unmeasured terms, congratulated her; and as she listened to him in apathy, she murmured to herself, glancing at the wing where the young man was no longer to be seen:— ' He has also seen me— well, I bid adieu to the theatre for ever!" " You are said to be fond of women, I think, my Lord?" said the physician, sarcastically. Lord Arlenden fixed his keen eyes upon him with a glance of fire, that seemed to say:—" Do you presume to lecture me? Do you reproach me with my infirmities, in- stead of exercising a skill for which I pay so liberally?" " Well," continued Dr. Lambourne, coolly, " I have brought you half- a- dozen this evening." " Explain yourself ?" said the nobleman. " I mean that half- a- dozen of the finest women in London wait your inspection," pursued the physician acrimoniously, " What do you think of that?" Lord Arlenden turned his haggard face full towards the physician, as if, for some unexplained reason, he either had not heard, or did not comprehend, or dreaded to understand his meaning. " I do not understand you," said he at last. " That is strange, my Lord," was the reply. " I speak plain. 1 have brought you, here, six women; and it is by their means that I am to work your cure." Lord Arlenden was astounded. The serious expression of Dr. Lambourne's countenance evinced that the matter was beyond a jest; but the singularity of the affair struck hiui With something like affright. " Women! tome!" he murmured. And then there stole scross his mind a new train of thought, which threatened him with delirium. In the veins of this man, we have said, there boiled and bubbled, like the fires of hell, a sensuality so extreme and so overpowering, that his mind and imagination alike were in- fected with the same intolerable depravity. Like the foulest, filthiest chamber in the temple of lust, so was that prostrated man's heart; and the words of the physician had given im- pulse to this inordinate sensuality, while he had totally lost command over his shattered carcase. ( To be continued in our next.) \ CHAPTER III. ( Continued from our last.) The green- room, a large, lofty, and elegant room, hung with mirrors and draperies, and surrounded with ottomans, couches, and chairs, was partially filled with a number of the ballet corps; and gossips of idlers, fashionable loungers, with their glasses to their eyes, were criticising the girls as with professional coolness, and with some characteristic audacity they were posturing before the splendid looking- glasses. Several old, and worn out debauchees— still pandering to their sensual imaginations— were also in comers devourin< every lurking charm which the well- practised danseuse couli convey— when Marone entered. A dark- browed, heavy- featured, vulgarly- dressed man met her as she entered, and rudely holding out his hand growled out—" Well Marone, you won't forget an old friend, I hope D n me, I've made your fortune now, you know— and—' The remainder of the sentence was unspoken. A look of loathing and disgust, so baleful and withering told him her opinion, and went beyond words, as a reply, so that cowering and livid, muttering bitter curses against her as ungrateful, proud, and thankless he slunk away. Marone's countenance, however, wore a radiant smile, it was her first tri- umph in her career of conquest. Who this man was— too well known to her— will be explained to the reader in due . time and place. When Marone crossed the carpetted floor of the green- room; those who had been anxiously waiting to catch the first glimpse of her, were surprized to witness the simple grace of her step, free from that bold and impudent undulation, common to the odalisques of that superb harem. Full of that charming simplicity of girlhood, she moved among those impure and youthful wantons, with a chaste grace that gave an additional charm to her beauty. She was so young! But in addition, she was so beautiful. One could not term it of a bold order, or if retiring or modest, it was deficient in that meretricious abandonment, that made men for the first instant permit their eyes to wander care' lessly about; but on the second glance they were rivetted on her face. . The manager came up, and hegan to speak apart to her with an air of earnestness. Marone bent her eyes on the ground and listened without shuffling her foot about, and looked him steadily in the face. The look was as innocent as that of a, child; and those who remarked it said, that she must be a rose- bud of virgin purity, or that she had an almost superhuman coolness, or that— that in fine, out of twenty opinions you will never find two that are alike— for who could talk, or be talked to— and by a manager of the grand opera to boot, with the same air of calm indifference as Marone. There reigned throughout the whole theatre at this moment a silence so intense that you might have heard a pin drop. Even the murmur of the manager's voice, or Marone's sub- dued replies made this pause of expectation more felt. At last with a brilliant crash the opening music of the ballet was played. The instant this signal was given the young girl walked apart; and while the coryphees hurried off to form the groups in the harem represented on the stage, Marone, slowly with downcast eyes— with almost a melancholy in her lovely face walked apart— alone. " He is in the theatre," she murmured, " and that frightful man, I tremble to meet, will also be there— all there— well, they shall behold me triumph;" and she passed in at a signal, and glided on the stage. The ballet was one of a unique and singular construction, being placed in the East, and possessing all the charm of costume, scenery, and something of the enchantment of the far- famed " Arabian Nights," about it. A favourite slave in the harem of a youthful prince, displeases him; but his dis- pleasure does not vent itself in the usual despotic course that such things generally end in. The prince is in love with his slave, and he is piqued at her capricious disdain. Another is introduced, who dances for his delight; but neither her beauty nor her dancing pleases him. Another, and another, follow, who experience the same neglect— finally, the last one enters, veiled. The veteran eunuch, who has charge of the harem, conveys to the seemingly indifferent prince, that this is a skve of rare beauty, and recently im- ported; and the careless wave of the hand gives a signal of assent. The dance begins. It seemed as if this young girl were the very incarnation of the poetry of motion; for while the gorgeous turban with its flashing jewels was interweaved with her floating hair; and the transparent veil gave the audience a partial glimpse of her features, the stature, gait, and marvellous limbs, so pro- yokingly not developed; but insisting upon attention, by the CHAP. IV- THE TWO PHYSICIANS. Once more to Lord Arlenden's chamber. Prospere had lighted more candles in tho chamber, the glare of which, almost ruddy, was softened by the globes of ground glass. After Father Fineau had quitted the chamber, Lord Arlenden, with his face buried . in his hands, had fallen either into abstraction or sleep. The valet, Prospere, still moved noiselessly about, and was now preparing one of the jellies which Dr. Lambourne had ordered. " Prospere!" The valet started. « My Lord?" " That Father Fineau— is he gone?" " He is in the adjoining chamber, my Lord." " And the physician— has he again called?" " My Lord, he is with the Father now; they have been conferring together this half- hour." " Scoundrel!" cried the irascible peer, " do you permit them to conspire against me? Do you know that Father Fineau is capable of—" Here he paused— a ghastly expression crossed his face. " Your Lordship was saying that Father Fineau was ca- pable of—," suggested the valet. " Bid Dr. Lambourne come to me instantly?" said the nobleman imperiously; and the valet, with a low bow, re- tired, and presently returned, ushering in a portly, ruddy, yet irascible man, who stood at the height of his profession in cases whore physicians of note gave up their patients in despair. " Hah! Doctor! is that you?" said Lord Arlenden. " Yes, my Lord," was the reply. " Do you find yourself any better?" And the physician, without any ceremony, seated himself on a chair beside the peer. Father Fineau, it seems, had quitted the mansion. " No," faintly responded the other. " My case is growing more and more desperate— I am dying of absolute inanition. You must do something for me?" added he, fiercely. As if he had sworn by a great oath that he would live— that he would be healed— as if his indomitable will could work half the cure. " With regard to the desperate condition of your Lord- ship's disease, I am perfectly of your opinion; and I am glad—" " Of what, Sir?" interrupted the other. " That you have come to such a conclusion," responded the Doctor, drily. " Does your Lordship place yourself en- tirely in my hands?" " Yes, entirely." " You will recollect, my Lord, that you have said so be- fore," returned the professional man; " and, when I had arranged your regimen, I discovered you with wine and spirits on the table." " Ah! If you but knew"— began the nobleman. " I know this, my Lord," replied the other, with some asperity, " that if you break through the regulations I lay down for you, I wash my hands of the case altogether." " Do you dare, Sir, to speak to me in this manner?" And lifting up his black and savage face, the nobleman half rose in his chair, but sank back again. " I dare say it, and do it," returned the other; " but this is not the point. Do you consent? It is for your advan- tage, not mine." " If I were in health, you would not use this language to me," growled Lord Arlenden. " Understand, my Lord," said Dr. Lambourne, " that if you were in health, you would not require my services. Decide, therefore?" " You are a man of consummate talent," replied the peer. " I confide in you. I consent." " That is well, my Lord," said the physician; " your trust shall not be abused. And to begin, I must tell you that any deviation from my rules will be fatal to you. I do not now say that there are many chances in your favour." The nobleman started. He turned slightly paler. " You may be right," said he, coldly. " Your constitution has been a most wonderful one. You have gone through what would have killed twenty men. Yet, how do I know," added the doctor, somewhat sternly, " but that, in aiding yonr restoration, I do not restore to society a curse which disease had taken from them— that"— This was strong language, and the peer felt it to be so. " Leave my soul to Father Fineau," said he, with a bitter accent; " he is my other physician. Do you proceed." " My mode of cure, if cure it will be, is singular enough," said the doctor, " and you may laugh at it; but I warn you that it is your only chance." " What do you mean?" demanded Lord Arlenden. WHAT I SAW IN THE STRAND. " My dear." " My charmer," I responded, as I hastily turned round to see who had so tenderly addressed me. I had replied to a female voice as may be conjectured, and found myself stand- ing face to face with a good- tempered- looking, and remark- ably fine girl of about eighteen or twenty— womens'ages always puzzle me, so I will not be certain. She was more rouged however, then necessary, and her manners were moro brusque than polished. She was very smartly dressed too, but she wore her shawl with an air which betrayed some little embarrassment, altogether there was a pavenu air about her. " Hem!" she minced, " You are waiting for some one." " That is very evident," I returned, " for you are just come." She smiled, simpered, and tossed her head, then came the old stereotyped question " are you good natured,' dear?" " Very," was my laconic answer. " Then come along with me," and she thrust her hand in my arm. " I can't, my beauty," said I quietly. I never heard a woman of the town give a more auda- ciously impudent reason, why I should go with her. " You're looking for a woman— well, I'm as good as another— come, I've been watching you standing here some time." The fact was, I was then waiting for some one. This was at the Strand corner of Bedford- street. " And I've been watching you for some time," said I, " you were speaking to some remarkable looking youth— there were two, but the first, who was he?" " Which?" asked she, with great naivete. " He with the white face, the corkscrew curls, the dirty jacket, the half closed eyes— the—" " Ohl that was Bill," it seems I had drawn his portrait. Bill could not be mistaken. " An amiable looking scoundrel, how old is he?" de- manded I. Eighteen." " Quite a juvenile, and the other, who swore so dreadfully that the elderly lady was obliged to check him?" " That was Phil." " Phil and Bill! he could not be more than sixteen at least, this Phil." " Not so much, he's forward for his age." " Very. And what was he swearing for?" I continued, " At me; he wanted money, I had none, I have not taken any this evening yet," and she seemed in a hurry to draw upon my purse. " It's early," said I, " I admire your industry, but do both these gentlemen bank with you?" She did not understand my question. " Do they keep you, or you them?" I asked. " They keep me! they're waiting now for me to take them some money— they saw you, and told me not to be a long time away, or they'd see about it." Poor girl! Poor victim! " I do not feel at all disposed to assist iu stretching Bill's skin, and Phil's stomach, with either eatables or drinkables. I could let two such ragamuffins starve and famish, with the greatest pleasure in the world." She looked at me, and laughed: " Lord, what a queer fel- low you are!" " And that old lady with the yellow skin, so smoke- dried and unsoaped; the limp bonnet; the dirty dress, that has evidently been dyed in some sewer or other, by colour and smell: is she your aunt, my child?" " She looks after me," was her reply. " Explain yourself." " I pay her for these clothes;" and she glanced at her finery. " But she seems to know Bill and Phil so remarkably well," said I; " they must be all very friendly with each other." Here, with the greatest coolness, she made a disclosure so horrible, and so impure, that I could not avoid a shudder passing over me. It was a poor dress- lodger; but the price she paid was so abominable, that I could make no reply. " Well," said she at last, " if you won't go with me, p'r'aps you'll stand a drop." " Willingly;" and we walked up the street. I turned round, and saw that Bill, Phil, and the woman were watch- ing us. Bill was chewing a straw with great satisfaction, preparatory, as he thought, to something more savoury; Phil was rubbing his hands; and the woman— faugh! the dirty drab was calculating whether I was good natured to a liberal extent or not. They were disappointed in me, however; I merely !' stood a drop," and we parted. Paul has been informed that little Phillips, the cabinet- maker, is going to be married to Miss Rees, of Gower- street, when she is of age. I wonder what Miss Hill, Castle- square, thinks of it. * 3 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE, Mr. S— g, Mr. R— s, Mr. W— n, Mr. R— n, and Mr. H— t, of the Gould- square Literary ^ Institution, not to make such fools of themselves as to fancy that they can recite, but to take a few lessons at the Britannia, or some other Dukey, before they attempt again. Benjamin W— r, of Coleman- street, Camberwell, not to think himself a man. He must remember he is only a law- yer's boy. Mind what you are about, Benjamin. B— e, the policeman, alias the Brighton moke, of the V division, not to fancy every woman is in love with him, nor boast he can get any man's wife away. Look more to yo ur stnpid. PAUL ADVISES ^ Charles M— y, tho gun maker, better known as the Tower Sat, not to go sneaking after Miss Anne at the corn- chandler's, Seething- lane, Tower- street, when the little tailor is out of , the way. Is it the clover, or the false curls that entices you? T. L. E., alias the flash bell- ringer of Wright's- buildings, Bermondsey, not to fancy every girl is in love with his ugly face, for they think him an insignificant little puppy. How about the 2s. 6d. a week. W. R. B— 1, the conceited lawyer's- clerk, of Pimlico, not to tell people he is a " barrister," as they don't believe it-— it makes you appear so very little and devoid of common Sense. That curly- haired grocer, G, E— s, of Pimlico not to make himself suchanopenhypocrile. althoughlieboastshegets £ 200 a- year by it, and not to dance about so with his gilt- edged book in front of him to let people know he has got one; how about years ago. Mrs. P— s, of Walmer- place, New- road, not to insult a young lady when she comes out of church; she had better look after her stupid- looking son, and not be interfering with a certain young gent of Queen- street, Edgeware- road. Bookbinders, ( more especially foreigners,) not to take lodgings at. Madame T— s, of Staples Inn Buildings, Hol- born, nor take any notice of any other female while she is in the room, as they may perhaps stand a chance of re- ceiving a smeller, as poor Mr. A— s received from her, assisted by her noble lord and master, with his ngly moustache, and frightful head of hair. Miss C. L— d, the artificial housemaid, alias the black beauty, of Hyde Park- square, not to carry two faces under that artificial hair of yours, but to treat your fellow- servants with more respect, or you may have a better rub in our next. That ugly old woman, mother J— s, of Salisbury- place, Salisbury- street, Bermondsey, to put one or two of her daughters in the Magdalen, and not disgrace so many of her neighbours and lodgers with her false tongue. Miss B— n, at the stay shop, near the Crown Tavern, Edgeware- road, not to stand at the door of a night so long in the cold, inquiring after B. W., a policeman, when he is warm at another place. The young man at Mr. B— d's, grocer, & c., Victoria- road, Pimlico, not to be quite so flash in his talk about sparring. Mrs. C— n, the stenciller's wife, of Red- Lion- street, Kingsland- road, to attend more to her husband, and not to drink so much gin, likewise, not to beat the deaf and dumb boy so much; how about when your husband was in Scot land. J. V— t, of Abney Villas, Church- street, Stoke- Newing- ton, not to walk the High- street as if it belonged to him; Paul knows different. Also to wear a longer coat to hide his bandy legs. That girl in black, at a certain eating- house in the ITamp- stead- road, the would- be mistress we mean, not to fancy everyone is in love with her, because she is quite mistaken, and not to tattle about the servants to the master so much. J. T— tt, of Sturges- row, Rotherhithe, not to play such larks with the girls at the bonnet builders, next door, but to marry Miss G— h. v The girls at Mrs. L— s, bonnet builders, of Frmger's- row, Rotherhithe, not to send such presents to the counter jumpers, at Mr. A— s, opposite, as a box of cock roaches, and not to think every young man is in love with them, for you are too well known. Paul knows all about the Cock and Breeches. F. T—. of Arundell- place, Coventry- street, not to boast of his keeping his women, in Mercer- streot, Long Acre. Seven shillings per week will never do that. Mrs. J. A— 11, of Grange- road, Bermondsey, to conduct herself with more propriety and not fancy ( because she has obtained a husband much better off than her circumstances in life expected) that she is to turn up her nose at her former associates. Does she forget earning her is. ft day and tea? Miss Kate S— n, of Apollo buildings ( not two yards from Fleet's soda water manufactory), not to go hunting about until twelve at night, after so many young men, as they don't waht such a short, fat, ugly, vulgar, punchy piece of goods as. she is. How about little Dickey, the barber's hoy? Also William B— n S— n, her bouncing brother, to pay what he owes, and to leave off behaving sd like a blackguard, and not to call innocent people " b— y liars" in the street again, otherwise his fat hettd will get fatter still. Has he paid the poor tailor yet, who lives in Flint street? Mr. Charles P— r, of the Nag's Head, Leather- lane, the renowned " ladies man," or tHfe " theatrical publican," to get married, and not to go after every pretty married lady in the neighbourhood. Consider Mr. P. how many hearts have your wheedling tongue broken? how many husbands' minds have been distracted? how many young girls, by your smiling face, have been led away and ruined. Call to mind all your past vile habits, and reform for the future, and then we shall consider you fit for the society | you are placed in, viz. that respectable body of tradesmen, the licensed victu- allers. The four conceited little puppies of Rotherhithe- street, H— g, W. H— g, R. H— 1, and J. W— s, to stay at home on a Sunday evening, instead of strutting about the Deptford road, because they have new clothes on. Mr. H— m, bookbinder, living in Banner- street, Finsbury, to attend more to his own business, instead of renting so many houses of the city and letting them out in tenements to fancy women. We cannot help telling him that he is a dis- grace to the street, for keeping his house so dirty and not mending the front windows ; and we also hint it would be better if he were more faithful to his wife and a little less fond of the girls at Kingslaud. C— y H— n, of the G division of police, not to be quite so conceited, and boast in Field- lane and Baldwin's- gardens that he is going to be made sergeant. Look ont my swell, or else Paul will give you another poke, which yon will not like. C— h, of a certain public- house in Gray's- inn- lahe, to get rid of that girl Emma, who passes for his wife, and take his lawful Wife home, whom we know to be a deserving wotaan. Paul knows all about your giving a man five pounds and his expenses to come from Yorkshire ( when you were sum- moned to Clerkenwell Police Court by the parish to support her) to swear that she had been living with another man in Yorkshire since you deserted her, which we know to bo false, and likewise the two half sovereigns you paid to the reporters to keep the case out of the papers. Is that delight- ful son of yours as amiable as'ever. The blessed babb'y. H. D— s, of WhitmOre- road, Hoxton, to leave off wearing those broad cord trousers; it does not look well for a com- positor, indeed it is a great deal more like a costermonger. Harry, be advised, turn square, leave off visiting low beer- shops, square it with S— y, that used to live with Mad Suke, marry her and be steady. Mr. T. S. F— s, of the Britannia Saloon, Hoxtoh, not to be seen with so many girls, it does not look well of a married man. The barmaid at the Cavendish Arms, Wands worth- road, to attend more to her master's business, and not to be always laughing and joking, and receiving presents from B— e, the policeman, as she well knows- he is a married man, it does not look well. Ellen, recollect you are not in White- chapel now. W. J—, of St. John's- lane Clerkenwell, to keep better hours, 1 and 2 o'clock does not look well for 60 young a lad M. W— s, Barman, of Hungerford- market, not to think so much of himself. Does he forget whdn he had to turn the mangle for his mother, after leaving the Charity school? Mrs. E— k, No. 9. Little Albion- street, Rotherhithe, not to be so jealous of her brother- in- law, but think more of her husband and family, and not to think so much of herself or, she will lose E— k soon. The immaculate G. H. alias " Nosey," alias the " don" of Parker- street, Westminster, not to poke his " nose " into people's faces, when he speaks to them, as it isjvery vulgar, and not to scandalise any respectable females, he may be acquainted with, as he may have cause to regret it, if he trifles with their character. Be careful my nobby " duke " or else you may burn your fingers. That conceited puppy of a grocers' assistant of Britannia- place, Wandsworth- road, to remember his family in Sco tland, and not squander his money on the lady's maid, at Montpelier House, by taking, [ her to the theatres and making her such presents. John be advised your fifteen shillings a week cannot afford it, besides do not forget your promise to Maria of Prospect- placc. G. M— 11, alias G— y, at the Spread Eagle, Gracechurch- street, to be a little more cleanly in his habits. Ann H— s, of Prospect- row, Bermondsey, to be a little more circumspect in her conduct and to mind her own business, and not be seen so late at night, going home with a certain Jeremiah. That stupid conceited puppy J. B— s, of cook- shop notoriety, Oakloy- street, Lambeth, not to fancy all the girls are in love with him, for any that took the slightest notice of him, consider him a perfect noodle. Is there such a person as Mother M—; more anon, unless we see an aitera- tion. Mr. C— k, jun, of High- street, Camnden- town, is advised not to visit quite so often Miss W— n, of Union- place, if so, his father will be informed of it. W. M— r, South Lambeth, to discontinue his visits to a female of obliging habits, ot a cigar shop, near Newington church, for so late hours and peculiar exercise, may prove detrimental to his health. Mrs. B— 1, of Horncliurch, not to think so much of Robert, alias The Braying Ass, but to look more to the in- terest of her two boys, instead of paying the tailors bills of the said Robert. Emily A— r, not to flaunt about so much in her borrowed silks and satins. Tinker M— s, of Stratford, to take to a " Tom and Jerry" again, as it is quite evident he knows mottling about tinker- ing; besides it would be an advantage to his threte Eastern beauties if he were in the publie line again. Mrs. W— n, the ladies' niglitcap- maker, of Baldwyn- st., City- road, to be more civil to the poor slaves in her employ, and not to swear at or bully them so much; It was a shame- ful trick to reduce the price of the work to pay the rent you were in arrear, you should have sent your lazy thing of a husband to work and then yon would have been able to pay it without having recourse to such a shabby action. Your husband shall hear from us if he don't mend his manners too. B. 0—, of L— y and R— n and Co., printers, Fetter- lane, hot to go to America, he had better tell the truth at once, for we know he is married, her father- in- law is going to send to America, you had better stop where you are. Mr. W. P—, butcher, of Commercial- road, Peckham, to be more civil, and obliging to his customers, and not use in- sulting language, remember Mr. P. it is through them you get your daily bread. Robt. S— d, J. R— r, C— c, and S— e, not to be so fond of card- playing, at the Rising Sun, and after the closing of that house, adjourn to a coffee- shop till 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning; such proceedings arb not to your credit. Does Robt. S. expect to succeed with the publican's daughter if he carries on such a line of conduct. Frances L— g, of Panton- row, Walworth, not to be so fond of flirting with so many men, she may depend- sooner or later she will be sorry for her behaviour. Paul knows all about the locket, and will divulge if he sees no alteration. A certain butler to cut the connection with a certain per- son named Emma E— 11, of Coronation- row, Stoke Newing- ton, but attend to his lawful wife; if he does not alter his conduct wc have such a rod in pickle for him that he will never forget, we know the whole of his proceedings for the last three or four years, we. also know Paul's- Alley, Barbican; let him beware. John W— tc, of Manor- placq, Walworth- road, not to molest respectable females, but act more like a man, not like a beast. Paul has his eye upon him, and if he still insists in such bestiality, a tale will be told, and such a one as the affair in the Walworth- road, with that respectable. female and the policeman, & c., you see we know it all; beware, beware, you scoundrel. J— n II— r, alias Fred, of Queen- street, Golden- square, the would- be gent, not to fancy all the girls that look at him are in love with him— for their glance is one of disgust not of admiration. How about the married' woman at the shirt- maker's in Bridle- lano? M—- y S— th, of Bedfordbury, to wash herself a little oftener, and look more tidy. Mr. S— g, Of Peckham, to be on better terms with his eldest daughter, and not so gracious with his youngest one's governess, she was parted from the husband, remember, for criminal conversation, it don't look well for an old man. Paul thinks it would have been more to a certain grocer's credit for W. T. M— h, of Union- street, Borough, to have kept away from the sale of his next door neighbour's property in the same line, after the mean action of opening his shop next door to him, and thereby causing him to be a bankrupt by under- selling him, this man pretends to be religious. The two daughters of a laundress, Leader- place, Chelsea, not to come to church in the dresses that are sent to her mother to be got up for ladies, and to look on their book more than once during divine service, and not annoy any re- spectable persons that are near them by their disgraceful conduct. M. C— n, A. C— n, K. C—, of Bath- street, City- road, not to lace in so tight, it does not look well for furriers' work- girls to do so; also not to keep company with young men of * a different persuasion. Paul advises two young gents who may be seen every evening at that virtuous and moral place " The Grecian Saloon," not to think that by going there every evening they are going the right way to happiness; Paul thinks that one evening wheh they are enjoying themselves there, they will most probaly see a gentleman who they will not mutih like to see. Miss S—, alias Long Tongue, of Princes- place, Rother- hithe, not to be seen at the Bell so late at night. We think it would better become her to be in bed for she is ohly the laughing stock of the customers. We advise A. O— n, of Bath- street, Hackney- road, not to stop out so late at night, but get home sooner and be able to get to work earlier than ten o'clock of a morning. Reform boy or we shall be down with a whip to flog you with. Mrs. B— y, of Frederick- street, Hampstead- road, to stay at home with her old mother, and pay her debts before she buys new dresses, is it brandy that makes your face so red. The landlady of the Prince of Wales, Elizabeth- street, Eaton- square, when making grog not to forgtet the spirit, so as to cause the people to call for a half- a- quarten more rilra, to make the mixture at all palatable. Be more civil to your patrons, ma'am, or you shall hear from us again. Paul advises J— n S— e, of the landlord of the Bird in Hand, Northampton- street, Clerkenwell, to be more obliging to his customers, and to address them in a milder tone and style," then he generally does. Take this hint old chap, foir Paul is on the look out, and you hear from him again. Miss S. M— h, book- binder, not to think « o much of her- self, and not to be seen out so late at night at public- houseS, with a gang of boys. T— s G— n, of the Golden Cross, to look a little more after his wife and children's Cleanliness, and not let her be seen going about like a low dirty fish woman, drinking gin With every one. C— s A— n, the baker's son of Rotherhithe- stteOt, not to go with the nymphs of the pave so much or he will have to pay sooner or later. J. H— n, of Dove- walk, not to frequent the top of his gar- den so much for the socket money, but devote that time in looking after his daughter; you little thought Paul Was watching yOur tricks, with the bottom of that young wo- man's dress the other night, how about the halfpenny. Mr. L— g, tailor, of High- street, Poplar, not to go swelling about quite so much, but to pay people what he owes them. W— s, of Hnngerford- market, not to get so drunk of a night, and when in that state to kiss the waiter and use such language to him in the presence of the customers ; you never can expect a husband if you carry on those games. Mrs. A— r arid her daughters, Church- street, Rotherhithe, to dress a little more respectable in the house ana not to set the whole parish on fire when they go Out with their fine colours; neatness would be far more preferable to persons in your station of life. Tom, the dairy boy at B— t's, Riley- street, Chelsea, not to turn the mangle nor carry the basket of clothes so often for dear Esther. Mr. O— n, of the Lower- road, Rotherhithe, ri6£ to think so much of himself, and not tb tell people that he has got seven orders outandfour in the shop, when ho has liotgotone; I say old boy do you visit your uncle as often as you used. M— y C— d, of York- street, Rotherhithe, not to think so much of herself, but to remember what she was some short time back, what Would she now be, had it not been for the Rector. Mrs. W— n, of Bury street, St, James's, not to trouble her head quite so touch about her neighbours, but to mind her owtt business^ and not to be walking the streets at 11 and 12 o'clock at night with her dog, as it looks anything but res- pectable. Mrs. H— t, and Mrs. K— r, to settle their dispute as, to which can refrain longest from the gin bottle, and mend the most stockings. Ed— d S— n, alias Prize- fighter, late of Ropemaker- stfeet, Finsbury, not to go with his friends 09 a Sunday and par- take of a portion of that which they buy; and at the same, time having money in his pocket and too mean to spend it, it looks very shabby of him. If ho intends doing the same when he goes with his friends in the chaise to Hampton Court, he had better stop at home. How about the raffle? The Bartnan of the Feathers, Deptford- bridge, not to tell people he shaves his whiskers off; as he knows he never had any, and to lcave off his Don Juan propensities. —! : , n> > Mr. A— w, of Shortefs- court, City, not to take tbe lady to Northfteet so often, and afterwards to his garden' at Hoxton. F— s T— 0, of the C— n F—- y, Chelsea, to attend a little more to his master's business, and not waste so much time in going after a certain M—- y C— n, of the place, & e. Mr. H. F—, of High- street, Poplar, to try and lose his propensities for drink, also to beware of false friends who stick to him while he bleeds freely, but when he ceases to do so, will desert him. M— y D— r, and A— e B— tt, both of Gloucester- street, Clerkenwell, not to flirt so much with the young men when they promenade up and down Islington. Reform young ladies, or Paul will be obliged to inform your papas, for such conduct is any thing but becoming in respectable tradesmen's daughters. G. K— s, of the Surreji Canal Dock Company, lodging not far from Albion- street, Rotherhithe, to attend to his own business and not to tell so many lies about respectable people, T— s R— s, Senr. of H— n- hill, not to leave his business at all hours of the day to visit the Old Bell nearly opposite, to take pot luck with any body from a cabby to a brewer's drayman. So old a man ought to know better. Ann R— n, of Chapel- end, Walthamstow, not to go out of a stormy wet night to meet Boots the bricklayer's- labourer, and not let the blind lead the blind or they will fall into the ditch Miss M— y, of New- street, Rotherhithe, to be more neat in her style of dress, and not keep such late hours in the company of a love- sick youth, by name B. T— s. 4 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE, Miss A. S— y, at a certain grocer's, not one hundred yards from Windsor- bridge, not to be seen talking with all the swells of Eton, Windsor, under Erogmore wall on Sunday evenings. Paul thinks it would be much better if she was at home With her papa. J. P. L— d, butcher, of Hampton Wick, to attend a little more to his business instead of playing at bagatelle, at the sign ofthe '' Bird with a Long Neck." It doesnot look well in business hours. You must reform old boy; remember an industrious wife is like Californian gold— a treasure. Paul has an eye on you, beware, or a tale we will unfold. T— s T— e, of the King's Arms, Greenwich, not to be guilty of such mean and paltry actions, it would he better to alter his ways and not allow such disgraceful and immoral scenes of debauchery to be carried on upstairs with the frail sisterhood; foremost in these are W. N— n, and his gigantic piece, of Angersteen notoriety, then Mr. L— s, the printer, and Crazy Jane, then Shirtless Dick and Cinnamon Sukey. W. S— r, tobacconist, Saville- place, Burlington- street, Regent- street, to give full weight in tobacco and snuff, and also to sprinkle a little Eau de Cologne over his shop every morning, to remove the unpleasant and nauseous effluvia arising therefrom. W. S— r, of Norfolk- place, Greenwich, to leave off tippling, and not encourage the old Scotchman so much in his house late at night, thinking he will have your sister- in- law. T. II— t, carman, of Mount- street, not to spend so much time with the old fat laundress, Mrs. B— r, but to attend to his uncle's failing business. What will the coachman say too; reform Tommy, for you know you are under petticoat government. S. T— e, that conceited puppy of the Cadogan iron- foundry, King's- road, Chelsea, to mind his own business. II. E— n, of Gloucester- cottages, Park- road, Old Kent- road, not to be lurking with a certain young lady, on Sun- day evenings, by the Carlton bakery, instead of going to chnrch. James S— s, a sawyer and pensioner, of Greenwich, not to be so foul- mouthed, and not to boast so much about his honesty. What about the standing debt at the Bricklayer's Arms, Trafalgar- road, and the married woman Mrs. A— t. S. P— s, jun., the lighterman, Butcher- row, Deptford, when he goes to the King's Head, and boasts of his earnings, to consider he undermined another in respect of wages, or he would not have had the berth he has got. How about persuading another to strike for wages and then going to work for less than lie struck for. J. C— n, tobacconist, Great Charlotte street, New Cut, not to be be stuck in the baker's- shop talking to the shop- boy so much; it looks very bad trying to cut your sister out. Master James B— y, of Onslow- plac'e, Brompton, that when he goes out of an evening with respectable compa- nions, to wash his face and clean his teeth, it would be far more agreeable. J— s S— g, undertaker, near Stepney- gate, not to be again seen with the walking rag- shop. Miss K— g, the bonnet- builder, of Grove- street- hill, Dept- ford, to keep her sheep's- head inside the window little more and not to stare after the young men quite so much when they pass. W. W— d, of John- street, Adelphi, not to be gifted with so much lying, as it does not become his strait- hair and curly- teeth. W— m D— n, alias the Dirty Ram, of Holywell- strect, not to fancy himself a pedestrian, but learn to spell properly, and pay more attention to his master's business. What is the use of oiling your legs, when you lose all the races? The daughters of a certain butcher, of Kent- street, Borough, named B— r, not to stand at the door so often talking to policeman, & c. Paul considers the' parents much to blame, dr> they remember tlic couaequences attending the similar conduct of a certain Miss G— formerly of the same street. T. B. T— r, of Camden- town, not to get C— s S—- n to write poetry for him and then pass it off as his own and also not to fancy that every girl is in love with him especially the one with the wooden- leg, of II— d- street of the same place. No no Thomas, that won't do. Charles G— t, of Messrs. N— s printing- office, Westminster, not to take the young milliner up the Bankside such late hours at night. The flash boy, at Mr. E. J—' s, Inner Temple- lane, not to think so much of himself for he is but a lawyers' hack. We perceive that Miss E. E. E—, of the Feathers, Brown- street, Edgeware- road, has got another young man, and has given the sack to the red- haired grocer's boy, of George- street, we congratulate H. B—, of Brown- street, on his lucky escape from such a flirt as this. Miss J— a W— n, who is constantly at the Grecian Saloon' not to think herself a fascinating young girl, if Mr. P— ps is one of her beauxs she has no right to think that every gent that frequents the Eagle is trying after her. Paul begs leave to hint, that if she does not reform he will tell about the w— h. For shame. J. F— r, alias slop- made Joe, the upstart lanky warehouse- boy, of the Austin letter foundry, Aldersgate- street, City, not to be so conceited and to mind his own business. It would be much more to his credit if he was to pay his land- lady what he owes her instead of going to the Britannia Saloon so often with his fancy girl. Mr. C— k, the would- be foreman at Mr. S— s, boot and shoe warehouse, High- street, Camden- town, not a hundred miles from the gateway of the Bedford Arms, to mind his own business a little more and other people's a little less, and not to be so insolent to the ladies that purchase their shoes although they may disturb his afternoon's nap. Does his master know of that, Paul thinks not. R— d B— e of Apollo- court, Bell- yard, not to go on the water so much, it would more become him to attend to his masters business. J. C. W—, the conceited waterman, of Pickle Herring- stairs, to behave better to his wife and not use such bad language. Remember she is not depending on you. Msr. R— e, of East- street, Manchester- square, not a hundred miles from the bottle- shop, to look after her two daughters, " the twins" and not let them be gadding about Baker- street and Manchester- street all hours of the night. Mr. II— e, of the Cadogan iron- foundry, Chelsea, to make good your promise to the men and not diddle the apprentices or perhaps we may let the cat out » f the bag, for Paul knows more than you are aware of. Master John P— e, of the Green Dragon, Villiers- street, not to be seen flirting about the Strand. It would be more to the credit of John B— s of Acre- cot- tage, Wandsworth- road, to put a few shillings in his wife and children's pockets, than looking after the Oxley's and keep- ing such late hours at Pritchard's, the cigar- divan. Maria, servant of all- work, Temple- street, St. George's- road, Southwark, in conjunction with two or three married women to desist knocking at other people's doors at the hour of midnight to the annoyance of the neighbours. W. R. F— d, the Auctioneer, near Manor- place, Walworth, not to act and dress so much like a monkey, and not to bully aud oppress poor people when leaving executions for the Camberwell County Court. W. H. M— y, a lawyers' clerk, in Lincolns- inn- fields, residing in Sussex- street, Tottenham- court- road, he is 19 years old, and 5 feet 10 high, and miserably thin, he is a most tremendous boaster, and a great swaggering bully, he pitches it into everybody that does not know him that he has been to sea, and that he is an able seaman, served his time & c., and carries it out by having read tales of ship- wrecks, and such like— he is a most tremendous character and a poke with your umbrella would do him good. A little while ago he duped a nice young woman with his sea propensities, but she has just found it out, and cut him to his infinite mortification, and he palms it off to his com- panions, that she has gone to India. A. O— d, of Edgeware- road, not to be seen hanging about Miss C— ns, door every meal time, as it looks very bad, also not to think yourself some gentleman's son, for its well known your, nothing but a lawyer's fag. The two Welsh milk maids, Hatfield- street, Blackfriars- road, not to keep the tanner out all night. That young lady, named T. W— e, of Circus- place, Finsbury, to leave off those unbecoming habits of flirting, which she is so much addicted to. Paul has heard certain things about her, and her father- in- law. The whole of the family, are advised to discontinue those high notions they at present entertain of themselves, as Paul remembers the time when their circumstances were very different. How about the collection at Finsberry- chapel. H. B—, alias Tom Crib, at the wholesale confectioner's in Great Dovor- strcet, not to think so much of himself, but to remember what he was, also not to domineer so much over the little boy's in the establishment, he kno. tts he is afraid to attempt it over the bigger ones. J. B—, of a certain court, in the borough of Southwark, not to blabber so much about his master, and not to bo so frightfully savage when any person speaks to his girl of Bermondsey; also not to fancy every girl that passes is in love with him ( the little curiosity) because he is quite mis- taken. How about the three penny worth of tongs, at the barber's of a Sunday, or your straight turn cm unders ? Do you know what sneak spells? We shall keep a sharp look out for you my fine boy. That conceited Lankey the Tailors runner, aliaslong Tom, of Bell- alley, Moorgate- street, not to think so much of him- self, and also for the future not to attempt to imitate the gentleman, as Paul knows that he never can make one, and the next time he sweeps out his master's shop, to be more careful where he puts the mats, likewise not to be seen so often with a girl he calls his fatty. Mrs. G— f, of the city kitchen silk factory, alias the bully, to be a little more civil to those persons who are supporting her and her large family. Reform, or you may have to go back to the East- end, and tread the wheel again. That insignificant puppy, the would be Slater Bill, of Sale- street, Paddington. When he goes into the tobacconists, to keep his hands to himself, and not to brag so much about his property, and say he is going to sell it to emigrate. J— n C— s, of Castle- street, Southwark, aud the lawyer's flunky in an office near the Rowland Hill's chapel in the Blackfriars- road, not to think so much of himself, and not to talk so much about the gentelity of his family, and not to annoy every body by continually talking about his cousins at New Cross. ' Hhink of the time when you used to go to the school at the corner of Red Cross- street, Borough, old boy. Wc know all about it. Miss J— a W— g, of Bedford- court, to stop at home of an evening, and twist up the bullions instead of hanging about after eleven o'clock, with that snip, and sponging upon her poor old father. Miss B. N. the flash girl of Black Prince- court, Walworth- road, to pay the tally man for that new shawl, before she goes to the play with K— g- L— e, L. alias Discort, alias Bogie, the consummate jackass of Stoke Newington, to settle his affairs with the parish, what does he mean skulking in this n anner, he will hear from us again before long, if he docs not reform. The nice youth, H— y H— s, of Crown- street, Westmins- ter, not to think the dark haired snob's girl, is in love with him, and also not to visit the Bower Saloon, so much, nor flash so much about his dancing clogs. T. S. of No. 1, Whitehouse- alley, Cow- cross, Smithfield, not to pawn his watch, to stop out all night with the girls. Mrs, C— n, of the Tom and Jerry, Riley- street, Chelsea, not to turn her nose up at every poor woman that comes in her shop, nor talk about them, when they leave. We" know what you was before you was married. W. H. N. of Buckingham- street, Strand, not to be quite gay, and not go boasting about how many Cigars he smokes in the course of the day, and to keep better company. Samuel W— t, living near the canal- bridge, Old Ford- lane, to keep better hours, and not to go out with different young ladies, it would be better if he kept to one. Musess B— y's daughters of one of the churchwarden of Saint S— s, Southwark, to attend to their duties at home in- stead of looking after the young men of the port, and not to circulate reports touching their character, of which they know nothing about. Paul is obliged to notice the conduct of the Misses B— y's in reference to the counter jumper. The assistants at Mr. A— d's linendraper's shop Lower- road, Rotherhithe, not to entertain such a number of young ladies in their shop of a night after it is shut up, and when the master is gone out, it begins to be noticed. Take care, young gentlemen all, or we shall notice you again. R. G— r, tho apprentice to Mr. E—' s builder, & c., Deptford, not to be seen so much with girls, on Sunday evening.', treating them with drink. Mr. B— gg, of Smith- place, Nortli- strcet, Pentonville, not to allow his son, William, the ( wou'd be pedestrian) to go to billiard rooms of a night, after he leaves off work. Old gentleman bring your son up as you ought to do. John W— d, at S— s, grocer's shop, Wandsworth- road, to attend more to his master's business, and less to the public- houses in the neighbourhood, and not be seen flirting with all the servants that call at the shop, nor to boast that he is going to marry a girl with lots of money, when he knows she is but a ladies maid, at L— h, South Lambeth Road. Where does all the money come from John? T. A— t, of Queen- street, Horselydown, not to be such a tyrant to the poor girls at his house, and when he goes to call them, to shut bis windows; a man of your years ought to know better; your character is pretty well known, but shall be more fully exposed. Mrs. O- d- e, of Gilbert- street, not to drink so much rum and gin, nor to go so often in low public- houses in her neigh- bourhood, as it is bad example to the two boys. If seen again drunk, we will expose her fully to her husband, who works so hard at his needles to support her low habit of drinking. J. W. C— n, the mincing tip- toe tripping animaleula of Bridge House, Caledonian- road, not to consider himself possessed of the power of the rattlesnake; fascinating by a look, and that every fine woman at first sight will fall into his arms; five foot one is not a very captivating stature. John, get a situation and marry the girl you have got. J. G— k, the blackguard carriers boy of Union- road, Clap- ham, not to smoke so much tobacco, but save his halfpenny to buy soap with aud make himself look respectable. Miss B— g, of Limehouse- hqle, whose frontispiece in great measure resembles the feline race, not to be so fond of the disgusting practice of scandalizing respectable people, as we think it quite inconsistent with a member of the chapel. W— m S— y, alias Young England, of Dover- placc, Old Kent- road, not fo be seen with the little Walworth divinity so often at the Assembly Rooms, Blackfriars- road, she is no account, Bill. W— m M— g, the lawyer's fag, of W— e H— elane Milc- end- road, not to be so conccited upon his paltry 12s. per week, and not to think any girl would be such a fool as to fall in love with him. J— n L— 1, ofVauxhall, not to perpetrate s uch tremendous stretchers about his fowls and pigs. T— s K— n, at Lloyd's, Salisbury- square, to look more sharply after his dear Emma who is at Mr. B— r's, B— I II— d- c— t, N— e- s— t, for there are certain rumours going abroad that there is somebody else ( C— s), looking more sharply after her then yourself. J. S— n, of Bloomsbury- street, Westminster, not to make himself such a c— d fop, to carry his liat straight on his head, nor to carry a watch in his pocket that does not go. How about the Bower Saloon you paltry puppy. Mrs. S—, of Russell place, Bermondsey, not to be quite so domineering over her servants as he thinks 20 servants a-) ear is quite enough to convince people she can't be a very good mistress. J. C— c, the son of Mr. J. C— e, butcher of Liquorpond- street, not to be so fond of putting his hands in his tail coat pockets for bounce as we know there is no money but bounce to take care of. I say old fellow how about the cigar- shop in the Baggnige- wells. Reform or you may expect another exposure. J. L—, of Portland- street, Wandsworth- road, to behave honourably to the poor girl E— a whom he so vilely seduced a few weeks ago, and not let her pine herself to death. Paul, will watch your proceeding most narrowly depend upon it Charles the dcceitful pawnbroker's shop boy of London- terrace, Hackney- road, to be a little more civil to the customers and not to visit a certain house in Brunswick- street so often, Paul advises him to keep away from it, or else he will acquaint his mother. George S— e, the Love- lane haberdasher, to discontinue his visits to the Casino or his father may hear of it and stop the supplies; likewise to pay liis Fleet- street doctor, and leave the fat cook alone at the piazza. J. B— r, conductor of a Wandsworth omnibus, to be more attentive to his business, and to discontinue his visits to the black sheep at the china shop. The nobby straight- haired, curly- teethed baker, in Vaux- liall- walk, to be more cautious when he takes bad girls in at three o'clock in the morning, and not allow tho tall, drunken barber, to see him through the slit in the door. Miss C. T— b, of Seymour- place, not to think herself a lady, because it is well known she is only an exciseman's daughter. How about the errand boy of Ludgate hil'. Mr. L. U— r, at Mr. B. B. C's, Lower- road, Rotherhithe, not to delude the poor young women, by representing him- self as the engineer and keeping them at the gates for two hours at a time. How about tlie dust yard. Miss W— s, High- street, Stoke- Newington, not to be so indecent with the young men. How about the nobby gardener in the back lanes. Miss E. M— y, of New- street. Rotherhithe, not to dress quite so gay, and not to talk with so many young men, especially B. T— s. Misses P— s, of Trinity- square, Borough, to abstain from laughing at the young men as they pass their window, for we are sure that it is derogatory to their characters as ladies, and should it come to the eavs of the parents whose children, attend their, school will we fear prove injurious, and there are beauties in tho Square who far surpass them. Mr. J— s, of the Rochester Castle, Stoke- Newington, not to be seen so much on the sofa with Miss J. when his wife is out. Take care old boy. Mr. F— r, carpenter, High- street, Stoke- Newington, not to be seen kissing Miss B— t, the girl at the potato- shop, up in Mrs. Phipps's bed- room, it is not becoming in a married man. M. C— k, not to go about boasting that he is foreman at Beak- street, Regent- street, as eighteen shillings a- week for opening and closing the shop, and attending to it through the day, is not foreman's wages. J. D— y, of Cannon- row, Westminster, to mind his own business, and not to tell everybody that Ellen stole a watch when he knows it to be a falsehood. Mr. S— d, of North- street, Poplar, to be careful what lod- gers he takes; Keep up your respectability, you are a young beginner. Mr. S— ks, of North- street, Poplar, to look after his daughter and not allow her to lark with the young men op- posite, her conduct is very unbecoming. Mrs. R— d and Miss S— ks, to be more circumspect in their actions. How about your husband at tea Mrs. R—. Mr. H— r, of the Phcenix, North- street, Poplar, to attend more to his pretty wife than other women. How about the fat girl. Mr. H— s, not to drink so deep when the pewter is offered him and then swear he has not tasted it. Mr. M— th, not to get so lumpy and open the shop a little earlier. Mr. C. W— r, of Cross- street, Poplar, to leave his staff at home, also a little of his bounce and don't sing the Turkish Lady so loud another time. Mr. R. H— t, of Cross street, Poplar, to leave off swearing when he is in respectablo company, Mr. II— s, to wash himself after lie leaves work, it don't look well to be dirty in the parlour of the Phccnix. Mrs. D— n, of High- street, Stoke Newington, not to be so intimate with that long shopman of tlieir's, it docs not look, respectable. The old clcrk, E— d G— g, after leaving the Red Lion Holborn, not to take home loose women aud intr > duce them to his family. Our eye is upon you, you nasty old man. Harry S— e, soapmakcr, of Lillington- strcet, VauxhalJ, not to be seen so often waiting in Bond- street, for Kate G— m, of Red Lion- passage, to accompany her home and after ac- companying her to Red Lion- square, leave her, to go after Isabella A— s. Mind what you are after Harry or you may- repent it. You had better leave off for Paul has got his eye on you. ESSEX. D. Mc L— n, of Hornchurch, alias the devil, not to im- agine the girls are in love with his ha r, as his character is well known to them. How about Mr. Mc G— s watch? Mr. J. B— s, jun. of the Cart and Horse Point, Stratford, not to strut a certain young lady of Francis- street, about quite so much; particularly when its far from his parent's wish. Look out Tommy, you had better take your Mama's advise, or else Paul will unfold a tale that perhaps will lick you clean off your perch. Miss E. W—, and Miss H. W—. of Wanstead, to pay a little more attention to the two gentlemen at Watford, and not be seen talking to the conductor or the driver of the Leytonstone and Wansted Omnibus. 5 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE, The conceited puppy, the painter, alias the warbling songster, J. J— r, of Union- street, Boro, not to think so much of himself, as there are many better artists than him in the world. Mr. J. C— t, the laughing snob of Wanstead, to get his disgraceful mop cut, and not boast so of his bass singing. Dont pull your watch out so often, you spooney, to tell people the time, before they ask you. Mr. H—, Mill house, Woodford, not to allow his nephew, ( that Devonshire youth) to be so fast in coming the amiable to those young ladies of Camden- town. We commend Mr. H—, for showingjoff his sisters, but we do think he ought to do it with other people's property. Be careful old chap or we will tell. Joseph D— y, at Miss B— s, not to try to make people believe he don't care anything about that little girl in the Brighton- road. How about Woodstock- lane, last Sunday afternoon. Persons requiring legal advice, to apply without delay to Mr. W. N— s, of Hornchurch, as Paul considers him to be a most able expounder of the law. N. B. Advice gratis, KENT. C. M— y, of Dartford to save up a shilling, and pay for the raffle lie was in. If Road scraping is not quite profit- able enough to allow him to do so, we will advance him a shilling upon that " Seedy Tail Coat." J eitford.— C. W— s, alias Gudgeon- mouth of the Bull and Butcher, Old King- street, Deptford. not to fancy he can play at skittles, and bagatelle, for we have seen him beaten by mere novices; we would advise him to go to Bow- street and insure his body, for it is not safe on his legs. Mr. N. G— s, of Tanner's hill, Deptford, not to make such a fool of himself, when he delivers another speech at chapel, you stupid ass, the people could not understand what you said. I say old boy, is that ring you wear on your finger Gold. GREENWICH.— The boy G— 1, of the Lecture- hall, Green- wich, not to think every girl in love with him, but to mind Miss P— e, is not deceived. How about Miss S— s? D. H— e, of Crawley wharf, Greenwich, to go quietly home to his little wife, and not be seen talking to Mrs. H— s at the Union Tavern so often. The landlord of the King's Arms, King- street, not to be such an ignorant bully, but to recollect that the poor girls using his three penny concerts are not lost to all shame that they should be obliged to put up with his bullying language. E. H— n, the blacksmith's boy, of Greenwich, not to tell everybody that the barmaid at the Glo'ster coffee- house, is mad after him, as we know she cares nothing about such a puppy. N. B— tt, Three Tuns, not to forget when he was cabin boy on board one of the Steam Navigation boats, nor when he was a policeman, at Hackney. Miss O— d, of the eating- house, near the Mitre, Green- wich, not to be seen trying it on with Mr. G— n : it was all very well when he was single. You had better induce Mr. P— k, the London- street Tom Thumb, to drop his Gutta- percha acquaintances. The two flash babblers at Mrs. B— Is, not sixty yards from the Castle Inn, Lewisham, to remember that pride goeth before a fall. How much does it cost you for bears' grease per week? H— g, Barnes's journeyman, residing in Brand- street, Greenwich, not to talk about his cash box, when we know its only a tea caddy, full of duplicates. WOOLWICH.— Mrs. F— n, of Albion- road, Woolwich, not to be so stingy now she is married, and her husband not to be such a devil. Mr. C—, Engineer, of Prospect- row, Woolwich, to be careful with the girl of a certain public- house, in Kidd- street, Woolwich, or he will rue having anything to do with her. Mr. R— e, alias the warrior bully, of Woolwich, to mind his own business, and let other people alone, or we might make him ashamed of himself. We know all about the brig Mary. Do you know how to conduct yourself in the captain's cabin yet; or are you still forbidden to enter it. Take care or we might tell a little more. Mr. E— r, alias the warrior ratcatcher, to take care how he insults the married women, who visit the Ship. ERITH.— Mr. J. F— r. ofEritli, to look after his business better, and not pretend to be a teetotaler when you know you are not. How is the boy Crow; and how about the coat? Mr. A— m, of Erith, to keep at home a little more, and be seen less in the skittle ground with a long pipe. Miss L. J—, of Three Tuns Yard, Gravesend, not to bo so conceited. Mend the holes in your stockings miss, and think of Market Eair. Dickey Foster, of Bridge- foot, not to impose upon other people and cut such a swell. Don't let your mother keep you duckey. Mrs. P— e B— r, of Hendon, to confine herself to the truth and not be so lazy and conceited, bragging about her pro- perty to her servant and every one that she talks to, as it is all a fudge. P. S. R—, of High Cross- street, Tottenham, it would bo more to your credit if you were to spend your money on your dear children, in White Hart- lane instead of spending it on Shoemakers' daughters. How about being caught in Love- lane. Mrs. IC— ys, of Wood- greon, Tottenham, not to be seen riding about with a certain shoemaker, of Southgate, s » often, it does not look respectable in a married female who is living apart from her husband. She had better think more of her husband. SURREY. Mr. W. R— s, jun., Red Lion- street, Richmond, not to de- ceive so many young women, but fulfil his engagements to one. How about helping the bow- legged girl over the stile. W. H— k, of Middle Mill- lane, Kingston, not to be seen in the baker's- shop so often, as Mr. C. is jealous. How about your flattering tongue. You had better pay more attention to Miss S— d. Mr. D— e, chemist, of Dorking, not to be so fond of decoying young females into his power, and telling them to never mind their character. G. E. R., of Richmond, not to be seen walking out so late at night in such retired places with Miss M— y, it looks very suspicions. Young W— e, the printer's son, Lower Mitcham, to attend more to his printing, and not be seen every afternoon behind Holden's coaches, without he wants to become a blackgnaid. Are you practising for an omnibus cad. Miss Jane J— p, Wescott, near Dorking, to be a little more careful, and not to be so fond of backbiting her kind friends, you had better look out, for we have got a rod in pickle which will surprise a few of your neighbours. Miss E. B— k, Lower Tooting, had better not get married yet, you are too young; why don't you wait until you cross your teens; we recommend you to your mother's protection for a few years yet, although you are so bewitcliingly fasci- nating in that new dress. You are too fast by half, your beauty is still making, be advised, or you may hear from us again. Mr. G. W— d, of High- street, Croydon, had better stop at home and help his slab catch fleas, instead of going to Hope Cottage, Croydon- common, after the maid servant. Mr, P— s, foreman, ( butcher,) of Upper Tooting, Surrey, not to flirt so much, with the cooper's daughter. Mind, or we will tell Mr. Thomas S— d, and likewise the cook on Tooting- common. Mr. K— t, High- street, not to take his drops quite so freely when out for his morning's walk, or Old Nick on the angle will have him. Mr. W. H. Y— g, High- street, not in public company to tell such bouncers or he will choke them all, for they cannot take them in. Mr. W. H. W— d, clock- maker, High- street, must keep his son FYank from going out of a night. Mr. T. F— r, fisherman, near the bridge, not to show so much spite towards H. L— h, waterman, because he has got the best pull. Mr. J. P— c, should hand the parish money over to the overseors, and not go cattle- jobbing with that which belongs to others. Mr. W. Cousens, junr., Church- street, not to be so fond of dice, or his master will not let him go out at all of a night. Mr. J. G— g, burcher, High- street, should keep good company, and not stop out all night with that Miss A. P— e. Does he remember the leg of mutton he gave her to cook. Mr. T— s H— e, tailor, of Stoke, Bucks, not to go and see the old landlady of the Jolly Farmer, and then tell his wife he has been to his cricket club. Mrs. Mendy, up the steps, West- street, Marlow, not to stop from the Wesley an chapel when it is a collection; also, Miss Becket, at the Queen, West- street, Marlow, not to be always staring over the blind at people going to church, but go herself; also, the Miss Bartons, of the Mills, Marlow, not to annoy the gentry by following them about. Poor silly- things, stop at home and work, so that you may have a decent dress to walk out in. SUSSEX. Mrs. H — d, the salt- fish woman, of Edward- street, Brighton, not to allow the little dirty rag- man opposite, to run all over her house; likewise, not to be so fond of kissing her over the counter. MIDDLESEX. The washerwoman's adopted daughter in tho Hall, to leave off romping and talking so loosely with the little boys about the New Town, Poplar, and the pot- boys of Bromley and look well after her mother's kid. Also the Derby wench who washes there, not to be backbiting her fellow work- women to iWit ignorant lump of clay— her mistress. Miss L B— r, of Soulh- stieet, Ponder's End, not to be seen walking with that tall dark young man from Totten- ham so much of a Sunday evening, us many people have Observed you, and thinks he looks very wicked. After he leaves you, Paul frequently meets him walking home vfith two of the fair sex on his arm; he makes the engagement for them to meet him as he comes from seeing you, as he tells them he is obliged to go to Ponder's- End on business; so take our friendly advice. Mr. J. P— c, of Teddington, to stay at home and comfort his sick wife and not go sporting about with other men's wives. How about feeding the pigs. The Policeman, — 6 V, of Hampton, not to boast so much of his togs to the ladies in Hampton. Better keep from the doctors and attend more to Rachel. Policeman, — 5 V, not to be so conceited, nor think all the servant girls of Hampton, are in love with him. How about Miss S— 1. Mr. C. H— n, gardener, of Teddington, not to let Paul see him going towards the church so often. Is there any one there he wants? Mr. S. J— n, the swaggering puppy and cobbling carpen- ter, of Teddington, not to be so stuck- up and not to waive his hat all along the street when attending a funeral. Eschew such madness, Sammy. W. J— n, of Tottenham, alias Joe, the would be thought proftssional, not to fancy himself a gentleman or to talk so much about, the violin, as it is evident he knows nothing of music and not to think the lady in the cigar shop, opposite White Hart- lane, is in love with him. If you are careful you may hear something of the little cross- eyed girl and something in the way of breach of promise. BRISTOL. Mr. S— e, bookseller, of West- street, not to be seen at a certain door at such early hours, be cautious, or you may get something on your pate that may damp your courage. Mr. C— n, of chartist notoriety, not to make such a noise at public lectures and discussions. The bookseller of Tower- hill, to look to his business, or, very shortly it may slip through his fingers. Certain publicans to cease selling such miserable ale, it is not fit for pigs to drink, much more christians, drop it ye Bristol publicans, or your houses will be noticed by our Bristol correspondent. C— k, bookseller of Sims's- alley, not to expose Fanny j Hill, and books of this description in his window. J. R— e, of teetotal notoriety, not to make himself such a noodle at public meetings. Mr. P— e, Jun. of Narrow Wine- street, not to put on such a false pious front. Remember master P. that your larkish moves are known too well to the public, they cannot believe you go to Sunday schools for a public good, no, it is to serve your ends; drop it, or by the stars that shine over your bed- room we will bring it to light. Drop it before you get a good pen drubbing. Mr. H— m, of Lodge- street chapel, not to oppose the wishes of his audience, look to existence and your family, and not be too particular over certain passages of Scripture. This advice is given in christian love. Master P— t, of Silver- street, not to offend his mother, remember dear youth you are not of age, and you may be turned out upon the wide world before you get your portion of property that will come to you when arc twenty- one: don't peril your happiness for any loving female, remember Eve tempted Adam to eat a pippin, and you know the result. Mr. B— r. tbe licensed poisoner of the Horse fair, not to put his hand and head where it is not required; had you no better employment than to tell falsehoods to the magistrates about H. C— k, of Sims- alley. Mind what you are about, or we shall show you up in a manner that will raise your warm temper, and make the public aware of the existence of such a person. M— s and toothers, printers, not to print such trash, and not to treat the booksellers with such disdain. How about the tract upon Sarah Thomas? apply yourself a little to con- sistency, and not make yourself such a ninny at a certain room in Broadmead. Long Tom Coffin, not to be found so late at certain houses; also not to busy himself so much about matters that he has no right to notice. Reform Long Tom, or as surely as you live, you shall ha^- e a good exposure. S— s, the fat pauper, to be a little more cautious in his proceedings. How about the fruit and the garden gate. T— e, bookseller of Castle- street, to look after his business a little more, and not to trouble himself about certain females so much, BERKSHIRE. Mr. F— r, Superintendent of the Windsor police, not to think so much of himself, but pay more attention to the doings at the Two Brewers public house, Park- street, and also at the Duke's Head public house, Peascod- street. Miss B— y A— r, dress- maker, Hogg- common, near Slough, not to sit at the up- stairs window bawling after the young men as they pass by. It would be much better for you to carry the milk again. Mr. C— s, bellhanger, of Bedford- street, Reading, not to think himself so much above his neighbours, and not to give up his seat in the church, and complain to the parson about some of his neighbours sitting in it. Remember you are nothing but a journeyman bell- hanger, old cock. J. H. B. M. the black- looking cooper of Eton, to trouble his head with his own business, and not make himself such an old washerwoman. The groom in the service of J. F. C— y, of Bray Wick- grove, not to be running after every common girl of the town of Maidenhead, it does not look well of him. Miss H— t, of Windsor, not to walk out so late with that old man, people say her figure was rather odd for a single woman. Mrs. M— h, of Brunswick- terrace, Windsor, to stay at home when her husband is with the Duchess of K— t, in town, and not to go from shop to shop telling lies about her neighbours. B— t C— k, the conceited basket- maker, of Bisham, to attend to his own business a little more, and not frequent that snob's shop so much; aid also to have his hair cut, as he looks a complete guy, and if he cannot raise the mopusses Paul will for him, and when he does have it cut, let it bs done by a tradesman, and not let it look like a staircase at the back of his head. Mr. Wm. B— y, of Bisham, to keep his little bouncing daughter at home, and not let her go dancing off to Marlow of an evening, sniffing after the young men so much; and if he wishes to get married again, Paul would advise him to get a woman more suitable to himself as regards age than Miss C— r of Great Marlow. NORWICH. Mr. J. C— s, blacksmith, not many miles from St. Stephen- gate, not to go into a certain corner porter shop, for so many half pints. He had better look to the poor girl that has lately got a little baby, calling for its father. Look out, Jack. The female servant at the Two Necked Swan, St. Stephen- street, not to run after so many snobs, but to stick to one. A certain porter, named R— e, at the railway station, to- speak a little more civilly to the passengers. Mr. W. D— s, boot- maker, near St. Laurence Church, to keep more at home, Paul knows a thing or two. Mr. F. B— g, shoemaker, opposite St. Miles' Church, to leave off living with a married woman. Tom my boy, you. will catch it one of these days. i, Market- place, Derby, to leave off i assistants so much, or beware of DERBY. The cook at Mr. B— s flirting with the grocer's our umbrella. The son of a pawnbroker, of Cockpit- hill, Derby, to shun bad companions, and attend more to the admonitions of his parent. Leave off those scampish tricks of obtaining money from your father under pretence of going to sea, and then wastefully spending it. You will repent of your conduct ere long. Reform, or we will give you such a roasting, as shall drive you out of Derby altogether. II. R— II, of Rotten- row, Derby, not to threaten peopla with exposure, or Paul will poke" him up with his umbrella. TOPSHAM. E. S— p, the block maker, alias Wax- Work, not to get drunk when he goes to the Hole in- the Wall, but attend mora to his wife and family. Reform in time, old codger, fot Paul has his eye upon you. BUCKS. STAINES.— Mr. H. C— k, of High- street, not to deal so ex- tensively in musical instruments, and not to give such a high price as 10s. tor a pianoforte. Mr. J. E— k, turner, of High- street, not to melt pewter pots after having had a little beer in them. Mr. W. K— t, jun., of High- street, not to carry his head so much on one side after sucking his mother's bottle so many years. The policemen of Staines, should brush the flour off their clothes after taking their nap in a certain bakehouse when on duty. Miss M. A. G— k, at Mr. W— s, printer, High- street, should not keep her hair in paper so much or it will turn grey. HAMPSHIRE. Messrs. S. W— m, J. S— u, alias Black Jack, and another young gentleman of Southampton, whose name we will not mention, not to be so mad after Miss L— k. Surely one sweetheart at a time, is enough for a young lady, and there- fore two of you had better resign in favour of the third, in- deed it would be best if all of them were to do so, for she does not care a pin for either of the n. Mr. W. do not act the foolish man so much in future. Mr. S. how about the bones? SOMERSETSHIRE. J— n N— n, baker, of Wedmore, to stay at home a little more, and mind his mother's business, and not be seen in Mr. G— le's kitchen so often with the cook. Mi3S E— y, dressmaker, of Wedmore, not to be seen in Temperance- street after the ninth part of a man so often. Miss C— k, shop girl, of Wedmore, not to think too much of herself when going to church with her bible. Miss A— n D— y, of Wedmore, to pay more attention to the parson when at chapel, and not wink at the gentlemen so> much. 6 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE, R— t S— d, carpenter, Wedmore, had better mind his father's business more, and not waste so much time in dressing his head. I H— y M— n, baker, Wedmore, had better mind his own buginess and not other people's, or else he will be nipped in bis bud. Miss P— e S— t, had better stay at home more, and wash the paint off her face. B— y L— r, Wedmore, not to strut, and swagger, and think so much of herself with her ninepentiy mantle. DORSETSHIRE. POOLE.— The thick- headed booby S— m, the draper's hoy, opposite the market house, to leave off going to the . Inde pendent chapel school, as teacher, unless he can make his conduct in the week correspond with his pretended religious profession. Mr. F— t, grocer's assistant, Poole, not to offer the poor girls of the town money to show their legs, nor to get Spiflicated every evening on cherry brandy, and the best gin. Attend more to the young lady at Wimborne, or Paul will give you a severe poke. That stupid baby- boy at Aldridge's named C— s, to be more attentive to his master's affairs, and not to visit the post- office lobby so otten, endeavouring to force his illiterate discourse to Miss R— 11, who, we are surprised to find stooping so low. She would not encourage him, when Paul tells her that C— s, mother compels him to take " soaks " for his breakfast; and says when he is a. man, she will allow him bread- and- butter, and coffee. Wo have something in reserve for you, my tulip. SWANSEA. Mrs. J. the widow, of Oxford- street, must not flirt about with so many lovers. Is not one enough? D— s, of Goat- street, not to cast such a glaring eye at the young gents, and not to favour them with your favourite air quite so often— The cuckoo is a fine bird, She sings as she flies, She brings us good tidings, And tells us no lies. Jim T— s, of Clifton- street, not to visit the New Found Out quite so often. If Miss H. comes to hear of it, she won't half like it How about your father catching you in the Rose and Harp. Miss E. H— 1, not to walk too close to W. B— n, or her blue ribbons may take fire. David G>— s, alias Polka Davy, to pay strict attention to Jane D— s, Powell- street, her proceedings with her a- b ab, e- b eb, i- b ib, o- b ob, u- bub, and then she can commence with you ABC; and if you will attend as she tells you, then you will be so proud with your next lesson, that she will make a boy of you, and after a while you will be able to read your own love letters. Thomas B— n, mason, alias Judge Bald- pate, kicked- out policeman, not to be seen with that notorious prostitute, of Regent- street, Mag Morris. Oh, Tom! you can't leave it off. How about the missed money at the station. David J— s, alias Crankey Davy, not to be seen at the low dancing houses, and after parading up Hind- street, with Molly the soldier of Regent- street. Oh fie, Davy, if Miss E— s, of Goat- street, comes to hear of it, you will lose the estate, and your mother will stop calling you " her dear boy." Whether W. G— ff, under- clerk of the county court, Westminster, has forgotten that his sister originally tramped a milk- walk, how would he have stood if it had not been for that act of providence. How about the Brougham. Do put that infernal gilt chain out of sight. Whether it is true that the British wine- merchant and grocer, of King's Head- court, Holborn- hill, has discharged his cook aud porter. If so, he had better look after his car- rotty- headed shopboy, W— m, for there is not so much harm in giving a few dry crusts; they never helped themselves to other people's money to buy pork pies for lunch. Does the said Billy remember the cigars and brandy and water business at Kennington- common. KENT. Why M. S— in, alias " The Daily News," alias the postman of Crayford, Kent, ill- uses his second wife, he ought to re- collect what a fool he made of her, before he got tired of her. Paul has his eye upon him. What about the broken victuals from the distillers? Why Mr. R— n, left Clay- hill farm, to fool away his money away at Greenwich, among the novices of that place. Whether Edward B— r, of the Blackheath- road, is to be seen every evening in Ghesterfield walk, with dirty Joe and another, and also what he goes there for. Take care, as Paul has his eye on him, and as to his companions a letter will be sent to their mothers. GREENWICH.— Whether the new landlord, of the Three Tuns, has given up his sponging and borrowing propensities since he has become a landlord, and whether lie forgets when he was a policeman and nearly got into trouble about the drunken gent's money! Whether S— r C— n, of Water- side, Lower Thames- street, Dartford, intends walking the town so late at night? It looks very bad for a respectable young woman. How about C— k, the snob? . Why Mr. M-— r, of John- street, Biackheath- hill, don't keep his eyes open and look after his two daughters and not let them go down to Gutta Percha- row, with the shop- keeper's sons. S— h, you had better not let the chance slip you have got, and drop your sister's company. Look after yourself. SURREY. What Mr. John H— k, carpenter, atLongDitton, goes over Kingston- bridge so often for. Is there a loadstone there? You had better stay at home, Johnny, or your mother will give you the birch. Why the. curly- headed boy, C. T—, at the Castle Ittn, Tooting, flashes about flying his pigeon against any one's in the club ( for a fiver); because it is very easy to be de- LINC OLN SHIRE. Billy H— d of the White Hart, Pump- square, Boston, not to beat his wife so shamefully, also not to keep his house open the whole of the night, and allowing gambling and everything lewd and abominable. How about bribing the policeman? YORKSHIRE, J— n F— r, joiner, Church- street, Whitby, not to pine him- self away, because Miss R— n has given you the sack. There are plenty more- nice young ladies in the town; try some of them, as she won't have you back; and don't disturb your neighbours by crying and fretting all night. GLASGOW. Mr. J. M— k, of Glasgow, to behave better for the future, and not to use his F— r any more, or we will tell mamma. How's Agnes? ceived, my boy; round the corner? How about the blacksmith's daughter BERKSHIRE. If Wm. P— s, of the IX. Hussars, Hounslow Barracks, has lost another pair of overalls. SHEFFIELD. Whether it is almost or altogether true, that on the decease of Mr. W. 0— y, J. B;— y, Fruit market, on being asked if it was Mr. R. O— y, bookseller, replied no; the devil; has not done with him yet. If so, how and when did his pious mind make the discovery. SWANSEA. Is it true that young Billy tho butcher's boy, got into the moon, but did not like it as it was hot? Beware of these great orbs, Billy. What is the reason that young G— w, at the Custom House, goes to business so dirty every morning; whereas in the evening he is to be seen smoking his Havanah at the Cam brian office door, in all the pride of paletots, canes, and gilded watch chains? If he does not do the honourable for Miss N— n, Mr. P— e shall be made acquainted with his tricks. The Emporium, Castle- street, ( so Sophia says), is the best and cheapest place in Swatisea, for getting silk dresses; and Sam the shopman is a darling fellow? What does Mr. K— s, the stuttering draper's assistant pay yearly for his carriages? Will Mr. C. W—, of theBank, have the goodness to favour us with the name of his tailor. If Mr. W— lushes so much, and parades so frequently on the sands at night;— he will certainly injure his health. PAUL WISHES TO KNOW Whether the stiff publisher of the Strand, near Somerset House, does allow his lawful wife to take- in washing?— and whether Miss Up- and- down fulfils the place of a wife?— Also, whether F— y appears in tho shop with her face as clean as ever, and how often she combs her splendid head of hair? Also, if the skill- ey man follows the stiff- un like a dog, as heretofore ?— and whether the lick- spittle, SkUl- ey is a man or a monkey ? Tho stiff man would confer au eve r- lasting favour on Paul if lie would answer the above queries as soon as possible, either by letter or personal interview. At home from 12 till S. Why A. F— d, of High- street, Camden- town, parades the street at night, staring every respectable female out of coun- tenance, with that glass stuck in his eye? Why Mrs. F— d, the mother of the above, sits at the window, watching everything that goes by? She had better look after her scapegrace son, than pass so many remarks upon people. Whether it is true that W. W— b, of Trafalgar- square, Stepney, has still the vanity to suppose that the bonnet- maker of Devonshire- street, is still in love with him, if so, take Paul's advice, and not be seen in low tea- gardens on a Sunday night. Whether the daughters of Mr. B— r, grocer, Church- street, Croydon, still continue walking out with young men for a short time, and then giving them turnips. Paul thinks that the young men are beginning to be up to their moves. You had better get one young man at once, and stick to him, or else you won't have any at all. Beware how you act or else Paul will visit you again; he has been watching you for some time past. The reason J. L— e, Grange- road, Bermondsey, acted so shabbily to E. C— d, first persuading her to go out with him clandestinely, and then purposely causing her friend to hear of it. For shame Johnny, such an act is unworthy of a man. How about the married woman? If James R— 1, of the 11th Hussars, Hounslow Barracks, late of Kensington, has seen Miss M. A— s, lately, we think not, as last time she saw him at the barracks he wanted her to enter the guard room, for what purpose we should like to know. How about the shilling and the ring Jem. Do you remember? VISIT TO DUMBARTON. One evening, early in the month of May, Paul, who had been residing in Dumbarton for a short time; stept down to the quay for the purpose of informing himself of the sailing of this morning steamer for Glasgow, when his ears were saluted with. a multitude of outlandish sounds as of mirth and jollity: which on examination of the whereabouts; he found proceeded from the dining cabin of one of the steamers moored in. tljjeriver. Suspicions of someplot against the quiet of the town; Paul procured a boat, and,, was very soon put a- longside the scene of action, when, to his astonished view was presented the principal characters of the Dumbarton mena- gerie— enjoying. what ( from the way they guzzled it up) appeared to them a rare feed. The person whom Paul sup- posed to have received charge of them from the head keeper, arose, and in a " stump specch," amongst other things said, " I am well aware, and feel honoured, by the distinction forced upon me this night, but I would have felt greater pleasure if it had been possible for all our number to be present on this occasion. Business detains some— others are undergoing a system of improved training ( to assist in their better obser- vance of the Eighth Commandment), under the care of Capt. Mulne, Duke- street, Glasgow; but still, let not the want of these, our honoured companions, cast a gloom over the amusements of the evening, and, before resuming my seat allow me to congratulate you on your behaviour this evening, and whilst we drink success to the Montgomery Club, let us hope that Paul Pry will not hear of our meeting here, nor hold us up as formerly to public ridicule." The mirth at this time grew fast and furious, and late as was the hour when Paul left, they seemed in a fair way for prolonging the fun, till daylight should appear. From all that Paul has seen of the Dumbartonians, they seem inclined to conviviality, as on a subsequent evening, Paul on going his rounds, heard what he at first supposed to be a party or' Indians going through their war dance, and having found means to use his spy glass and ears, will notice the proceedings in a future number. Is it true that Capt. B , of the " Hibernia Trader," residing at King: street, . Southsea, ships certain goods for certain notorious characters. THE FRAIL SISTERHOOD. P1 y OIN E. CHAP. III. A MYSTERY, Fra Diavolo arrived at the theatre. He surveyed, with a look of sovereign contempt, the half- dozfen shopkeepers and griseltes who were patiently awaiting at the door to obtain their checks He stuck his substitute for a beaver in a still more rakish style over his right ear. He blinked his eyes, to give him- self an appearance of being near- sighted, which, in his own opinion, he did to perfection; and at length he presented himself to the box office, where he exhibited his ticket to the clerks, stupified at his airs and eccentric manners. " A front box for four!" said the controller. " Monsieur is alone?" " You can see." " Does Monsieur expect any one?" " Never!" exclaimed the artist in an insulted manner. " When I honour with my presence such little places as this, I always take a whole box for myself alone! Unless you do so, you are nobody! Ah! shocking!" And Fra Diavolo, after having accompanied those last words with a toss of his head, hastened to the staircase pointed out to him, and invaded the front- box, the door of which was closed upon him amidst the flattering salutations of the fair box- keepor, dazzled by the natural and artificial charms of our hero. The play had not commenced. The theatre was nearly empty; and the orchestra not yet occupied by its four performers. Fra Diavolo much regretted having arrived so early; he felt that he had lost his entrance and missed his effect ( as they say behind the scenes); he had almost a mind to leave, and return again in a quarter of an hour; however, he de- termined to remain, and so arrange himself as to make a sensation when the proper time should arrive. For this purpose, he half- reclined himself in a negligent attitude, on the bench at the extremity of the box. ( At the Luxembourg Theatre, otherwise called Bobino, there are benches in the front boxes.) He crossed his legs, unbuttoned his coat, but again hastily buttoned it, on perceiving that several folds of his shirt were firmly knitted together by some frightful liquid; and draw- ing from his pocket the bill brought home by Olibius, he unfolded it, and commenced looking over it with a careless and nonchalant air. Suddenly a great noise and a great movement caused him to raise his head. The whole of the theatre, orchestra- stalls, gallery, and boxes, was invaded by a joyous and turbulent population. These were Messieurs the students, in company with Mesdames the she- students. The absence of all bashful ness in these dwellers of the Latin quarter gave 6trong evidence of a succulent dinner at Pinson's, Dagneaux's, Magny's, and the less sumptuous Martin's, or iu some other culinary establishment of this noble faubourg. Two couples had made choice of a resting- place in the box contiguous to that in which Fra Diavolo was enthroned. The men were tall young fellows, in elegant but slovenly dresses. The women, both pretty, belied— by their too com- plete and unceremonious ease, and by the very slight pro- priety of their exclamations— what one might have expected from the half sort of distinction of their carriage, and the ultra taste of their toilettes. These Messieurs were probably students, sons of families, and fast man ( or midnights, as they are called in the Latin quarter), escorted by lorettes of the other side of the Seine. Fra Diavolo listened to them, and regarded them with an envious curiosity. " Paul, dear," said one of the young girls, " I'm very thirsty." " Already?" " To be sure." " What will you take to drink?" " Oh! my God! just what you like; no matter what." " Some beer?" " No." " Orgeat?" " No." " Lemonade?" " Nor that either." •' What shall it be, then? Why, you are insupportable, Florence!' " Get some pineapple syrop." " You are mad; there is none here." " You think so?" " I am sure of it." " Well, then, I will content myself with some rum- grog and a little cherry- brandy in iti" " I will go and send some to you." " At the same time, buy me some oranges, biscuits, some buns, some iced chestnuts, some macaroons, some cakes, and some barley- sugar." " Why, you are as hungry as you are thirsty?" " My God, nof ' tis to amuse me for a moment, until we sup at the Maison d'Or— for we shall sup, shan't we?" " Certainly." " Well, Paul, my love, go directly!" Paul quitted the box, recapitulating in his' memory the different articles for which he had received a commission. '" Well, my bouncer," said, in her turn, the second lorette. " What is it, Minette?" " I am getting wearied." " Very complimentary to me." " Fool! that's not what I mean, but I wish they'd com- mence the play; it smells nasty here." " They will commence in a moment," " Ask for a play- bill?" Alfred opened the box- door and called the box- keeper. At this moment Paul returned, loaded with provisions. The programme was brought. Florence eat; Minette read— both drank. " Have you seen that poor Arsene, to- day?" euquired Alfred of his friend Paul. " No; he simply wrote me a word in sending me the tickets." " The same to me; we shall see him to- night, no doubt." " It is not doubtful. He is probably behind the scenes at this very moment." " Near his belle, his Pivoine.'" " I do not know Pivoine— and you?" " I do— I have seen her once." " Where, then?" " At Arsene's." " She is pretty, is she not!" " As an angel!" 193 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE, " And coquettish?" " As the devil!" " Do you think she is amourous of Avsenc?" " Amourous! What an idea!" " Then, in your opinion, she exploites him?" " That's thc word; and then she ingratiated herself with him, that she might make her debut under his auspices. The theatre is a position for a woman!" " At Bobmo! with twenty- five francs a month as a salary! What a jest!" " Yes, hut you reckon as nothing thz flames—" " Which she inspires! Ah! ah! very good!" " That poor Arsene— his heart must beat pretty strong at the moment of thc first representation of his piece?" " ' Tis very natural." " Apropos, do you think his farce will succeed?" " No, my boy, no!" " Why not?" " Because the farces of amateurs are always flat; and be- cause Arsene Bachu has not force enough to make an exception." " Yes; hut as nearly all the tickets have been distributed by him to friends, it is" certain he will not be hissed." " What nonsense! Think you we have sold our right to criticise freely, for the price of a fifteen- penny ticket ?" " Why, really, ' twould be a rare bargain 1" " As to myself, I shall hiss with all my lungs, if the piece is detestable." " It is." " Let us be just!" " And to be just, let us hiss." " Even for his own interest." " ' Tis quite evident, that we may prevent him from making himself a fool twice." "' Tis agreed! Poor Arsene! it will really give me pam; but impartiality before all! We will hiss." Whilst the preceding conversation was taking place be- tween the best friends of Arsene Bachu— a conversation repeated, almost without variation, at every literary debut— something strange and mysterious took place in Pra Dia- Tolo's box. An old woman, with a discreet physiognomy, a nose be- smeared with snuff and surmounted with brass spectacles, a bee- hive cap, trimmed with ribband after the fashion of 1820, half opened thc box- door, advanced within its shade her bust adorned with an antique tartan, and from her lips escaped the well- known appellation, which may be ortho- graphed thus:— " rsit!" ~~ " Hein!" demanded Era Diavolo, turning round, " Sir?" • « What?" " Are you the one?" « Who?" " The young man?" " What young man?" ~ " The artisse, to be sure." """ Artist— I am." " Then, there!" And the old woman presented some- thing to Era Diavolo. " What's this?" he enquired. " The bouquet." " What bouquet?" " The lady's." « What lady's?" " You know well." " The devil take me if I comprehend you! Explain your- self, old girl!" " Unnecessary—' tis for the third act." " Of what?" " Of Madelinette. After the grand scene"— " Well?" " You will throw it." " To whom?" " Fool!" And tho old woman closed thc door, leaving in the hands of the stupified Fra Diavolo a magnificent bouquet, envoloped in its sheet of white paper. CHAP. IV. A FIRST REPRESENTATION. At the moment the adventure in which Fra Diavolo found himself engaged, was taking a turn more and more romantic, and whilst the young painter vainly endeavoured to un- riddle this acting enigma, tho three cabalistic knocks were struck behind the curtain, and Messieurs the musicians per- formed a fantastic melody,' assuredly most fitted to put to flight all the dilletantes of the Italian Theatre. It must be understood that we speak of the Italian Theatre, before the Republic. The lyric scene, formerly royal, and at that time worthy of this name, is now a deplorable mockery. It is true, that if we listen to execrable music at the Bouffe's, wc enjoy there the sight of M. and Madame Mar- rast, who think melodious the Barbary organs which play the Carmagnole to them. It is also tsue, that we hear the tall lackeys, bedaubed with lace, bawl out in the corridors, at the moment of sortie:— " Rooi » for M. the President!" This buffoonery, amusing by force of being ridiculous, will not appear to the habitual aristocrats, ( at least, we fear so) a sufficient compensation for all they have lost. But patience, and let us say, in parodying the old ballad of Walter Scott:— " The dark shall be light, And reformed be the stage, In justice and right, Ere Bertram enters Ellengowan." ( To be continued in our next.) THE MURDERER FOUND. CHAPTER VIII. MORE REVELATIONS. IT is very evident that I do not take particular notice of se- veral lapses, including, in some instances, periods of several years— these same periods not being productive of any par- ticular events bearing upon the peculiar revelations I am making. Let them be supposed to be passed in the pursuit of pleasure— in the enjoyment of everything that money could purchase, or the world offer. I have little or no squeamishness, as must be evident; and as I pursue my his- tory without attempting to be secret upon any portion of it, so must the reader he contented with the knowledge, that when I disclose nothing, I have, in reality, nothing to dis- close. Within the last thirty years, there have been crimes com- mitted, of lesser or greater magnitude, the perpetrator of which has never been discovered. Let the reader judge, then, when I enter into the following revelations. Mystery will then have lifted up her veil. On the 21st of March, 1815, the family of a gentleman living in Cliancery- lane, were nearly poisoned by eating of some dumplings, of which arsenic formed one of the ingre- dients; and Elizabeth Fenning— a young, beautiful, and well- conducted girl—- was accused of the attempt to poison, — not only accused, but found guilty, and evidence offering additional proofs of her innocence was refused by the Re- corder: she accordingly suffered the penalty of death. Now, it had been attempted to be proved that one mem- ber of this gentleman's family was subject to dreadful fits of passion— that lie was insane occasionally— and that he was very vindictive. I, the murderer! declare that the girl was innocent. I declare that this relative was not guilty; but- add, also, that of the two, the party who escaped was the party that ought to have— [ The explanation which our sanguinary manuscript gives of this matter, is, to our thinking, best left out. We are almost alarmed, on the second perusal, at the task we have undertaken, and shall pass over, as briefly as possible, some portions which beggar all description.] On tho 3rd of August, 1818, a man of the name of Charles Hussy was executed on Pennenden- heath, near Maidstone, for the murder of a Mr. Bird, a retired tallow- chandler, and his housekeeper, Mary Simmons, both gone in years, the old man being eighty and upwards. This took place at Green- wich, in the previous February. It will be remarked that the evidence was of a particu- larly circumstantial kind, namely, the discovery of the old man's property in his possession. It is recorded, also, that he made no confession,— how could he? At the last mo- ment, he merely replied, when asked if he knew who did the deed—" I do." In many of these cases, my associates were men picked up in the most casual manner possible; and, as in the case of Williams, after I had— The fellow chose to gratify his passion of avarico— cupidity being awakened at the sight of gold— by plundering the deceased's property, such as a little plate, money, & c. This petty- larceny business, which I always treated with the most sovereign contempt, I permitted, in some instances, out of indifference— in others, because I was not well able tp pre- vent it; but I always had this satisfaction, namely, that the robber always carried the evidence of a deadlier crime with him,— that he himself was the cause of his being brought to the gallows. I comprehended better what I was about— In 1826, I was at Manchester, and in consequence of some transaction not necessary to be recorded, called upon a Mr. P—, an extensive manufacturer of that town. Within half an hour after my leaving the place, fire was discovered—( it was then noon, and the spot was one of the most densely- crowded places of the town; not to speak of the number of men engaged on the premises, t hough at this time they were at din- ner)— to issue from the place. When it was extinguished, after considerable difficulty, tho man was discovered, half burnt, but— murdered,— the mark of a hammer on the fore- head was too evident. A warehouseman, James Evans, was seized and accused. I had never seen the man; but on account of two or three circumstances, a coroner's jury returned a verdict of " Wil- ful Murder" against him; but at the assizes he was more fortunate, and he was acquitted upon a verdict of " Not Guilty." No suspicion was attached to me: 1 was only one of many who had that morning called upon some plea or other. [ Without apologising to the reader, we skip over a merci- less quantity of " blood- boltered matter," where a list of at least twenty names— victims to the atrocity of this inhuman Exaggeration— are recorded. We do so for several reasons — chiefly because to wade in so much blood is nauseous and sickening; and because these said names are relative to cases of minor importance— that is to say, they have not become so notorious, aro less known, and possess, for that reason, much less interest to the reader. Having thus dis- posed of a quantity of frightful episodes, wo come to one which forms the grand climax— which tops the whole of horror,— the murder of Eliza Grimwood.] " On the 26th of May, 1838, the inhabitants of the Water- loo- road and the adjacent neighbourhood were alarmed by a report that a female named Eliza Grimwood, residing at No. 12, Wellington- terrace, had been murdered during the night. Policeman 31 L was apprised of this by a man rushing out of the same house where the deed was committed. Enter- ing the house, he found her lying on the floor, her throat cut in a dreadful manner, and quite dead. The room was de- luged with blood. It was elicited that Eliza Grimwood had left her home the previous evening, and returned at twelve o'clock, accompanied by a gentleman. The servant- girl who let them in was desired to go to bed. The girl obeyed — heard no noise during the night— and the first intimation she had of it was from a man named Hubbard, under whose protection the unfortunate female had been living for some time." Such was the nature of the paragraphs which appeared in the papers of the period, and filled the metropolis both with horror and anxiety. From the evidence of several witnesses— all of whom sought to make the string of evidence complete— the mur- derer was tall, somewhat thin, swarthy, wore largo black whiskers, and was enveloped in a cloak. Now, reader, observe,— on tho same evening I was at tho Strand Theatre, and was there by appointment with the girl, whom I had known before, and upon several parts of whose life I had exercised a very great influence. For some time I waited, and thought she would have disappointed me; hut at last she entered. In such places one speedily recognises another, and a lifting- up of the eyelids, or any other almost undiscernible sign, is sufficient. She was cer- tainly a very fine and handsome girl; and though I had rea- son to be fearfully roused against her, I met her with the most affectionate cordiality, and after a few moments, I pro- posed to accompany her home. It was now ten o'clock, and she consented, after wc had partaken of some refreshment. Before twelve o'clock, we were in a cab, on our way; and about the hour I was with her in her room— I knew her whole history, from beginning to end— from her first fall to her last hour. She was truly an " ill- starred " one; but the terrible struggle, in that terrible room, is inef- faceable. It began with caresses— it changed to recrimination— it ended in blood. But what is most singular, I felt no whit more enraged and ferocious at the last moment, when I caught her by the hair, and bent her head, in order to— With the disposition of the tiger, I purred with as much complacency. My smile meant murder— the very suavity of my tone was indicative of it. While caressing her, I only felt for the spot, where it was most secure to stab first. And while there was a trampling, and a struggling, and a hot vaporous mist surrounding us, she could utter no cry. Her faculties were suspended by a terror which it is impos- sible to express; besides, I gagged her. It was all of it full of a wild, delirious, diabolical excitement. It will be seen that I did my work most effectually— my weapon being a fearful stiletto, which I had manufactured expressly for myself, with certain improvements— one of which was, that it was nearly triangular, one angle being more acute than the two others— that it was slightly hol- lowed on one side, and that it was thick and strong towards the hilt— the acute angle forming a cutting edge; and the weapon was nearly two feet in length. Three stabs were in front,— one under the left breast— that sought her heart. Another was in the sternum, or breast - bone, doing no great harm. A third was more fatal, above the abdomen. Ou thc back of the neck was a triangular wound, extend- ing from the right to the left ear, sufficient to have severed the head off,— from this the scarlet stream spouted like a fpuntain. Suicide! Whoever suspected the luckless girl of such a thing, must have given her credit for doing an impossible act. She had no motive for it in the shape of want, for a banking- book was found, proving that she had hoarded- np more than twenty pounds. Nothing can be imagined more utterly revolting and horri- ble than the aspect, of that chamber. Everything bore mark of the sanguinary act— everything testified to the butcherly business; and when I lifted up my dabbled hands in the moonlight— or rather, in the grey, shining beams of the stars — I knew that had any human being seen the scarlet drops upon my face and clothes, they would have fled from me with affright. I rejoiced— I do yet rejoice— in this power that I possess of appalling the members of the human race. Having no sym- pathy with them— being, in fact, endowed with faculties ' thai were in direct reverse to the common order of things, I had neither reason nor will for liking or loving any; and yet, strange to say, for this poor girl I had felt a passion as profound as it was fatal. It was a ferocious, sensual, de- vouring love. It was an amour of that awful and nameless kind, which could have no other termination than the one I have described. At such moments, nothing could save my victim, whoever it was, or whenever it was determined upon to do! I could then annihilate men in masses, and am only surprised that I have not committed a massacre. During the inquest, and after, I amused myself with writ- ing anonymous letters regarding the dark deed, to the coro- ner, with the intention of keeping public curiosity in a state of horrible suspense, and for the more effectual removal of suspicion,— to put the officers from the track, to confuse their plans, and to heighten the mystery the more. I succeeded to a marvel. To this day men ask—" Who murdered Eliza Grimwood?" It was I! Doubtless, the inquisitive reader is yet unsatisfied. He will naturally expect, that in answer to his question, " Well, who are you?" I shall give my name, describe my person, detail my last lodgings, and explain many more things that are, as a matter of course, implicated. It is all time enough yet. My name shall come;— but let me proceed—• . . . In the meantime I quitted the scene of my late great deed, while leaving the memory of it to haunt men like some hideous spectre walking about among them, and becoming visible only, when its aspect was most shocking. Since then, tho reader will easily remember the poisonings which took place in Essex and Norfolk. I established a regularly organised series of plans among the people of some districts, which are in active use to this day. The estab- lishment of burial clubs, gave impulse, and increase to in- fanticide, as a premium was thus offered for murder, so murder was committed, and when I could not murder my- self, it answered my intention to kill by other means. Besides, as an example:— In Manchester I was the means of giving an unusual briskness to the burial business. One man while poisoning his child, daily had him enrolled in eight or nine clubs! and received the money. He went no more to the factory, but revelled when ho pleased. The thing got wind however. What was the consequence? That the burial clubs were checked? By no means. The igno- rant became learned in strange and unheard- of poisons and means. And tho papers teemed with a series of dreadful revelations, which were not calculated to soothe, or to allay alarm [ Our readers will perhaps be as much astonished as we are ourselves, when wo relate tho following. Just while we were transcribing some portion of this astounding M. S., for press — the devil being actually waiting at the door, we happened to pick up off the table what we took to be an edition of the Morning Post, but a glance at the typography convinced us we were wrong It was the Marseilles Observateur, and in that, under the date of May, we glanced at the first para- graph which met oar eye.] " EXTRAORDINARY OCCURRENCE.— The other day a pri- soner endeavoured to escape from the galleys at Brest. He was a strong, powerfully- built, swarthy man, and showed amazing vigour and ferocity. Having removed his irons by means not known, his next proceeding was to brain his companion, probably fearing that he might, through his means, be detected; and was passing over the outer wall next the sea, when the sentinel saw and hailed him. The alarm being given, he made a tremendous leap across a moat, but the sentinel's gun brought him down. Some men hastening to seize him, just as he was abont to plunge into the water, he drew a knife, and before they could avoid, or disarm him, three were so dreadfully cut and stabbed, that no hopes are entertained of tlieir recovery. Being at last overpowered, and finding that his hopes of escape for the future, would be frustrated, he wrenched his hand loose from the grasp of another man and plunged the knife into his own heart. With a fearful curse, he fell down dead! In his breast was found a piece of printed paper, marked Murderer's Confession," and " Paul Pry," what this can signify we do not know. [ The reader will readily discover that we do.] Another paper showed beyond all doubt that this man had committed all those dreadful and mysterious assassinations which have for the last few years astonished the inhabitants of London and its vicinity. On the chest were the following letters brilliantly tattooed— his name"— [ But why give it? To what purpose? The murderer has been found, and he has perished. The records we now sup- press from conscientious scruples, ean answer no end. Tha wretch has passed away,— let liis name therefore he lost in oblivion.] THE END. 8 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE, LETTER- BAG. ATTEMPT TO ASSASSINATE THE QUEEN. ( To the Editor of Paul Pry.) DEAR PAUL,— Some infernal scamp or other having made the above attempt on the life of the Queen, whom God long preserve, ( your loyalty, my dear Paul, is well known), I trouble you with these few lines. But, first of all, let me dispose of this fellow who kicked up all this noise and smoke for nothing— and who very likely had left the bullet— at home— in his pocket— or in the • womb of time' where every thing you can't find is'sure to be,— I say, I would have him flogged at a cart's tail— flogged through the town, within an inch of his life— he might be made to betray his emp— but I forbear, flog him at all events. • Within the last fifteen years this ' sort of thing' has become fashionable. Your great people, upon finding themselves becoming neglected, have been known to try and re- awaken the public sympathy, by placing their precious lives in jeopardy. Louis Phillippe, did it with great success, and Louis Nap. might find it useful. Everybody remembers in what a slap- up manner Madame Vestris got up a romantic, dramatic, episodical attempt at assassination, when finding herself becoming a little stale. Podges at prussie acid have also been effectively worked. What is most astonishing, as well as worthy of thanks to learn, is, that not one of these diabolical ' shooting' parties have been effectual. It seems these fellows are fooled by the devil that leads them to make such absurd attacks upon a woman who never hurt them. What is the cause of it? Do any of the Cabinet codgers know how this s managed? what's the question I wish to ask of you Mr. Paul. This pistol practier appears harmless after all, jut it is desperately annoying, and if I were the Queen I would request these active awakeners of the ' public . sympathy" not to make such cursed fools of themselves— and, yvery vagabond trying it on again, I would set the ' Ilounslow Cat' at him and no mistake. Yours, TRUE BLUE. GREENWICH LETTER CARRIER. ( To Paul Pry, Esq.) SIR,—" When the heart of a man is oppressed with care," says- the poet Gray, the notes of a fiddle ' are very reviving, but perhaps I am not musical, for I turn for consolation and enjoyment to your amusing pages, in the sure and certain hope of not being disappointed. With a view to encourage harmless mirth and innocent enjoyment, I send you for approbation and insertion the following sketch— a sketch, not a fancy one.— Whoever reads our witty contemporary Punch, must have been amused and edified with certain papers which some time ago appeared in that enlivening print, entitled " Model Sketches." I will attempt after the illustrious original, to imitate in an humble way the sketch of an individual, who has somehow or other been overlooked. I shall denominate my production The Model Letter Carrier. Whoever has resided in this busy and agreeable town for any length of time, cannot fail to have remarked a certain individual of from 25 to 30 years of age, employed in the useful and laudable task of delivering letters. Tall and erect, he issues from the vicinity of the Green Man Hotel, to commence his daily task; observe his upright appearance, the important way in which he walks along, as if he had the secrets of all Europe entrusted to his hands. A smile is on his countenance, he looks forward to the beaming looks of the maids of all work, who at that early hour are pursuing their useful avocations, he nods to one, bows to a second, and interchanges jokes with a third; which shows how anxious he is to stand fair in the good graces of the fair sex. He walks along methinks with much pomposity, that people Jancy he must be the owner of the surrounding property, by his assuming so much importance. Reader, this young man has had a military education, and early habits are difficult to be got rid of. He enlisted in the Scots Greys, and was bought off by a kind- hearted mother, and instead of history having to record his brave doings in some ensanguined plain in India, we must be content to speak of him in his civil capacity as a suburban letter carrier. His mode of walking, his affected demeanour, have obtained for him the name of the Dandy Postman, but that which he takes to be a greater compliment, is to call him Captain Strong, you then win his heart. After discharging his arduous duties, he goes into Groenwich Park, and there gently reposes on the grass, with his never- failing pipe, for Captain Strong is not married, and he says all the solace he has is his pipe. Let me in conclusion give Captain Strong a piece of good advice. Avoid conceit, cultivate a more amiable temper, and do not, when spoken to, let any one suppose that your education had been finished at the classical regions of Billingsgate, avoid flirting with so many unsuspecting females. There are some to whom we may say, " When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray." This hint is given with a good intent; practice humility, do not be so much of a coxcomb, and then your brother letter- carriers will not entertain that dislike which they are said to feel for you, not out of envy at your superior attainments, the less we say about them the better, but ou account of your insulting and overbearing manner. Having given this little sketch, wherein I have nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice; the next time I have occasion to write, I hope I shall be enabled to make a better report of Captain Strong, the letter carrier, and so let him now go on his way rejoicing. I am Sir, Your most obdt. servant. PAUL IN THE PLAYHOUSE. DRURY LANE.— Beethoven's only opera Fidelio, was pro- duced herein Saturday evening, and though the two Operas were open" there was a fair sprinkling present. Mdlle. Walter who undertook the part of Fidelio, is a far greater actress than singer. Her higher notes are anything but musical, though her exertions to please the audience by no means failed. "" The part of Marcelina was entrusted to Mile. Babnigg, who sings with a great deal of energy, though her execution is scarcely equal to her conception. Heir Erl in the part of Florestein sang in his usual style, very prettily. Herr Steplian was in excellent voice, and gained great ap plause. The chorus is undoubtedly the finest we have ever heard, and the band is magnificent. The placing of the piece on the stage reflects great credit on the management. SADLERS' WELLS.— The Iron Chest was produced here OD Monday evening, for the benefit of Mr. Greenwood, and wo were happy to find the house crowded in every part. The character of Sir Edward Mortimer, was finely pourtrayed by Mr. Phelps. The Orson of Mr. Bennett was a perfect picture, whilst Mr. H. Marston and G. Dickenson very creditably sustained their respective characters. Miss Hud- dart really surprised us in the part of Helen, we had no idea she could do so much. Miss St. George was lively in the part of Blanche. The Will concluded the evening's entertain- ments, and the audience departed apparently highly delighted with the treat that had been afforded them. We perceive Mr. G. Dickenson takes a benefit on Thursday evening, on which occasion he attempts the part of Claude Mclnotte, in the Lady of Lyons. We wish him every success. ADELPHI.— Mr. Hudson in His Last Legs, draws good houses to this popular place of amusement. The tcrpischo- rean extravaganza of The DeviVs Violin, and The Revolt of the Flowers, with the clever acting of Messrs. O. Smith, Munyard, Cullenford, and Miss Woolgar; and the buffoonery of Wright and Bedford, keeps the audience in good humour, and no doubt brings money to the treasury. To BE SEEN ALIVE.— In the vicinity of York- street, Commercial- road, East, a fox, dressed in the garb of a man, answers to the name of Samuel, hair- dresser, who has been for the last two or three weeks connected with a gang of skittle sharps, by which means he has enticed the whole of his friends to be duped of their money and property to a great amount, in which he has taken a share: we don't think it looks well of a man who is supposed to be carrying on a respectable trade. Reform, my blade, or we shall expose a little more of your business in our next. NORWICH. MACKNEY'S CONCERT ROOM. We dropped in at Mr. Muckney's concert- room the other evening, and found assembled a very decent company; in fact, it was much more respectably attended than we ex- pected to find it. Mr. F. Widdows sang several sentimental songs in first- rate style, he has a beautiful voice, and has greatly improved since we had the pleasure of hearing him a short time back; he sang the " Husband's Dream" beauti- fully. Mr. R. Rueh is a capital comic singer, we should say the best in Norwich. His " Billy Nutts the Poet," and the Travelling Tinker," are well worth a walk of five miles to hear. He seems to be a great favourite, and fully deserves all the applause he obtains. Mr. Mackney is a pretty good violin and banjo player, whilst his wife is a pas- sable singer. Paul lias some recollection of the worthy proprietor and his wife when at the Hall of Harmony, High- street, Whiteehapel. Mr. B. and H. Russell are good players on the cornopean and trombone. We are happy to say, we can recommend Mr. Mackney's concert- room to the good- folk of Norwich, as a place where they may hear capital singing and music, and also obtain excellent refreshments. CORRESPONDENCE. *** No letter whatever ( town or country), containing more than one advice, can possibly be attended to. T. M.— It depends entirely upon the nature of the communi- cation, but more attention is paid to those letters having the name and address attached. EDWIN.— Most likely you have not seen them in our paper, and while you insist upon sending more than one advice, in all probability you will never have the pleasure of seeing your communication in print. Read our first notice. H. V. ( Chatham).— My dear friend, we would advise you to learn how to spell ere you address a second letter to our office, a more idiotic effusion it never fell to our lot to peruse. G. G— Y.— We thank you for your kind offer, and shall be happy to receive any trifle you may please to send. Perhaps Mr. Duncombe, Middle- row, Holborn, would purchase them for his London Singers' Magazine. H. H. ( Rotherhithe Wall).— We have consigned your letter to the flames. Read first notice. BANQOO.— We cannot think of departing from the principle we have laid down for our guidance. R. H— LL, ( Essex).— None whatever. Our Glasgow correspondent is thanked. Send us a batch in your next. TIIEATRICUS.— With regard to our criticism on Charles Iican we can only add, it is our sincere opinion. We know Mr. Kean bears the best of characters in private life. But when we enter a theatre it is merely for the sake of criti- cism, and we can confidently challenge the whole newspaper press to differ from us in our opinions expressed, if they would condescend to speak their thoughts. . The idea en- tertained by many is, that we must have a somebody, as it were, at the head— a sort of leading star at which to point— to keep the theatrical world at all in a position, aud their belief is, that a man possessing a great name— born with it— though possessing but ordinary talent, is far better for the drama's sake, than a man of great genius who has nothing but that genius and a ragged coat to recommend him. Paul begs to differ, and cannot help speaking out when he goes to a professing legitimate theatre, to see and feed on the works of our immortal poet, to find his delicious viands spoilt in the carving. BEBO.— If ever the fellow annoys you again, get the assist- ance of a neighbour, and place him under the pump. AGAMMEMNON.— Send us the particulars. We shall be too happy to render you all the assistance in our power. MARCUS BRUTUS.— Your lines are not fit for our columns. Send to the parties referred to. J. T.— The whole of the matter in onr pages is original, and we defy the whole world to point out one article that has ever appeared in a similar or dissimilar work before. To your second question, yes. To your last, our sale is in- creasing weekly, and now reaches beyond 45,000. J. B. S.— Of course you know the party, and also know every word we haye penned to be the truth. JEREMIAH PRY, ( Swansea).— Your aunt sends her kind thanks for the specimens of Welsh flannel, aud hopes soon to hear from you again. Commend me to all enquiring friends, and tell them your uncle intends paying them a visit in propria persona some of these fine days. Hope all the girls are well, and that you look after them, you dog. If we find you have neglected the dear creatures, when we come down, we shall certainly discard you. FEARLESS.— We believe there are such scoundrels in the world. This we know from personal experience, that there are men to be found4who, for a mere trifle, would un- dertake to commit any assault, however frightful. Yet you will invariably find these kind of blackguards are the greatest cowards living, when they meet a man who fear- lessly faces about, determined to try his best. We should, however, rccommend you, if you think it likely they will molest you, to carry a good thick stick and lay about you with all your might, fearless of consequences, should you ever be attacked by the scoundrels. SUSAN.— We rather believe Mrs. Sterling made her first ap- pearance in public, at the East London Theatre, Commer- cial- road, under the name of Miss Fanny Clifton, Mr. Amherst being the manager, from whence she removed to the Pavilion Theatre, Whitechapel- road. MONKS.— We really do not know what has become of Mr. H. S. Levy, the officer to the late Garrick Theatre. The last we heard of this indefatigable officer, was some months back, one Sunday morning, when he was seen to draw his staff from his pocket, knock at a public house door on Tower- hill, franticly rush to the bar, and call for one pennyworth of gin. He swallowed the exciting juniper, winked his eye at the landlady, plunged madly into the street, and we have never heard or seen him since. Perhaps some of the " peop'esh" will have the goodness to drop us a line concerning his whereabouts. J. M.— Send us a sketch of the place mentioned, with names, & c., and we will dish it up. T. JOHNSTON.— Why not do the same for him which he threatens to do for other people. WTith regard to the last part of your letter, the tale is lounded on fact. J. B. (. 4 Constant Subscriber).— We have made inquiries and find there is or was another person of the occupation men- tioned in your letter, living in the same street as yours . If. As to furnishing you with the means, & c., it is not in our power. BROWN.— Most happy, njy boy, send them, they shall have every attention pa^ kthem. V A REG. SUB.— WTe wilrjjjjt undertake to answer positively for the respectability of any of the varieii6 Loan Societies sprinkled over London. We believe there is not one where you can obtain a loan under 15 per cent, paid in the way of fees, & c. BEPPO.— If you have any suspicion, why' not speak boldly out— tell him what you think of him, and end all there SUSAN.— Very likely indeed, would you have us completely annihilated. If Mrs. P. only suspected for one moment that you had made an assignation with our veritable selves, she would completely pull the house about our ears. No, thank you, Susan, we beg to be excused, besides, the locality smells anything but healthy. J. S.— Of course you can. If you can prove the debt, sum- mon the rascal at once. BOB, ( Greenwich.)— We really cannot decvplier tlie note sent us. Write a little plainer. A FRIEND, ( Tottenham.)— We have no agent in your localitv, but should feel obliged if you could send us the r. ame of " a party who would become so for Tottenham. II' H. S. ( Woodford.)— We publish every Wednesday, and Woodford being so short a distance you ought to have our paper in the course of the day. Wc are rather surprised you. should have any difficulty in obtaining it. The periodical venders in your locality stand very mnch in their own light in not obtaining it immediately it is pub- lished. R. W. ( Swansea.)-- Nothing of the sort. The whole of our advice, & c., is looked over by a professional gentleman ere we print it. We hold every person harmless who sells our journal. V Mr, Cook, of Sim's- alley, Broadmead, Bristol, supplies the trade every Thursday moriA with Paul Pry, and has always a stock of back numbers olf , tand, to meet all demands. BOOKS RECEIVED. How to Spend a Fortune. Illustrated with diagrams and tables showing the various uses to which money may be put and the pleasure derivable therefrom. By Mr. Watts Thea- trical Lesse « . The Rise and Progress of the British Drama. With a retrospective glance at the most eminent Greek and Roman Actors. Pricc 3d. By Mr. John Douglas. Beautifully embellished by Charles Buller, R. A. Roberts' Rhine. By C. J. James. How to Grow Fat; or, the Pleasures of Connubial Bliss. A domestic drama, in one act. By Eliza Terry. When Ignoranoe is Bliss,' ti3 folly to be wise. A Frag- ment. By Mister Lane, Prop. Brit. Sal. NEW MUSIC FROM BREAD STREET. A Rummy Old Cadger am I, oh! ah! By D. Allman. 0 these are Shocking Hard Times; or, the Miser's Man Set to a new tune. By J. Adcock. 1 have a master and I am his man. By H. Ileaviside. The Maniac. By J. Stone. * O this proud heart will break. Set to a Welsh air Wm. Griffiths, Taf. Hong to be free. An Ojibbeway melody. By Arthur Grinder, Mar, Bach, of Arts. Nobody coming to marry me. By Jeremiah Leeds, Esq. By GRATIS ! GRATIS ! ! GRATIS ! ! ! Now Publishing in Penny Numbers. THE LIFE AND SURPRISING ADVENTURES OF JACK SHEPPARD. Beautifully illustrated, this edition will lie completed in about thirty numbers, each number containing a Splendid Fingraving. All purchasers of No. 1 will receive No. 2 Gratis in a handsome wrapper. London: G. Purkess, ComptonStreet, Solio, and all Book- sellers, in Town and Country. The following are our appointed Agents:— London: W. COLE, Bedford- street, Oxford- street, Mile End— Deptford: F. L. LYONS, 8, Broadway.— Greenwich : H. HILL ' S Market- place.— Bristol: COOK, Sims- place.— Manchester • HEY- VOOD, Oldham- street.— Leeds: A. MASS.— Glasgow W LOVE Nelson- street.— Derby: BROOKES, St. Alkmuiul's- cliurch'yard — Leicester: BILLSON, Bellgravc- gate.— Beverley.- WAUD, Butcher- row.— Banbury : BUXTON, Clierwc- 11- street.— Sheffield • EOGFKS Fruit- market.— Brighton: TOOKLE, 57, Edward- street.— Newcastle- on- Tyno: FBAK- CE & Co., 8, Side.- Bradford, Yorkshire: W. COOKE Vicar- lane. ' Printed and Published for the Proprietors, by G. EDW^ BDS at the Office, 12, Russell- court, Iirydges- strect, Strand, where all commu- nications to the Editor are to be addressed.
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