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Paul Pry The Reformer of the Age

01/01/1849

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Volume Number:     Issue Number: 30
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Paul Pry The Reformer of the Age

Date of Article: 01/01/1849
Printer / Publisher: G. Johnstone 
Address: 12, Russell-court, Brydges-street
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 30
No Pages: 4
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NEW SERIES. " IT IS A VIRTUOUS ACTION TO EXPOSE VICIOUS MEN,'— DRYDBN. No. 30— NEW SERIES.] PUBLISHED WEEKLY. [ PRICE ONE PENNY. Greenwich Fair! The Park! The Hill! Tea on Black- heath! and fifty other things! " What a number of happy re- miniscences! What a variety of pleasurable sensations! What joviality! What fun! but particularly, especially, and above all, what pitiless, pelting, unending showers of rain! Whit- Monday opened dull, lowering, and dark, but we were down there,— several booths were in the park, but soon the roof became like so many Danaides' water- sieves. Betsy Jane, who was with us, was lost under the huge cloak of our foreign contributor, who has been staying at our house some time, under pretence of a flow of ideas, and paying the hussy considerable attention, while Mrs. P., huddled up with the brats In one corner, was scowling and frowning, just like a she- hurricane, about to let go its hold, and pitch itself right bang at our devoted heads. We are here for three days, and must weather it out. Our boots have become fire- buckets already, and the canvass ceiling— we are trying to do a bit of jolly in the fair, in spite of all obstacles, you see— the canvass ceiling, we repeat, be- gins to droop— to bag— to hang down, with a most deplora- ble air of resignation. However, the steamers continued to pour in their cargoes, and the numbers, although not so great as formerly, served to vary the monotony. People got satisfied by seeing others in as bad a pickle as themselves, and the show- booths filled fast enough. Richardson's old theatre was there with all its at- tractions, at the top of tho fair, and the dancing- booth re- sounded with the din of many merry feet. Yankee Smith led his Ethiopians with as much " black " art as ever, and a likeness of Rush formed, in one establishment, one of the prominent attractions of the day. At night, however, people separated with the hope of en- joying a little more fun on the Tuesday, and the morning broke in upon us at otir hotel with more of promise than could be expected, and away we started again to see all that could amuse the young Prys. The sun shines out brightly now, and the grass is drying up. Now is the time for the pretty girls to let their twink- ling ancles peep out under the short petticoats, and pretty legs there are among ' em too, but bless you— its all harm- less— this bit of badinage; if it were not for Mrs. P. who is I like a tigress— so jealous, we should not be guilty of a naughty idea for the world, although there may be much to blame. Still Whit- Monday is the poor man's holiday, and we felt a sentiment of sadness at witnessing so complete a stop put to all amusement. For months in the year, the artlzan has no day to himself, and that it Should have turned est as it did. damped many a spiHt ' besides OMV own, On Tuesday, however, people made the most of their previous disappointment. The booths were full and the company jovial, and the stall- merchants busily at work, and the running up, and tumbling and roll nig down the hill as before, and all the possible glee that could be got up, was created— all was coleur de rose again. MARONE; or, THE WINE OF LOVE CHAPTER IV. ( Continued from our last.) In thus explaining to the reader the horrible organisation of this being, it has been felt to be the more necessary wben we look abroad and count by hundreds and by thousands the victims of impure passions that are scattered around us. This curtain, which when lifted up to dtebjay so much foul- ness ought not to be drawn with a shrinking hand, for by anatomizing such a man as Lord Arlenden we come to the root of the great evil which makes the wife an adultress, and the young girl a prostitute. " Do not mistake my motive, my lord," pursued the phy- sician, in a tone that was cold and severe; " You must go through the same course you passed through in your infancy — when the milk of a strange woman mingled with your blood— your mother believed it unfashionable to nourish her own child— these women are for your nurses." Lord Arlenden's jaw fell. " I think I comprehend you now," said he, " but why resort to this singular means?" " Your constitution is so undermined that it must be re- newed. You are brought down to imbecility. I propose your rejuvenescence," and the physician " paused for a reply." " I place myself entirely in your hands," said he at last; " and am ready to see them." " Tbat is well my lord. Once before have I by this means recovered a man whose feet were already in the grave. He felt ingratitude to heaven; for his short after- life became more black and infamous, and his death was so horribly appalling that I tremble when I am reminded of it;" and the physician shuddered. There was a kind of tremble also upon the eyelids of the nobleman, as the words of the doctor fell upon his ears, but the inward determination of the man was of a character . widely different from what might have been anticipated. At a signal from Doctor Lambonrne, the valet opened the door of the adjoining ehajafceV, and intwpuoed six eotnetyj ""•" ' . • : )• i portly, healthy, motherly women, and while Lord Arlenden j cast his keen undimmed eye from one to another, there was j something so staid and modest in their aspect and manner, that the impure fancy which broke upon him, vanished— perhaps for the first time in his life. The women them- selves, truly shocked at the glimpses which they caught ot the pictures, held down their heads and blushed. " They are mothers, my lord," observed the physician, " and the wives of honest mechanics. I have given my word to their husbands, and they are men prone to resent an injury; I say I have given my word that they shall not re- ceive any insult from you or any one in your establishment." " You did well sir," replied Lord Arlenden. " Your pledge shall be respected." And then faint and exhausted with the exertion of speaking, he almost fainted in his chair. It was a shocking sight to those matrons, ivlio instinctively shrank from him as something to he abhorred; to look upon a man so shattered, so broken, so deplorable an object,— in fact, they had never in their class beheld the frightful re- sults of outrageous profligacy. The physician interrupted this pause by giving some few directions, which as the reader may guess their nature, we do not consider it necessary to detail them. CHAPTER V. THE SHADES. Returning back a little, we beg the reader- to accompany us. A party of four young men,— one of them the youth the reader has seen at the wing when Marone passed— had quitted the theatre, and were debating upon some point or other, with great earnestness, as they went under the piazzas of Covent Garden, and as the dispute was yet unsettled when they came to the steps leading into " The Shades," close at hand, they forthwith took them, and descended into a large, lofty, and elegant room, fitted with partitioned tables and seats, so that each party could in a manner be in private. Having taken a box, " devilled kidneys," " broiled bones" and sherry, together with magnums of brandy and water, were ordered, and several officious and obsequious waiters instantly attended fo their commands. The first supply having disappeared as fast as they had been brought, the orders were again repeated with careless pro- digality— including a call for more costly wines, and a richer cuisne. The first of thesa ive will introduce to the reader, was one who by the rotundity of hia face, and somewhat bulky form, ( nlthtmgh not yet tnttied twenty ^ mm of » g « ) ssemrl t<> 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE pay infinitely more attention to the viands before him, than to the conversation carried on; he had now obtained a bottle of strong and heady port, but for all that his attention to it was close, and his potations deep, the wine did not seem to affect him very greatly. His name was Augustus btratford, and he was a Templar. The next was a thin, elegantly dressed young man ot twenty- four. He had great powers of irony, and said very brilliant things at times. His father was very rich, and he had chambers in tho Albany. The third had a bold, dare- devil, rakish, but withal hand- some profile; and the light of his dark eye betokened his liking for fun and mischief, however practical and danger- ous it might be. Cool, collected, impudent, and liberal,— well- known on the " town," in all those questionable circles where gaiety prevails over morals, and where Anacreon is more extensively known than Seneca or Epictetus, he was welcome wherever he went; his age was twenty- one; his name was Vincent Villiers, and he was a medical student. He was drinking a mixture of a sparkling and powerful chalybeate waters, with a potent infusion of pale brandy. The fourth, who was toying with a small and powerful opera glass, and displaying a gleaming diamond ring of great value, occasionally humming an air from the ballet, while betraying a profound indifference to all around him, requires some little further notice. Because it would be difficult to account for the cold impassability that reigned in the eye that would not be surprised, and the calmness on the brow whose white expanse betrayed no emotion in frowns, nor in the beautiful month whose immobility was marvel- lous, considering the wild gaiety of the others; and whether it was that he held the trifles around him in utter contempt, or was lost in those dreamy and vague imaginings excitable minds alone comprehend, and feel; or, whether he was wearied and jaded with the evening's entertainment, were questions his companions had for some moments past vainly endeavoured to resolve. " Come, Passion, my boy," cried the medical student at last, " don't you see how this poor devil of a pedantic barrister is puzzling himself to account for your taciturnity ever since we have ceased to talk about Marone!" Follow- ing the languid glance which he cast upon the speaker when his name was mentioned, the young men did not notice the livid and deadly pallor that came like a white cloud over Passion's countenance— they were yet too busy with their pleasant occupation. Nor did they observe that his fine and regular teeth were closely set together, grinding slightly, like those of a man who would forcibly keep himself from shriek- ing at the sight of some horrible apparition. This young man then, scarcely nineteen, who responded to the singular name of Passion Brudenal, was dressed in a mode and style at once elegant and faultless— while it so admirably became his light but agile person. Bather loose trousers of black were gathered round the small hips, and were there suspended without the aid of braces, so that his shoulders had free and easy play; linen, plain, but white as snow, was seen between the openings of a black satin vest, and terminating in a collar which was loosely tied round a throat monlded like a bust of Ilylas. A frock coat of blue buttoning up to the collar, but which was now open, allowed the fine proportions of his ample chest to be clearly developed; a beaver hat somewhat wide in the brim was beside him on the table, and boots of exquisite thinness and polish, completed his attire,— the only orna- ment he wore in the way of jewellery was the superb diamond before spoken of. His face was eminent far its masculine beauty. Under the long silken lashes beamed eyes that seemed to have a tinge of Asiatic fire in them. His hair was dark and silken, and fell in thick but short curls around his head; and in the fine proportion of his limbs might be traced the mould, and ( as yet) undeveloped muscle? of a bull- fighter. He was full five feet ten inches high; could box like Cribb, fence like a master- at - arms, and wrestle like a gladiator, he was a cool and steady shot, and an accomplished scholar; but further than this, he was an entire mystery to his companions, who with the exception of Villiers, know nothing of him, save that he was wealthy, free handed, and bold, and pursued pleasure when once he entered into it, with an intensity and a zest, that seemed like the frenzy of passion, or an impulse of insanity. Having recovered himself of the emotion he betrayed when the name of Marone drove the blood from his chceks, he coldly turned to Vincent, and in a voice beautifully modulated 3aid: " What! I am puzzling you eh?" " Upon my soul, these two gentlemen seem to think so," was the reply. " For my part I have some delicious cold brandy here, and I have an immense dislike to all subjects of a mysterious nature. I don't see anything so singular in it,— and yet, he added, fixing his gaze upon the opposite side ofthe box where Passion sat, while grasping his large tum- bler, which he drained perfectly dry, " and yet there is some- thing strange about it too." " About what?" demanded Passion, lifting up his opera- glass to his eye, and carelessly looking towards the end of the room, the body of which was now literally crowded with men thronging in after the theatres. " About what?" " Why this young girl," replied Villers, " who dances the first time so beautifully in the ballet— this Marone,— why I was told by some of the fellows who hang about the theatres, that she was picked up by the ballet master in some very remarkably strange— not to say queer— society." Passion from some reason or other felt his eyeballs burn- ing, he bent his head down, took up his large hock glass and occupied himself with drinking greedily, till the pulsing veins beneath the clear and transparent skin of the face and temples were slightly swollen and as blue as steel,— all this while the student, Agustus Stratford, was watching him un- noticed. " And you say," Brudenal spoke slowly and with a dis- tinct enunciation, " you say that she was picked up among -" " Among a vagabond troop of tumblers and dancers, all thieves and gipsies— I scarcely know what, " replied Villiers." It seems she was seen dancing in thc streets, and Monsieur Brille was struck with her; he spoke to the fellow who ap- peared to be the leader of the troop, and for a sitm of money took her off his hands." " Took her off his hands!" echoed Passion with a singular inflexion in his voice. " Ah! well go 011, it is really quite a romance this history of a street dancer who becomes all at once the first figurante at the opera." And there was such a contemptuous hauteur of tone at the termination of tlie sentence that his companions immediately looked towards him, but his face was calm as ever. " Oh! come now," muttered the stout and ruddy Augus- tus, roused from his usual indolence into admiration;" confess now that you devoured her with your eyes; my good Passion, she appeared to be even struck with your stedfast gaze. She was in truth very beautiful." " I!" ejaculated the young man with a shrug ofthe shoul- ders, as much as to say, " Pray remind me of the circum- stance." " You gazed on her face, as if it had been an enchanted one," pursued Augustus, " Devil take me, if that is not a very fine idea of yours, Gus.:" cried Villiers with a laugh," " that of the enchanted face!" A slight transient blush crossed the smooth cheek of the young man, which was so fair, that but for the dark down upon the upper lip, it might have been taken for a young girl's, but it was quite gone again, and at that moment some bottles of champagne which had been ordered, were put before the revellers. A change had come over him who was called Passion. The extraordinary beauty of his face had undergone a sin- gular transmutation, for such it might be called, while the eyes were restless and slightly bloodshot, from the increased draughts of wine he had taken. There was but one among the young revellers who seemed to give the slightest heed, or even to have noticed the change of Passion's mood, upon the mention'of Marone's name; this was Augustus, but he had the tact of perception, without showing it to others. " Drink!" said Augustus, getting very flushed in the face from eating and consequent thirst; " Drink! it is the only true solvent to all difficulties " " Do you see yonder group?" interrupted Passion, tap- ping Vincent on the shoulder, and glancing through the cur- tains to the far end of the hall, where a number of men were seated together over steaming potations of punch. " What, at the top?" asked Villiers. " Yes," replied Brudenal, " at the top." " Why, yes— Eh! egad!" ejaculated Vincent, " if that burly fellow with the vulgar face, and the small piggish eyes— he with the mosaic watch- chain, is not the very rascal that led the wandering troop about to which this young girl belonged. It strikes me very forcibly that he has washed off the ruffian, and in a good coat is trying to be respectable; doubtless he has made a very good thing by this disposal of Mademoiselle Marone." Augustus Stratford heard all this, even while he was sigh- ing piteously because he could not obtain a pine- apple under a guinea- and- a- half; he listened and heard the whole of this short dialogue, and as he leaned back in the box behind the two speakers, while the exquisite Alfred Claremont was sip- ping his champaigne with a relish, and the air of a connois- seur, the Templer* was further watching the medical stu- dent and Brudenal. The latter, in the meantime, as if to show that his question was one of mere idleness, had lighted a fragrant cigar, and the blue smoke was curling in wreaths round his head, as Villiers was commenting upon the man who had now be- come an object of interest to Passion, none knew wherefore, but Augustus was torturing himself to find it out. " I should say," pursued Vincent, " that he is about as fine a specimen of a scoundrel as one can well desire to see; but he is going away; hey!— what, Passion," he suddenly calld out, turning to him, " you're not going also are you?" he added, as he saw the young man take his hat and prepare to depart— for the leader of the troop, as Vincent intimated, had by this time quitted the room. " Yes," replied he coldly, throwing down a couple of guineas on the table, for their supper had been very costly. " Do you pay for me, Villiers; I remember that I have an en- gagement which I must keep." " You have remembered it at the eleventh hour then, my friend," commented Augustus, as he prepared to stretch liis legs on the seat about to be vacated. Passion stood up and showed a dazzling row of teeth, as with a quiet smile, he as quietly replied: " Just so, one re- members things at the very nick of time occasionally, this is one of those occasions,— good night." " This MaroniS," persisted Augustus, " is becoming posi- tively interesting; pray have you any intention of following that respectable vagabond in order to obtain an introduction to her?" Passion bent his eyes upon him, but they had such a mild and calm expression, that the student with all his pro- found dissimulation was baffled;— and he heard with some surprise these words: " You must acknowledge yourself very much disappointed, and at fault, that you cannot penetrate my motives; for sundry things which may have given you a friendly uneasiness for some time past, must you not? It is melancholy to reflect that all your endeavours have been fruitless?" The flushed and red face of Augustus, became purple with confusion, and it was during his embarrassment, that Passion drew on a loose over- coat, and merely bidding the others " good night," quitted " The Shades." On emerging into the piazzas, he found that but for the few lamps about, tho night was of a pitchy blackness; but catching a glimpse of the man he appeared desirous of keeping in his eye, he strode hastily onward. The darkness we have said was intense, the moon and stars were all muffled, and the streets were deserted and the shops all closed, for it was now one o'clock in the morning, but by the light of the dim lamps he followed the man at a distance, till crossing by Charing Cross, he found himself going towards Westminster Abbey; and in a quarter of an hour afterwards, he, still keeping the stranger in view, was crossing the Broad Sanctuary in the profound shadow of the Abbey towers, and going towards the Almonry. This atrocious spot, then in the zenith of its infamous notoriety, was known to Passion only by rumour; and be was an entire stranger to that neighbourhood which lay to thc north of tho Abbey; but still going on with unabated speed he was soon in Tothill- street; another street called also North Tothill- street, traversed, Pye- street; and though tbe neighbourhood evinced its loneliness, and its miserable condition by the few lamps, and the nauseous smells issuing from the several alleys he passed by, still he followed on till having suddenly missed the man at a turning, he found that he had altogether lost him, and was now completely at fault. lie stood in the narrow street, in the midst of tho intense darkness a moment, and then a feeling cold and chill crept over him, which was not fear; but which was, from its doubt- ful nature, quite as bad. He remembered the evil reputation that was abroad of several parts of Westminster, as being haunts of robbery and murder; and he inwardly reproached himself for his own temerity in having ventured on such an errand. A lamp stood at the corner of the street, and he beheld the figure of a man leaning against a post beneath it. Smiling with contempt at his own weakness, he recalled his courage and coolness, and went up to the individual at once. " Friend," said he, " show me the way to the Abbey will you? I will pay you for it." A most foolish speech to make and a most ridiculous act to perform; but Passion felt that he was in danger, and with that energy peculiar to his nature, he was instantly resolved to dare it to the very utmost. ' ( To be continued in our next.) A gentleman connected with the Indian army returned after an absence of ten years. Immediately on meeting with his father," Jamie," said the old gentleman, " ye've just been out ten years, how muekle ha'e ye made?" " Five hundred thousand pounds," was the reply. " Ye should ha'e stayed ither ten years, and made it a million," OUR ADDRESS. In thus informing our readers, that we " Paul," are in other hands, that is to say, that for a certain sum of money paid to the old proprietor by the present one, we are become the goods and chattels of another; we would add a few words as to what we intend to do for the future— first for the past:— This class of publication has not been considered repu- table. Paul knew this, and he knew also the infamy that had before attached itself to his name. But determined to restore it to its respectability to it will be found that in this series there has been nothing that would not do credit to any public journal professing to aid the public good. And as there was but one motive in view— that of shaming the vicious out of countenance if possible, besides giving material for half an hour's desultory readings— as the " Reformer of the Age," and the friend of the oppressed, we insist that neither the opprobium of the former " Paul," nor that of our present contemporaries, shall touch us. We assert the purity and the honesty of our intentions, and we poiitf out to our past numbers, as evidences of the fact. These journals have been termed libellous. Paul has not, nor ever had, any wish to libel any one; for a libel, as he con ceives it, is a lie, and Paul despises such a proceedure. It is true that under the prestige which was given to our name at the commencement, other journals of a more shameless— of a more profligate and, unprincipled kind were started. We endeavoured more and more to steer clear of them, to be less like them, still they perished in imitating us. Our correspon- dents would inundate us with " advice," would have it in- serted, and consequently a deal of vapid trash has crept in, which otherwise should not have found its way. It is therefore our intention to weed these columns for the future, and to give the reader, with the two continuous stories, a more miscellaneous ass ortment of matter which we trust will please them better. Notorious houses will receive more attention, and, with other nameless places, will obtain a severer castigation. Public abuses, quackery, tricks of trade, & c., will be made known, and every instance of every individual act of infamy on the part of any one will be commented upon as becomes the censor of public morals," the " Reformer of the Age" to do. We are of Cassio's opinion that '• Reputation is the better part of a man," no honest man need therefore fear us. It has been he who has no character to lose however, that has hitherto cried out most lustily, even when not hurt. When we have had a serious evil to expose, we have written of it in tlie most serious manner possible. We have gone in earnest about it. The abuses that exist in society—• the men who by their turpitude entail fresh evils upon it daily— the seducer, the bully, the sharper, the dens, and infamous houses abounding in tho metropalis; have all been dealt with in separate and suitable articles. The materials which constitute our " Advice," and " Wishes to Know" columns, have, while being genuine, been inserted chiefly from their harmless and amusing character. Whenever any malicious intention couid be discovered, the contribution was rejected. We never, from the commencement, intended to be a party to either slander, libel, or abuse, and the few letters we have received from those aggrieved, have ex- pressed annoyance at exposure, rather then being the re- monstrance of injured innocence. Had any one, at any time, shewn to us that a wanton falsehood had been inserted regarding liim or her, it would have been instantly con- tradicted, and the amende honourable made,— justice would have been done by us. Besides, let us add our opinion that a vehicle like this, which purges slanderous or malicious na- ture of its venom, must be beneficial to society at large. In presenting our compliments to our worthy co- laiorateur, tho Morning Chronicle, we beg to inform him, that we ap- preciate his gratuitous complimentary comparison. When he placed the name of our journal in his columns, he placed one there, that has sought to do, and we firmly believe has done, more sound and real good than may have been gathered from his arid and sapless matter for any length of time. It is a pity he did not make himself better acquainted with us. Paul has not lacked for talent in any literary department. His journal, therefore, sold well, and he could afford to pay his contributors well; and consequently, he could offer to his readers matter of a quality and kind that was masculine, undiluted, and of genuine quality. His pages contained neither scurrility or abuse, and for the future, we assure our readers, that what might be unsatisfactory shall be amended, and what was good shall be bettered. Should any one, however, have by chance been really hurt, we can only say, with regret, " I have thrown my arrow o'er the house " And hurt my brother." THE FRAIL SISTERHOOD. P 1 V O IN E. CHAP. III. A MYSTERY. Let us pass on. When the overture was finished, tliey commenced the first act of Picolo. We shall not occupy ourselves with this piece, which, without being a chef- d'eeuvre, surpassed, however, the productions of certain vaudevillistes, waggon- men, literary steam- engines of 120- horse power— manufacturing comedy, melo- drama, the re- view, enchantment and parade; and tho whole in the shortest time, and at the most moderate prices. Fra Diavolo rarely went to the theatre, and for a very weighty reason: so that, in a few minutes, the dramatic in- terest entirely absorbed liim. He was wholly rivetted to the piece, as the different phases passed across the scene; he took a most lively interest in the tragi- comic events, amongst which appeared tlie young Picolo, a virtuous and tender Italian, of the brightest hope. He, therefore, placed the bouquet on the bench behind him; he leant over the ledge of the box, and completely forgot that he was an actor himself in another comedy, whose denoument he was ignorant of, and whose author was unknown to him. Picolo was concludcd. They. commenced the interlude. This interlude, like all those that precede a first representa- tion, was of immeasurable length. As a general rule, on similar occurrences, especially in the small theatres, the public becomes impatient, and displays its discontent by cries of every description, by repeated stamping of the feet, and requently by half- savage vociferations and yells. During the first days that followed the revolution of February, of unhappy memory, the Parisian public had re- placed these demonstrations by a sort of recitation, botli brilliant and monotonous, in which were adjusted these words, cadenced and repeated a hundred times:— " Des lam- pions!— des lam- pions!— des lam- pions!" Now, the public is wrong, fn fact, if it only suspected 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE what was passing behind the curtain during this supreme half- hour which appears so long:—• If they saw the machinists, all covered with sweat and dust, planting with gieat difficulty a new drop- scene, which does not readily answer to the ropes and pullies; and all the unknown preparation, a skeleton of those marvellous sights whose canvas, painted by Sechan, Diaterle, Desplechins, Ciceri, or Devoir, are the animated and brilliant flesh and blood:— If they saw the young beginner hastily rehearsing her part, whose emotion prsduces in her troubled memory a confused pell mell:— The bolder girl adjusting her false curls, and finishing, by a strong application of white- lead and vegetable rouge, the complexion of roses and lilies, which is to inflame the habitues of the pit:— If they saw the half- prepared clown repeating, before the glass, his most effective grimace:— The trembling author, wishing himself at the devil, and endeavouring to inspire the actors in the piece with a courage he does not himself possess:— The director blustering:— The theatrical waiters hastily preparing the letter, the virginal bouquet, the cold fowl, the five- franc piece; all the accessories, in fact, of a farce or a drama, well planned:—• If the public, we say, saw, divined, all this, they would do an act of generosity in resigning themselves in a discreet manner to a few minutes' suspense. But the public, like a surfeited sultan, neither sees nor divines anything; they stamp, they get angry— and in this, we repeat, they are wrong. The interlude, however, finished, they played an apology for an overture, which some practised amateurs declared to be that of the opera of the Jeune Henri, and the curtain rose for the first act of Madelinette, or the Grisette of the Latin Quartier. The loud acclamations of the theatre died away by de- grees, and the attention of Fra Diavolo redoubled. Here we must say a few words as to the mise en scene. The theatre represents a student's chamber, in a mode- rately- furnished hotel of the Rue Saint Jacques. In the middle of this chamber is a table covered with the requisites for a carnival supper. A boatman's costume is displayed on a chair, by the side of a Pierrot coat. In the background, an alcove, closed, the panels of which are pierced with two loopholes or bull's- eyes. The master of the lodging, and one of his friends,— both young— both students— rich in that gay misery which made Beranger write— " At twenty, we can find joy in a garret,"— are exchanging merry sayings, and rejoicing beforehand in the pleasures of an outrageous ball- night. The Prado calls them, but they will not go alone. The table, quite ready, awaits four guests. Bosine is to come, and with her the pearl of the Latin Quartier, Madelinette, with the azure eyes, ebony hair, and golden heart. Arthur, one of the students, is of course in love with the pretty girl, in honour of whom he sings a long couplet, to a well- known air,— Madelinette, Candid coquette, At every step a lover does enthral; Each demands A little alms; Bnt at this she laughs, and gives me all. Ah! poor fools, search, search the town,— Look round and seek her, you may be right 1! The queens of Mobile are your own, And with them you may pass the night: For my grisette, Madelinette, Is mine alone, and wholly mine! Enchantress! Oh! my mistress, Thou art mine; and so, Victoria, is England thine! This is very inferior, bat our duty as an impartial narra- tor obliges us to admit that the public applauded; except, however, be it understood, the friends of the author, placed in the box contiguous to that of Fra Diavolo, and who reeal the public to order by repeated cries of silence! Now, the artist, subjugated by the new coats of his neighbours, and the voluptuous toilette of their companions, thinks it good taste to express a certain disapprobation, and permits him- self a significant faugh ! The scene, however, proceeds. A sweet and vibrating voice sings the popular verse— " Messieurs the students Visit the Chaumiere." The door opens, not without noise, and two pretty girls make their entrance on the scene. One of them is Bosine, a handsome blonde, with strongly, prominent charms, and a most bewitching manner. The other is Madelinette, or, to speak plainer, the debutante Pivoine. It is impossible to behold a woman, if not handsomer, at least more charming than this latter. Figure to yourself the perfect realisation of this adorable type created by Gavarni. A middling heighth, fine, supple, arched, with a bust of rounded lines, and pliable limbs which only seem to be at their ease under the velvet pantaloon of the opera boat- man. A face, fresh and blooming as the peach; a small and laughing mouth, with lips as red as the pomegranate, dis- playing almost unceasingly their little teeth as white as milk. Under a pure and youthful forehead, large blue eyes, at one moment almost timid— at another, shading their deep azure with a cloud of desires and of voluptuousness. Black hair of prodigious luxuriancy, whose long and silky bands are twined four times, like velvet serpents, round the charm- ing head, which they crown with a glorious diadem. Hands and feet of a sufficient neatness,- and of chaste form. With all this, the coquettish costume of the acknowledged grisette, such as we see at the theatre in all vaudevilles,— that is, a silk robe of marvellous indiscretion, a little know- ing apron, and a large shawl which does not repose on the shoulders. Such was Pivoinc at the moment of her entrance on the sceiie. All the young men in the theatre applaud. More than one woman makes a grimace, and pinches her lover. Fra Diavolo, dazzled, devours the actress with all his eyes, and his head is half turned, when he finds that the re- gard of the young girl is fixed upon him for a moment with an intention evidently benevolent. Interrupted for a mo- ment hy the bravos addressed to Pivoine, the piece resumes its course. Madclinette seizes a pretext to recount her his- tory to the public. She was born at Marseilles. Her father was a rich trades- man. Ruined by the infamous abuse of confidence of a partner who has disappeared, carrying away the whole of his fortune, he died of grief. ' To be continued in our next.) PAUL ADVISES Miss G— r, of a certain public house, not a mile from Store- street, Tottenham- court- road, not to boast of her at- tentions to her master, nor, by her conduct, bring the grey hairs of her father with sorrow to the grave, whose respecta- bility is well known. Jem W— d, of Robert- street, Chelsea, the knowing double bass player, to shave off those nasty carotty whiskers, and not make quite such a fool of himself. A. P— e, the bald- pated debt collector of Pelham- road. to use his wife a little better, and leave off his cadging tricks. J— s, the conceited warehouse- boy, at the pawnbroker's in the Dover- road, not to be so proud of his nobby head of hair. Miss S. B—, of South street, to stay at home and not go after a married man with nine children. The two old maids Misses B— s, the artificial flower makers of Hatton- garden, not to treat the girls so unkind, and to remember what they were themselves. Mr. B— e, late of Patriot- square, Cambridge- road, not to allow his daughter to use so much rouge; nor to fancy them- selves lady- like; nor his sons to come out of doors, until they have totally abolished their apparent Newgate- cropped heads of hair. J— h B— n, alias the Spanish Jack- ass, to give his wife more money, instead of spending it at public- houses; then she would not be obliged to goto the slaughter- house and scrape trotters. The coffee- sliop man of Union- place, New- road, St. Mary- lebone, not to use foul language when closing his shop. Mr. G— r, alias the Sneaking Waterman, of Lower Queen- street, Rotherhithe, to mind his own business, and not to make himself such an hypocrite. Mrs. H— d, of Tavistock- terrace, to keep her daughter from a certain house in Finsbury, as we know it is of a very questionable character. The pretty girls at the establishment of Miss B— s, artificial flower- maker, Hation- garden, not to cast their bright eyes on Mr. Paternoster, of Leather- lane, so much, or he will be running away with s ime of your hearts. _ J. B— n, cutler, King's Head- court, Shoe- lane, not to thing so much of the book folder, but to pay more attention to the flower maker, whom he has imposed upon so much. J— n C— k, alias Nobby, the stage- struck turnover, of Clerkenwell, not to be so fond of calling people dirty, because he cannot brag of being over clean himself. Paul thinks he could find something better to do than playing on the roof, every evening with a lot oflittle boys. J— s W r, working in Took's- court, Cursitor- street, not to be so fond of visiting his friends at meal times, particularly dinner time; remember those you visit are working people, and have quite enough to do to find food for themselves, without feeding your ravenous appetite. J— n P— n, confectioner and baker, of Green- street, Leicester- square, to be more attentive to his own business, instead of scandalising a respectable widow left with a large family. Miss E. W— d, at F— ys, linendraper, Wansworth, not to be talking to so many young men at her masters back- gate, and mind what you are at with that conceited ass, S— r. Miss E. R—, of Albany road, to stay at home, and mend her stockings, it would more to her credit than to be hopping about with that baker's boy every evening. Mr. B— y, London- house, High- street, Wandsworth, to keep a civil tongue in his head, and not talk quite so much about his neighbours. C. T-- r, alias Bohls, and J. P— y, of York- street, Rotherhithe, not to be seen going down Albion- street, on Sunday nights, arm and arm; it looks disgraceful for two children. The Misses G— s, ofa baker's shop, near New Bermondsey church, not to lurk about Tooley- street, every night after KENT. W. C. the heavy swell of Edge- row, Woolwich, not to imagine his insinuating manners will win every girl in the Town. H— g, the journeyman mason of Greenwich, not to tell fibs. Does he know anything of a girl, and a shirt in the Market- place, Woolwich? M. alias bilious Billy, of Peltou- street, Greenwich, to rise earlier in the morning. Have you got a little back room, an easy chair, Stiles, Oh, fie billy bilious ? Mrs, K— r, and Mrs. H— t, of London- street, Greenwich, to try the juniper berry in its pure and unadulterated state, and settle a long standing bet, as to who can take the most. The housemaid at Mr. P. E— s, of Beckenham, not to listen to the soft whisperings of the burley coachman, in the village, or she may have to repent it. The cook and housemaid at the groccr's in High- street, Deptford, to mend the holes in her stockings, and turn up her nose at the policeman, for he's a married man. Miss C— p, of Windmill- street, Gravesend, to give her false swain noticc to quit, as his affections are engaged by a small servant. W. L— t, the conceited barber of East Grinstead, not to make such a dreadful noise with that shilling fiddle to the annoyance of" his neighbours. Master B— s, not to strut so much about the Town- pier, or he will hurt his spindle shanks. Mr. L— b, of the Town- pier, to go home sober and leave off that natural bray of his which completely sets the whole town in an uproar. B— n, of Bromley to understand the difference between meum and tiem. How about the " Lady- in- Black?" The little bow- legged groom of Bromley- lodge, not to write to a certain young woman in town, and fancy he has dome wonders, nor to smother himself in his master's boots and coat. SURREY. Miss A— s, of Common side, Mitcliara, not to fret after that ninth part of a, man. Such a pretty girl, Rose, cannot be long disengaged. L. W— d, of Lower Mitcham, not to be so fickle but to stick to the young bung from Merton. Miss J— s, of Upper Mitcham, not to imagine, for one moment, that the coachmaker's son is in love with her, nor to wear seven petticoats from fear of catching cold. The flash greengrocer of Richmond, not to escort a young woman over the bridge every night, and stav with her till 5 o'clock in the morning. Mr. T— k, of the Queen Victoria, not to look so spiteful at her husband's customers or she will turn all the beer sour. BERKSHIRE. Mr. 0. of Maidenhead, to pay his debts and not think so much of himself ; also the loving spouse of the aforesaid not to blush so much— what is it caused by? The pot- boy of the New Inn, Windsor, not to loll about with his hands in his pockets, and think every girl in Wind- sor is in love with him. The Windsor wenches think no dir of themselves. A tailor and greengrocer of Eton, not to boast ol cheating porter's wives out of sovereigns. Look out, cabbage. BUCKINGHAMSHIRE. B. B— n, of Burnham, not to walk the lanes so much with a certain young lady— look out, my codger, or 2s. 6d. per week will be levied upon you. DERBY. The servant- maid at Mr. C— t's Iron- gate, Derby, not to be seen talking to a variety of young men, or her " young man " will be very angry. MIDDLESEX. R. G— the would- be gentleman- farmer, to remember he is only a regular out- and- out clodhopping one. G. E— r, the tailor's son, of Teddington, to work for his living. Don't sponge on your old man's cupboard, George. W. D— r, fisherman of Teddington, to think more of his dear home, and less of the fat pot- girl ofthe Royal Oak, or some one else may hear of it, and there'll be a regular rumpus with the married butcher of Teddington. ESSEX. Mrs. S— s, of Woodford, to mind her own business, and look after her own children. Miss S. J— n, of Honchurch, not to think that every one of the young men in her neighbourhood are madly in love with her. Pull off your black cap, miss, and look somewhat, smarter ere you expect to catch them all. S. B t, the farmer's son, to learn to read and write ere he attempts to obtain the post- office; and don't scandalizc your neighbours. NORWICH. A certain wool- sorter of St. Edmund's, not to puff himself up with pride whilst walking up and down the street, or we may expect a dreadful catastrophe to take place, and you'll certainly burst, Little Jack, of the 16th Lancers, to dry the tears of the servant maid, who is continually crying in the back kitchen. j, j— g, near St. Augustine's Gate, not to boast so much of where he lives; nor tell people that the girl he patronises has a large property. The servant maid in the Close not to look after the soldiers so much when they go to church on Sunday. The well- known fop, T. B— s, the pigmy painter, not to frequent the Walk so much. How about the clean face? SWANSEA. J. S— s, at Mr. J. J— s, London house, not to be so sharp and knowing, or we shall have to give him some advice very shortly. Miss C— k, of the pastry- cook shop, Castlj- square, had much better mind her own business, than make mischief and slander innocent persons. We know where you go to every Sunday night. Mr. R— s, the Tea- pot, had better leave off smoking his meerschaum pipe through. the streets so often, otherwise he will be indicted for a nuisance. J. J— s, painter, Strand, not to make such fuss about Paul Pry, and say that he will give twenty pounds to know if any person dares to pnt him in it, Wc do not think that he has twenty pence, without he pawns his kid gloves, or his new gaiters he bought the other day. G. J— s, tinker at Mr. S. C— y, Castle- square, to be more particular when he goes promenading on the Burrowes, and not tell the strangers that he meets there, that he is the son of Sir Hussy Vivian; because that stranger was nearly re - lated to Paul Pry, so he knew what a fib he was telling. Miss H— n, of Back- street, to take down the flag of distress from her bonnet, as it does not seem to attract the attention of any higher personages than that nice young widower's waxey doodle, the Good- street fiddler. Paul thinks him no great catch for a veiled lady, what think you Mary Ann? The Misses B—' s, of the baths, not to imagine they are beautiful, for goddesses seldom purchase 2s. 2d. veils to hide their faces with. Eacherbod John, of Bethesd- street, not to profess love for all the cooks in Swansea. You know its only cupboard love, John. The landlord, of Gower- street, not to turn the snug corner of Jacob, where the ladies are ever ready to give him a warm reception. BRIGHTON. F. II— d, of Edward- street, to attend to the sale of calves'- heads, a little more, or he'll have to lose his trotters in a short time. The flying tailor, of High- street, to clip his wings and look to his domestic concerns. The wise man may make a fool of a member of his family. R. W— d, of Edward- street, to join the tee- totalers, instead of going to the corner so often. A certain tailor, visitor at the same place, to buy tobacco, and not imagine other people's as pro bono publico. Mr. R. C— s, to pay more attention to business and less to racing. You would do a great deal better in your oven than on the turf That abominable donkey, brother of the above, to consider his ways and be wise, or he may get his long ears cropped. Every person in Brighton to look out, as we are about divulging secrets of the most important description. Miss T— r, not far from the New Church, to stop at home and turn the maternal mangle. Late walks on the beach are not at all becoming. GLASGOW. M— m M'K— y, junior clerk in M— 1 M— r and O— e, Queen- street, not to fancy all the girls in Stockwell- street are in love with him because he is a teetotaller, and to go home a little sooner at night, or Paul will tell mammy my boy. PAUL WISHES TO KNOW What Me. 1 srs. T— s and P— k H— n, of Carlton- grove, New Peckham, will do for Church sittings, now their friends the P— ns', late of St. James'- place, New- cross, have left that neighbourhood? If it is true that M— t W;— t, of the baker's shop, in Powell- street, Gosweli- road, lias ever been sober since the flare- up with the parson? Whether the noted Baptist, of Merton, knows what truth is? Do you recollect being ducked in the wash- tub, old boy? If G. L— y, of Hampton Wick, has been brought home intoxicated since lie married his Portuguese lady, and whether she intends. paying his debts. Why J. S— t, of PooleS, Dorsetshire, went back to play tbe organ when the Misses B— s went there. How that Pottery gent became proprietor. 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE LETTER- BAG. PAUL'S SCHEME FOR RESOLVING ALL FINAN- CIAL DIFFICULTIES OF THE STATE. To Lord John R ussel. Mv LORD,— As I am pained to see you so often in a fix, and as I am tho " friend of man " in general, as also your position is very unenviable; and as you are in addition buffetted and beaten on both sides; doing a great deal of work, which men do not hesitate to call by various ill names,— I therefore, taking your case into consideration, venture to offer you the following suggestions, which you are at liberty to accept or reject — In order to meet the difficulty of paying pensions— to obviate the necessity of reducing salaries— or the abolition of snug sinecures, which are most useful things in their way to the younger sons of the snob- ocracy— also to lend you a hand out of your Irish difficulties, and to put money into your purse, that is to say, to keep the exchequer at full flood, nnd thus send the chancellor into a continuous flow of " Californian " ecstasies; which will reciprocate itself to all the long faces that are at present around you.— In the Income tax which 1 call " out- gone" from my pocket, Sir Robert has come pretty nigh the mark, but he has not gone the whole hog; he has left an infinity of precious matter untouched, and I am by no means sure that if it were still left for him to discover, whether he, or any as long- headed would come out " strong, and jol- y."— Queen Bess was wont to make processions, and heavily mulct all towns and places she passed through, by making them pay her expenses; a clever dodge for keeping her crockery and trenchers at home— clean— for every penny saved is a penny gained; nothing like generalizing— nothing like making everybody feel the same grasp— what's the odds if they grumblo, you will have the Iron Duke to back you, so go ahead— I propose that you should take from—( begin at one town, or city first— say London) every landlord in London, then, and for three miles round the city, one year's sent I for every house he or she possesses ! I Give general orders that no man, on pain of— whatever you like— shall pay rent for four quarters to any body but the tax- gatherer! Now set your cl . ^ er statisticians to work to calculate what sum this would amount to, and, if you can measure whether the cellars of the Bank would hold the mighty tide of wealth that, by a little bit of slight of hand, would come to the State in one short twelvemonth. I'm no landlord, but what of that— I rent a shop, and I would as soon pay the tax- gatherer the rent, as I would to the old chap who makes me fork it out every week. I have no doubt that the will of ten tenants, aro equal to the grumblings of one landlord; and just for the fun of the thing, they would like to try it. Thus, instead of taking your paltry forty or fifty pounds from every house in the course of a year— you will take your couple or three hundred! Is not this better, than biting your nails, and like a rat in an iron trap, vainly look for a way of escape? When there is a Gordian knot to unravel; be assurred that the only way for you is— to ' cut it.' Tours, sub.- rosa, PAUL PRY. THINGS THAT MAKE US LAUGH IN POOLE:— Miss Sal W— s, trying to kiss Long Joe in the High- st. Jerry IC—' s wig. Jack E— n, says that he would not lower himself to fight with a common hostler chap. But if it had been his friend F— e, or F.' s son Tom, he would have had a round. Mary M— r, giving Tom F— c, the sack. Mr. B. J— s's, Alberteen chain. P. B— s's. long nose, he had better take care and not get it pulted again. Tailor S— e's country seat and pleasure yacht. - n, Esq., attended SWANSEA. FASHIONABLE MOVEMENTS.— B— R M St. Mary's on Sunday last. On Monday last, Lady M— e drove out in her carriage. On Tuesday, T— y P— y, Esq., drove out to his coun- try scat in a carriage and pair. On Wednesday, R— t M— e and his sister took their usual equestrian exercise. On Thursday, Lady M— e took an airing in her car- riage, accompanied by her daughter, and son- in- law, E— d I— s, Esq. Paul congratulates the inhabitants of Union- street, Dept- ford, on the removal of that piano nuisance from No. 8. It is to be raffled for at the ensuing fair, thirty members at a penny a head. The present owner. Miss D— s, and her companion, beg to intimate that on the occasion they are to sing aduet Io L'Udia, for a leg of mutton. drunken man?— Because it Why is an adjective like a can't stand alone. WARM, WARMER, WARMEST;— A house with a wife is often warm enough; a house with a wife and her mother is rather warmer than any spot on the known globe; a house with two mothers- in- law i3 so excessively hot, that it can be likened to no place on earth at all; but one must go lower for a simile. What animal would you like to be on a very cold day ?— A little otter. D. E. B. T. are the initials of '• Dun Every Body Twice." C. R. E. D. I. T. are the initial letters of " Call Regularly Every Day— I'll Trust." " Hold your tongue for a fool," was the polite recom - mendation of an Irish husband. " Sure then you're going to spake yourself" was the equally polite reply of the wife. THEATRICALS. We are unavoidably compelled to omit all notices week. this To Paul Pry, Esq. GROSS INSULT TO THE AYHOLE BODY OF DISSENTERS. DEAR SIR,— Being present last Sunday at the ceremony of christening, at a Church in Bethnal- green, a scene oc- curred which bad I not been present, though no friend to the Church, I do not think that I should have credited it; viz: — while there, a poor person, looking very dejected, and decidedly not fed on the fat of the land, very poorly clad though clean, and apparently the wife of some industrious artisan, who no doubt like thousands of others has a great difficulty in gaining his daily bread, and what portion he does gain, divided between a family, leaves bnt a small pit- tance for each; but I am afraid, dear Paul, that if I go on moralising thus you will get weary and perhaps reject this communication, which I confess I should most heartily re- gret, I will therefore continue my true tale:— This poor woman, who was alone, requested in the mildest accents to know if the curate would be kind enough to baptize her child. " How old is it?" he doggedly asked. " About twelve months," was this poor woman's answer. This rev. father in God, this ought- to- be paragon of virtue, this up- holder of Christian morality and forbearance, began a volley of what . I should deem abuse, terming her a brute and a heathen for not bringing lier child sooner, bringing it up like a dog— why did she noUcome before? Which was answered meekly by the poor woman ( who appeared to be quite frightened and ashamed, as this was before about twenty or thirty persons,) that she had been ill a long time, but that she had been to Chapel; " chapel!" with a pause, roared out this reverend father in God, " Chapel!— you might as well have gone to a sweep 1" Now, Dear Paul, I should like to know if such barbarous, uncultivated, brutish, and cannibal- like conduct, which savours very little of Christ— has a tendency to strengthen the bonds and harmony of religion. With thanks for your kind attention, believe me to be yours sincerely, VERITAS. To Paul Pry, Esq. CORRESPONDENCE. Every letter for the future, containing advice, must be ac- companied by six postage DEAR PAUL,— In my wanderings about Charing- cross I have often seen a woman having the appearance of a ser- vant, standing at the corner of Northumberland House, talking to the cadgers and omnibus- men that infest the neighbourhood. There she stands with a market- basket on her arm, half intoxicated, abusing every respectable person who passes. Why does not the policeman interfere?— Be- cause occasionally he takes his drop of gin with her. After wasting away an hour in abuse, & c., she proceeds to Hun- gerford Market; here again she is in her glory, for she is well known to all the butchers and geengrocers in the place; among the rest there is one very green grocer, who treats her at tbe " Pine Apple" to more drink; she then manages to toddle home This woman is servant to a lodging- house keeper. Surely this is not the sort of woman to ha e in such a place. Three or four children call her mother, poor things, we jrity them to have such a mother, and pity them more for they know not who to call father. I trust Dear Paul, if she does not reform, you will expose her fully, giving her real name and address, which I enclose in confidence. ****** Paul kesps a secret well, or I'm deceived t Pit all iW « » )• « f « « Mfiy balWvfiii G. S.— DISSIPATION is finished. Our tale of MARONE, OR THG WINE OP LOVE, will out- rival everything of the kind ever published. I. 0. U.— Most happy to hear from you. A VICTIM, ( Clarendon- square).— Commence as soon as possi- ble, spooney? Why not attach your right name to your note; is it that you are ashamed of it? We know who you are, and shall in the course of a week give you a severe poke up. E. T.— Send us the full particulars with the parties' names, and we will inquire into the affair, and if we find it correct will expose the nuisance. JENNY LIND.— If your letter lias not appeared, we have not received it. HARRT N.— We do not pretend to say that every letter sent us will be inserted. We make a rule to select those which appear to us to be the most likely to do good to the per- sons advised. EMMA, ( Wandsworth).— Send us your address in confidence, and we will correspond with you on the matter. Your advice shall bo attended to. *„* We have received a letter signed Julia Fortesque, but are convinced from its contents that it was never penned by that lady. Its vulgarity can only be equalled by its bad English. H. B., ( Poole).— Would you send us the name of the party in your locality, who would become the agent for our Journal? Your communication in our next. J. H., ( Hull).— We shall be happy to hear from you again, your last letter was really too severe. Our aim is merely to give a gentle bint, trusting our advice will be acted upon. BILLY NUTTS.— Moffatt's Circus is not in London, and if we learn where it is situated, we will let you know in our next. Quite charming, thank you. Y. Z. ( Swansea).— Every appointed agent is authorized to receive communications for us. A MINUTE OBSERVER, ( Plymouth).— The whole of the Nos. arc in print, and can be had to order. A. Z., ( Leeds).— Send us your notices, but let them be di- vested of malice. VINEGAR, ( Brighton).— Most happy to hear from you again and again, but we beg of you to be as pithy and as witty as possible, and set down naught in malice. DIOGENES, ( Swansea).— We thank you for your letter. Such scraps as you have sent us are worth a thousand spiteful letters, which we are compelled out of common politeness to wade through. JOE BANKS, ( Maidenhead).— Much obliged for your good wishes. We publish every Wednesday morning, and if you get it tbe same day, we think you should be satisfied. TIMKS.— In reference to the lato attrocious assault on the person of Her Most Gracious Majesty. The individual who first laid hands on the ruffian who discharged a full half- penny- worth of powder at the Queen— was the veri- table " PAUL PRY" himself, and not that extremely un- obstrusive person, " The Man in the Brown Coat;" and in order to dispel any little misapprehension on the subject, it may be as well to mention that Paul did not observe any " respectable stockbroker" in his immediate neighbourhood clothed in any such garment: indeed, the only person he saw just at hand, at that particular moment, was a little, pale, herring- faced gentleman with bandy legs; but most certainly there was nothing the least brown upon his back, whatever there might been on any other part of his person; besides he was obviously in too great a funk himself, to attempt the capture of an assassin! No! nol reader, depend upon it, the individual who really and actually * ei « > d the miscreant WAS PAHI bim « elf And not Bincka the itorkbrol< ef. RUSP.— Send us your third article. Most happy to receive it, though sorry to hear of your indisposition. Miss B— s, ( Dartford).— Your note shall be attended to. VERITAS, ( Brighton).— Our arrangements preclude the possi- bility of attending to more than one, and then only under certain restrictions, as our paper will in future be more de- voted to exposing aid attempting the abolishment of public abuses. BOOKS RECEIVED. Truth. A Fiction. Bv John Ryan, Th. Cr. Era., Walk News. Jobber. Extraor. Crem. Grds. TRY ERE YOU DISPAIR.~ HOLLOWAYS.- PILI, S. CUKE or ASTHMA.— Extract of a letter fron Mr. Benjamin Maekie a respectable Quaker, dated Creenagli, near Loughall, Ireland dated September 11th, 1848.— To Professor Hollowav.— Respected Friend: Thy excellent. Pills have effectually cured me " of an Asthma which afflicted me for three years to such an extent, that I was obliged to walk my room at night for air, afraid of being suffocated if I went to bed by cough and phlegm. Besides taking the Pills, I nibbed plenty of thy Ointment into my chest night aud morning ( Signed) BENJAMIN MACKIE CURE OF TYI- HUS FEVER, WHEN SUPPOSED TO BE AT THE POINT OP DEATH.— A respectable female in the neighbourhood of Loughall was attacked with Typhus Fever, and lay for five days without having tasted any description of food. She was given over by tlie Surgeon, and preparations were made for her demise. Mr. Benjamin Mackie, the Quaker, whose case is referred to above, heard ofthe circumstance, and knowing the immense benefit that he himself had derived from Holloway'sPills, recommended an immediate trial and eight were given to her, and the same number were continued night and morning for three days, and in a very short time she was com- pletely cured. N. B.- From advice just received. it appears that Colonel Dear who is with his Regimsut in India, the 21st Fusileers, cured himself of a very bad attack of Fever by these celebrated Pills. There is no doubt that any Fever, however malignant, may be cured by taking night and morning, copious doses of this line medicine. The patient should be induced to drink plentifully of warm linseed tea or barley water. CURE OF DROPSY IN THE CHEST.— Extract of a letter from J S Monday Esq., dated Kennington, near Oxford, December 2nd, 1848 — To PROFESSOR HOLLOW AY.— Sir,— My Shepherd for some time was afflicted with water on the chest, when I heard of it, I immediately advised him to try your Pills, which he did, and was perfectly cured aud is now as well us ever he was in his life. As I myself received so astonishing a cure last year from your Pills and Ointment, it has ever since been my most earnest endeavour to make known their excellent qualities. ( Signed) j. s. MONDAY THE EARL OF ALDBOBOUGH CURED OF A LIVER AND STOMACH COM- PLAINT.— Extract of a letter from his lordship, dated Villa Messinn Leghorn, 21st February, 1845.— To PBOFESSOB HOLLOWAY.— Sir — Various circumstances prevented the possibility of my thanking you before this time for your politeness iu sending me your Pills as you did, I now take this opportunity of sending you nil order for the amount, and at the same time, to add that your Pills have effected a cure of a disorder in my Liver and Stomach, which all the most eminent of the Faculty at home, and all over the Continent, had not been able to effect; nay, not even the waters of Carlsbad and Mn- rienbad. I wish to have another box and a pofc of the Ointment in case any of my family should ever require either. Your most obliged and obedient servant. ( Signed) ALDBOROCIGII CORE OF A DEBILITATED CONSTITUTION.— Mr. Mate, a Storekeeper of Gundagai, New South Wales, had been for some time in a most delicate state of health, his constitution was so debiliated that liis death was shortly looked upon by himself and friends as certain • but as a forlorn hope, he was induced to try Holloway's Pills, which had au immediate and surprising effect upon his system, and the result was to restore him in a few weeks to perfect health and strength, to the surprise of all who knew him. He considered his case so extraordinary that he, in gratitude sent it for publication to the Sydney Morning Herald, in which paper it appeared on the' 2nd January, 1848. A few doses of the Pills will quickly rallv the energies of both body and mind, when other medicines have failed. These celebrated Pills are Wonderfully efficacious in the following complaints. Ague Asthma Bilious Com- plaints Blotches on the skin Bowel Com- plaints ' Colics Constipation of the Bowels Drospsy Dysentery Erysipelas Female Irreg- ularities Fevers of all kinds Fits Gout Head- ache Indigestion Consumption Inflammation Janudice Liver Complaints Lumbago Piles Rheumatism Retention of Urine Scroful a, or King's Worms of all kinds Sore- throats Stone and Gravel Secondary Symp. toms Tic- Douloureux Tumors Ulcers Veneral Affec- tions Evil Debility Weakness from . Sourvy whatever cause Sold at the Establishment of PROFESSOR IIOIXOWAY, 244, Strand, ( near Temple Bar,) London, and by most all respectable Druggists,' and Dealers in Medicines throughout the civilized World, at the following prices:— Is. lid., 2s. 9d., 4s. Od., lis., 22s., 33s. cach Box. There is a considerable saving by taking the larger sizes. N. B.— Directions for the guidance of Patients iu every Disorder are affxed to each Box. EXTRAORDINARY SUCCESS OF THE NEW REMEDY — UPWARDS OF 17,000 CURES WITHOUT A SINGLE FAILURE. T~\ R. WALTER DE ROSS, l, Ely- place, Holborn- liill, London U earnestly invites every one suffering from those dangerous dis- eases arising from Solitary Habits, Excesses, and Infection iu all their stages and varieties, which from improper treatment so frequently end in Skin Ernptions, Gravel, Inflammation of Kidneys Pains in the Back and Loins, Stone in the Bladder, and ultimately DEATH 1— to avail themselves without delay of his important dis- coveries, by which he is now enabled to treat with the utmost cer- tainty of cure every stage and variety of this calamitous class of dis- eases. It is a distressing fact that Secondary Symptoms, which is a species of lingering DEATH, are too frequently the result ofthe old method of treatment; but, thanks to science, he is now, after 22 years of study and experience, in possession of a remedy'by which he guarantees a perfect and lasting cure. This fact has already- been manifested in upwards of 17,000 cases ; and as a stronger as- surance he undertakes to enre, without hindrance to business, the most inveterate ease in comparatively few days, or RETURN the MOMEY. All those deemed INCURABLE are particularly invited. Country patients will be minute in the detail oftheir eases as that will render a personal visit unnecessary.— Advice, with medicines, £ 1. Patients corresponded with till cured. Hours, 10 till I, and 4 till 8 ; Sundays, 10 till 1.— Post Office Orders payable to Dr. Walter de Boos, M. R. C. S., 1, ELY- PLACE, HOLBORN- HILL, LONDON. Read Dr. de Roos' Celebrated Work. Just published, 64th Thousand, 144 pages, Illustrated with numerous Coloured Engravings, iu a sealed envelope, from the Author, in English or French, 2s., or free by post for 32 Stamps. THE MEDICAL ADVISER. An Essay on the Obligations ot Marriage; the Treatment and Curo of all those Secret Disorders arising from early Excesses and Infections, with plain directions for the removal of every disqualification. This work is indeed a boon to the public, as it has the two- fold -— tage of plainness and being writteu by a duly qualified man, ridently understands his subject."— Daily Times. advantaj who ev The following are our appointed Agents:— London: W. COLE, Bedford- street, Oxford- street, Mile End— Deptford: F. L. LYONS, 8, Broadway.— Greenwich : H. HIM. Q Market- place.— Bristol: COOK, Sims- place.— Manchester • HEY- WOOD, Oldham street.— Leeds : A. MANN.— Glasgow: W. LOVE Nelson- street.— Derby: BROOKES, St. Alkmunirs- cliurcliyard — Leicester: BILLSON, Bellgrave- gate.— Beverley: WARD, Butcher- 1- ow.— Banbury : BUNTON, Cherwell- street.- Sheffield: ROGERS, Fruit- market.— Brighton: 1' OUBLE, 57, Edward- street.— Newcastle- on-' l'yne: IRAXCKSC ( Jo., 8, Side.— Bradford, Yorkshire: W. COOKE, Vicar- lane. Printed and Published by the Proprietor, G. JOBHSTONE, 12, Russell court, Brydges- street, Strand.
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