NO. 6. j { TOCON^ ln'VClra Wra7PBER, CF0MSOF ^ OSFFREE!^. ' D" ™ | PUBLISHED WEEKLY. [ PRICE ONE PENNY. Parts i., II., and III., are now ready. Each purl will be sent direct, on receipt of Is Postage Stamps. For remote parts, Single Copies may be sent direct from the Office, for Two Postage Stamps. TALES OE THE TOWI. MRS. LORIMER SPINKS; OK, THE MARRIED LADY THAT WAS A LITTLE TOO GAY. CHAPTER VI. MOKE ADVENTURES FOR MRS. SPINKS— THE ESCAPE OYER THE HOUSE- TOPS. We left Mrs. Spinks, in our last chapter, in a most perilous position; for, although she had secreted Edward Gascoigne, her lover, behind the bed- curtains, the light of the moon, as it streamed through the window, threatened every moment to expose him to her husband's view. Thrusting the dagger which she had wrenched from his hand beneath the bed- clothes, she endea- voured to place herself in such a position as to conceal the fulness of the bed- curtains. " You are in the dark,'' was the first observation of Spinks. " What made you put the candle out ? I nearly spilled the brandy- and- water." " It went out by accident," answered his wife tremulously. " Go down and get a light directly, for I feel as if I should faint." " Taste the brandy- and- water, my dear," was the quick re- joinder of the doting husband, " and I will get a light in an instant, for I have not to go down- stairs again, having some lucifers in my wa'stcoat- pocket." As Spinks uttered these words he handed to her the drink, and was about procuring a light, when his wife, with a rapidity of thought peculiar to the female mind when in difficulty, per- ceiving that she must be discovered if a light was then obtained, exclaimed— " Give me the matches, I will get a light while you go down to the kitchen and fetch the tin stomach- warmer; and if you'll fill it for me, Lorimer, with hot water, I shall be thankful, for now I am certain that it is the spasms, and hot water, you know, is the only thing that relieves me." To bear was but to obey, and Spinks left the room as desired. The next instant the misguided woman withdrew the curtain, and seizing Gascoigne before ho could utter a sentence, almost dragged him to the door. " Not a second must be lost," she exclaimed: " you must in- stantly leave this room, and if you are quick, you will have time to reach your own apartment." " Foolish woman!" was the response ; " rather conceal me ( or a few moments in yonder closet, and then send this old driveller away upon some excuse— he is certain to obey you— and thus we shall not lose an opportunity that may never again present itself." The lustful, selfish profligacy of her companion now appeared before her in its most odious light, and, contrasted with the kind- ness of her husband, and tho abuse cast upon him by her would- be paramour, caused her to shrink from him, and to shudder, as she ejaculated— " This must not, shall not be ; leave me instantly; for sooner than act as you desire, even should my husband return and find you here, I would " " Discover all," answered Gascoigne. " And your children—" " No, sir," interrupted Mrs. Spiriks rapidly, " I guess what you, would say; my children should not upbraid their mother withher shame;" as she spoke she advanced to the bed. " What would you then do?" inquired Gascoigne, alarmed at her manner. " Behold !" was the reply, and the long steel blade of the dag- ger glittered in the light of the moon. " Give me back that weapon," said Gascoigne; " why, foolish woman, did you take it from me when your husband came into the room ?" " That I might then, as I will now, perish, rather than my children shall learn my infamy." " Give me the dagger," exclaimed Gascoigne, more than ever alarmed at tho violence of her manner. " Quit the room," was the rapid reply, at the same moment she opened the door of the apartment. " It is too late; there are voices in the next room." " Impossible— she is alone woman." " Listen, it is the voice of a man ; I shall be discovered." " No matter; manage the best way youcan," and with a violent effort Mrs. Spinks thrust Gascoigne from the room, and then fell senseless upon the bed. Her companion hastened down the staircase, and reached his apartment on the ground floor, as he heard the footsteps of Spinks ascending from the first floor to the room of his wife. With astonishment and alarm Spinks beheld her prostrate con- dition, and proceeded at once to raise her from the bed, calling loudly to Miss Bunker, the lodger in the adjacent room for assist- ance. His cries were, however, unheeded for some time; at length his daughter entered the room just as her mother opened her eyes and gazed wildly around the chamber, exclaiming— " Is he gone ?" " Who, my dear ?" answered Spinks. " I don't know whatever is the matter with your poor mother to- night," he continued, addressing the child, who stood trembling in her night- dress, " I think she is going out of her mind." " Let me go for a doctor," was the prompt reply of the girl. " No," answered Mrs. Spinks ; who, during the time these few sentences had been spoken, had returned to consciousness. " No, give me the brandy- and- water, lam better now." The girl gave to her mother the grog, of which she drank heartily; the daughter observing, " I think Miss Bunker might have come in to mother's assistance; with all her religion, a per- son might die, seemingly, for what she cares." " Hush, Margaret," said Spinks; " she is tired— she has been to the meeting to- night of the Faithful Fishwomen, and she was praying all day. Ah, my child! she's a godly woman; I wish you were as good as her." " She must have been very wickcd once," said the girl rather sharply, " to have so much to pray for. How her and the soldier were at it this afternoon.'' " What ?" exclaimed Mrs. Spinks, with astonishment— her own affairs for the instant giving place to the surprise with which she heard this declaration, " a soldier in Miss Bunker's bed- room?" " No, my dear," answered Spinks, " he's not a soldier ; he's one of what they call the ' Shivering Saints,' and a very good man he is; it's quite a blessing to hear him talk. He was here nearly two hours this afternoon with Miss Bunker." " What doing?' said his wife, still more astonished. " I think they call it struggling in the spirit," answered Spinks, reverently. " That was yesterday," chimed in the girl. " Ah," she con- tinued, " I don't like that soldier." " He is not a soldier, I tell you," interrupted the father, " he's a saint." " Well, he looks like a soldier, at any rate, said the girl; " and I if lie's a saint, he can hit precious hard.'' 2 THE TOWN. 3 " How do you know that ?" inquired Mrs. Spinks; who, al- though she had, by this time, gotten beneath the bed clothes, felt interested in these particulars. " Yesterday afternoon," continued her daughter, " when I saw the soldier— I mean the saint— go up stairs with the pot of beer, 1 thought I'd watch, and after sitting on the landing a little while, I heard Miss Bunker praying ; she said, ' Oh, my G— d! Oh, my good G— d !' " presently the sold— the saint opened the door softly, and seeing me there, hit me on the back ; and when I said I'd tell my father, he told mo " to be d— d, and go to h— 1." " No, my child," said her father, " he told you you would be damned and go to hell if you did not repent. These metliodists dmi't like to be disturbed at their devotions," he added, addressing his wife ; " they have strange ways." " So it seems," answered Mrs. Spinks, quietly " however, let the girl go to bed now ; I will speak to Miss Bunker myself in the morning, and let h « r know her fellows shall not strikes child of mine." The girl accordingly left the room for the purpose, lighted to the landing by her father ; as she passed Miss Bunker's door, she laughingly applied her eye to the key- hole, but almost immediately withdrew it, exclaiming—" Oh, my goodness, what can I see?" " What can you see ?" said Mr. Spinks quickly " what did you tee ?" " There's a man in Miss Bunker's room," was the instant answer. Mrs. Spinks thought of the figure she had seen in the moonlight cross the parapet, but ere she could make any observation, her husband observed the dageer that his wife had thrust after Gascoigne, but which had fallen upon the mat. Picking it up, he exclaimed—" Good heavens— there are thieves in the house ; lie e's one of their weapons perhaps some of the villains are stabbing Miss Bunker, now help— help— thieves, murder." Considerable confusion was now heard in the room of the religions lady, and Spinks redoubled his cries from the window, arousing the whole neighbourhood ; during which process, a man with nothing but his shirt and a morning wrapper, was seen to rush across the leads of the house, followed by a woman in her night- clothes, and endeavour to climb the parapet. " It's Mr. Hopkins the talley- shop man, in the next street 6houtedMiss Margaret Spinks, " and Miss Bunker." ( To be continued.) PENCILLINGS OF PUBLIC HOUSES. THE KINO'S ARMS, QUEENHITHB, THAMES- STBBET.— T. PHILLIPS. Those who are acquainted with the metropolis, are aware that there are scattered along both banks of the Thames a number of houses which, from commanding a view of the river during the summer season, come in for a large share of the patronage of pleasure seekers. The parties who visit these places are of a dis- tinct class from those who congregate in thousands at Cremorne Gardens, or even the Red House; the Fox- under- the- Hill, the houses at Hiingerford Market, and the oneat present under notice, are of the character to which we allude— the company being either composed of the old school, who snioke their pipes, and coolly discourse upon the politics of the day, or young gentlemen that come out very extensive, whilst doing their cigars on the subject of the la9t match between Coombes and Clasper, and freely give their opinions upon every craft that passes, much to the annoyance of the elderly portion of the parties present. The King's Arms is essentially a house of this description, and, In the summer season, very much visited. Upon this occasion, however, we have to deal with the parties who patronize, at this season of the year, a different part of the establishment, viz., the coffee- room, a very commodious, well- appointed apartment. A few evenings since, after burning a most excellent cigar whilst journeying down Thames- street, we observed some very foolishly fast young gentlemen waltzing and pirouetting in front of Queenhithe, screaming and shouting like a mob of over- grown girls. One of the by- standers was particularly anxious that two of the party should accompany him round the corner and have some gin, which request was finally complied with. After some time, the rest were removed by the police, and then there was a cry of " let us go to Phillips's." Now, being curious to know where Phillips's was, and also anticipating some fun, we followed them to the King's Arms, and, for the first time, our editorial shadow amplified the interiority of that liostelrie ( the house being kept by a Mr. T. Phillips.) The young gentlemen re- mained at the bar whilst we, thoroughly nauseated with the rubbish they emitted, in the shape of conversation, entered the coffee- room. The first person that attracted our attention was a fine old English gentleman sort of person, who looked the picture of human happiness and content. This was the father of the com- pany, and sire of the host; who, although a fearful martyr to the gout, is a dear I> ver of a game of whist, and would not sleep comfortably without his rubber. Near him was the lovely mar- ried youth, Master Bill, who should know something about the sack in the passage; this gentleman, it appeared from the con- versation, is an alarmingly dangerous youth among the servant girls, but has more than once been obliged to cry " bellows to mend." In a further corner of the room, was lighterman Ned, who looked immense in his whitev- brown slacks ; this gentleman is the Munchausen of the house, a stunner at long yarns, but like old Phillip-, a rare fellow for a hand at cards, although not quite so even in his temper. Our attention was shortly after drawn to young Mason, who appeared terribly out of sorts, in consequence of his losses; also to a person of the nam3 of Fickens, who made himself excessively ridiculous bv' his attempts at chaff; any fellow can, however, belch out filth, and that is the only term that, with propriety, can be applied to this person's observations. Remember, " A still tongue maketh it wise head;"— be dumb, Fickens, dumb— rind pass for a fool, rather than chatter and be called a beast. The paper- hanger, perhaps, likes such language for he is not too particular, on the night of our visit making him- self a most colossal ass, by continually bringing in the shop, Wo had been some time in the plat e wondering where the host coidd he, but were informed he was a very peculiar character, very singular in the selection of his company, and seldom, if ever, mixing with his parlour eu tomers. As these observations were being made to us, a singularly- dressed lack- a- rlaisical, effeminate creature made his appearance in the room, and seating himself as if he were afraid a sudden concussion would injure his delicate limbs, inquired, in a mincing tone," If they were all comfortable?" Our astonishment we lack language to express, when wo were in- formed that this was the host, and increased, when a second glance at once told us that he was the gentleman whom we had seen at the corner ol Queenhithe, who had so liberally treated the dancing youths to gin. It was with difficulty we were induced to believe such an inflated piece of humanity could be the son of the bluff old gentle- man with the aoqt. Seriously, we would advice Mr. Phillips to " drop his childish demeanour. He bears the character of a free, generous- hearted fellow, perhaps too generous, and hence his so- called friends too often impose upon him. It is but justice to say, that the articles vended at the King's Arms are equal to those at the best houses in town. We shall, in our next, have a look at the company at the Thursday night concert with, another peep , it. the coffee- room, when we will pay our respects to " Quiet • John," " Mr. Good Morning," and " Brother Jonathan." The extraordinary disregard of self, exhibited by Mrs. Edwin Yarnold, in the getting up of the piece of" Marie Antoinette," and her repeated exhibitions of absence of all " show- off," or desire of aggrandisement as proprietress of the Pavilion Theatre, have won for her the sincere respect of the whole company, who pur- pose presenting her with a set of stage properties, suitable to her abilities, and the state of the theatre— as soon as they are placed full salaries! LONDON BY NIGHT. PROM EIGHT IN THE EVENING TILL FOUR IN THE MORNING. « Eight hours of night in London, will exhibit much of its cha- racters and life to a stranger, if properly expended, and in this sketch we propose showing to our metropolitan friends and country readers, something of its varieties; at the same time, we shall not find it necessary to carry them to a number of places, but shall confine ourselves to one locality, and if our readers will peruse this article patiently to its close, and can then say we have not kept our promise, we will forfeit all claim to a knowledge of the town. It is a cold berth, rather an exposed open situation— it is Water- loo Bridge 1 and where, where in the metropolis can so muoh of its characters be seen? for remember, it is the very centre, the heart of London. We will suppose it to be eight o'clock, the ladies of easy or rather wneasy virtue h ive just turned out to take a turn on the bridge; nurse- maids with children, who would not refuse a chance if they could get it, are grinning with the half- penny collecting toll- keeper, and sometimes cracking a joke with the seedy- looking watermen who stand at the head of the steps looking out for a iare; but in these days of penny steamers, and two'- busses, fares are " like angels' visits, few and far between." There are likewise liquorice- tooth'd elderly gentlemen, who gaze with longing eyes upon the numerous perambulating damsels, whilst shopmen rush over the bridge to drop their tanners for a half- price observation in tha boxes of the Victoria perform- ances. Between nine and ten the dusk of evening is falling upon the silver bosom of the calmly flowing Thames. Now come forth the nymphs whose outer- women will not bear such close inspec- tion. They walk upon the right- hand side of the Strand, and are followed by the before- mentioned elderly gentlemen, who have not yet quitted, and who pinch their arms gently, and whis- per soft nonsense into their ears, which is generally concluded by " Ain't it time you was home, my dear?" " I'm going home, sir." " Where do you live, my child." " Only just the other side of the bridge." And the parties adjourn to Granby- street. Cabmen crawl over the bridge from the Surrey side, to pick up about Coveut Garden and Brydges- street any stray party from the theatres. Fancy men are taking leave of their women, and toddling off to blow their backa, and hear a song at the Great Mogul in Drury Lane, and this will last till after ten. From ten till twelve the increase of cabs is extensive: now may be heard a quarrel betwetn a cabman and the man at thetoll, who either keeps the knight of the whip too long without his change, or else tliscusses the merits of a doubtful sixpence, until a spiteful gee- up from Cabby urges the animated dog's- meat, and finishes the conversation. Now bands of mis- named musicians congregate in Wellington- street, and to the manifest horror of her Majesty's harmony- loving subjects, perpetrate " Polkas" and " Post Horns.' Apparently listening to { he discordant blowings of these inhar- monious cornopean blowers, is a soi- disant servant girl, with a key dangling upon a finger, or a candle suspended upon one of her digits by the wick. Furtively her eyes wander, and should they by chancc encounter an admiring pair of ogles fixed upon her person, she walks modestly away, but not so rapidly but that the gazer, however oged, can follow her without putting himself out of breath ; and follow her he does, across the Strand, past the English Opera House, and round the corner into Exeter- street; on a sudden they vanish. Where can they have got to ? It is not for us to pry into the mysteries of Exeter- street, we have only to do with Waterloo Bridge. And, to return, whilst the before men- tioned slaughterers of Jullien are modulating by mysterious wind- ings, young gentlemen are dexterously insinuating their finger- ends into external receptacles for pocket- handkerchiefs, and clean- ing them out with a dexterity of the most unacoountable nature. Knots of persons may be seen at the pavement edge, discoursing upon poliiics and other subjects. Policemen are prowling hither and thither, trying the doors of the closed shops, or engaged in the important business of telling the girls to move on. As you go over the bridge you are asked " if you are good- natured," or " have a halfpenny," and should you refuse, another request is made, viz., to kiss a part which is seldom, if ever, complied with. In the recesses of the bridge you may discover tender couples doing the amatory, accompanied by gentle whisperings, soft sigh- ings, short breathings, and all the et ceteras. This generally takes pkoe on the right- hand side from the Strand. Ever and anon you hear the distinct and pleasured plashings of the lighterman's oar, as it drops into the silvery bosom of the Thames, breaking the re- flected moonbeam into a thousand diamonds; whilst the rude carol of the labouring bargeman conies off the water on to the ear of the listener with that ringing clearness, whiah rises above all other sounds, however chaotic may be the din. And this is Waterloo Bridge between the liour3 of ten and twelve. It is now the twelfth hour, and the rattling of cabs has recom- menced. The theatres are closing, anil there is a rush of blowens and swells to tha Waterloo Road ; they are ensconced in snug cabs, where the process of excitement is carried on with a vast de- gree of manual dexterity, and a chorus issues from the cab, the burthen of which is— " Tow, row, row, Paddy, will you now, Take me whilst I'm in the humour? For that's now." If it is markot morning, pyramidal cabbage waggons are coming over the bridge in continuous train. The countryman, whistling cheerily, smacks his whip, and makes some jocund reply to the anything but chaste observations of the man- seeking courtezans. Those women, who are theatre visitors of the Surrey breed, now toddle over to the Middlesex s. de, perchance indulging in merry chat with one of the second or third rate actors from Astley's or the Royal Vic.; or, if their aspiringt mount not so high, they are listening to the soft nothings whispered by some public- house concert- singer. These, when they come to the Strand, take a tender valediction and part; he to the Harp, she to H.' s or Jessop's, or to Charley Pollard's, Wellington- street, to hear a song. At the bottom of Wellington- street cabmen are holding up their fingers inquiringly to the passers by, and those passers by go heedlessly on to quaff champagne or braudy- and- water at the Coal- Hole, Evans's, or to old jolly Judge Nicholson's, at his new house, the Justice Tavern, 36, Bow- street. Dress- lodgers scud about in shoals, with Jewish- countenanced Cerberi anxiously following both the unhappy prostitute and her loan- supplied clothes. It is now between one and two. Lushy swells are coming along in all the glory of broiled kidneys, Welsh rabbits, & c., moistened by cateracts of grog, or perchance, wine; their perpetual song is, " We won't go home till morning;" and at this time of the year, they carry that sentiment out to the extreme, for even at the early period of which we are writing ( the month ot May), the light is beginning to show itself in the east, and the pinnacles of the metropolitan spires, glitter from the bridge, like points of bur- nished gold. A cavalcade of all kinds of market carts are travel- ing leisurely towards Covent Garden. More numerous become the passengers who cross from Catherine- street, and the flaunting dresses of the women look wretchedly tawdry in the bright glare of the morning's light. The clock of the new Church has just struck three— labourers are passing and re- passing to their daily labour, and are grinning at the strange antics of the inebriated men who are escorting their girls home to their numerous brothels in Waterloo- road. The interference of the policeman is more than ever called into requisition to check the indignation of the gentlemen who do not like being jeered at by low, vulgar me- chanics. The carpenter, with his basket of tools slung over his shoulder, and his paper cap stuck jauntily upon his head, only laughs the louder ; and the vender of eky- blue joins in the mirth. There is one walking slowly and shamblingly up the left hand- side of Wellington- street; his air is dejected, his cheek is pale and haggard, his eye is dim, and there is a trembling nervousness about his nether lip that fully demonstrates there is a demon busily at work within. He is a gambler; he has been playing all night, and is " dead broke." He went out at eight o'clock in the evening with thirty pounds in his pocket; his heart was as light as a feather. He now returns to his home without a penny, and his heart is as heavy as lead. But is the internal monitor inspir- ing him with feelings of regret? No! he is deeply pondering how he shall be able to raise money in the evening to risk for the reprisal of that already lost. Hallo! there is a row upon the middle of the bridge ; what is the matter? It is a fight. One of the women has fancied that she has been insulted by a companion, and the two Amazonsare battling it out with tooth and nail; their clothes are torn to ribbons, their bonnets rent from their heads, and their streaming hair is being torn out by handfuls ; the spec- tators begin to crowd, and at last, what with the running of peo- ple, and the screams of the combatants, the attention of the po- lice is attracted to the hubbub ; on they come, dividing the mul. til ude before them. The belligerent females are now in the hands of the executive. And these are the varied scenes of London life on Waterloo- bridge and its vicinity between the hours of twelve and four. " WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH JACK KERRISON V The neighbourhood of the Hackney- road has within the last few days been thrown into considerable consternation, by reason of the extraordinary conduct of the respected host of the Queen's Arms, and his most intimate friends are making use of the inter- rogatory that forms the title of the present paragraph. Since the 16th inst., he has been wandering about the neighbourhood of the Hackney and Kingsland- roads, inquiring of everybody if they have been to the Standard, and ere he can receive an answer rushing away with folded arms, muttering, " I have done it; I have done it; Giles has cooked their goose— no more beer- draw- ing ; I can draw houses now." His absence of mind is fearful. One day last week, he signed his name " John Emery," and upon its being pointed out to him, he observed, in a Lancasterian- Shoreditchian dialect, " Veil, noa matter, zur, Ize shall zoon be as famed as that ere cove vos." If his friends have any regard for his interest, they will immediately institute proceedings against John Douglass for conspiring to destroy the intellect of this ( will be next October) respectable licensed victualler. RATHER COOL FOR A HUSBAND. Mons. Villebois acquired considerable notoriety, on the coast of Britanny as a smuggler, but was eventually compelled to fly the country, and take refuge on board a Dutch Vessel, on board of which was the Czar, Peter the Great. After a few days' sailing, a storm arose, of such a character, that, but for the skill of Villebois, who had been taken at first but for a mere landsman, the vessel would have struck upon the rocks, and been lost. The Czar, struck with the intelligent activity, as well as with the fourage of Villebois, made proposals to the Frenchman to enter into his service, which Villebois accepted; and he followed that monarch, who seemed to suit Villebois, as much as the former was satisfied with his new subject. The Czar gave him employment in his navy, entrusting him with the command of several galleys, and very often made use of him in very important expeditions. A little after his second marriage, the Czar charged Villebois with a secret message to the Czarina, who was then at Strelemoitz. The emissary naturally fond of drinking, and the weather being violently cold, he thought proper, in order the better to resist the sharpness of the air, to have recourse to brandy, a large quantity of which he swallowed very freely. The Czarina was carelessly lying on a couch when the messenger of the Emperor was introduced. He mentioned he had a secret to communicate, and the servants withdrew. No sooner was Villebois alone with the Czarina, when ha began to deliver his message; but at the sight of so much beauty, in an attitude more than " negligee," a new intoxication turned the brain of the naval courtier; he forgot the suhject of his mission.— Ilia ideas became so confused, that, without retaining the least consciousness of the place, or the rank of the objeot of his desires, he proceeded to violence. The Empress, amazed at this atrocious conduct, cried out, and called aloud for assistance; but alas! before she could receive any, what she wished to prevent had already become irretrievable! The criminal was immediately seized by the guards, and thrown into a deep dark dungeon, where he fell into a profound sleep, as quietly as if he had acquitted himself of his mission with the greatest zeal. The Czar, who was but 15 miles distant from Strelemoitz, soon received information of what had happened. He arrived, and by way of con- soling the Empress, said that " he was sure, as he intimately knew the wretch, that he must, have been drunk." Villebois being sent for, the Czar asked him if he had delivered his message ? but as Villebois was yet half drunk, he answered that he had certainly- executed the orders of his master: but he neither knew how, where, or when. The Czar, thinking him a useful servant, pre- tended to believe him ; ordered him to be sent as a slave to serve on board the same galleys which he before ecommanded ; and in six months after restored him to favour, and to his former com- mand. THE WEDDING NIGHT. HONEYMOON COllRESPONDKNCE.— No. I. DEAR JULIA— I promised you that I would send you a full account of what we used so often to talk about, viz., the particu- lars of the marriage night, and I now sit down to fulfil my pro- mise. As you say, a great change has been effected in my condi- tion : I was single, and now am married. Three days, or rather nights, ago I was a maid, and am now a woman— none the worse, lean assure you. Well, you know that we drove off after the wedding to Cheltenham. Some of dear Augustus's relatives had been invited to dine. At about half after nine Gus told me it w » s time to go to bed. All the married ladies wished me " Good night," with a very peculiar smile ; the unmarried with an envious blush. Up I went, and lay trembling in the bed: although it was a very cold night, I felt anything but. so, for I was restless, feverish, and fidgetty: presently I heard a sound upon the staircase, and the bed- rootn door opened; it was my husband ; I hid my head under the clothes as he inquired, " Are you asleep, my dear? are you comfortable?" Now, I thought that these were very strange questions even then, but I have thought them more so since. However, I an swered him from beneath the bed- clothes, and whether it was the way in which I spoke, or the sound of my voice as it came from the clothes, I can't tell; but he laughingly observed, " You'll be more comfortable soon— the place is strange to you." The bed- clothes now were such a weight upon me, I was almost smothered with the warmth, and I was compelled to remove a portion of them; in doing so I caught a glimpse of Augustus— his back was towards me— his clothes lying upon a chair— and lie was ill the act of putting on a night- cap with an immense tassel, which kept flopping up and dow; i in a most singular manner; you have no idea how very comic it looked— the sight of that prodigious tassel quite amused me; and although I was ready to die with agitation from the strange situation in which I found myself placed, I could scarcely keep from laughing: I did not, however, do so; for the next moment he turned round, and I again shrunk be- neath the clothes; he crossed the room, and I felt his hand re- moved th< m ; I shall never forget his look— the extraordinary tassel bobbing right over me as he entered the bed, and the light falling most unpleasantly full upon my face. The next instant, however, he put on the extinguisher, and shortly after I went to sleep. I will tell you more in my next. Your's, ice., BETTY SPENCE. THE TOWN. 3 " WINDER OF THE MOGUL'S DEFIANCE OF THE LAW." We announced in our notices to correspondents last week, that we had received an article bearing the above title. The article alluded to the circumstance of Mr. Winder, of the Great Mogul, Drury- lane, having again opened his large concert- room with a musical entertainment. Now, although we think the term defiance somewhat disingenuous, he certainly is acting in opposi tion to the dictum of the magistrates; and this observation re- solves itself into a question of positive and paramount import- ance not only to Mr. Winder, but also to the whole body of licensed victuallers, who, like this gentleman, have extensive establishments depending almost entirely for support upon their concert- room- business. The day- trade to such houses being of such an uncertain character, that it would indeed be a paralogism t" allude to it. The question, wa repeat, is a very serious one— viz. " What is to be done?" The writer of this ariicle has the means of knowing that Mr. Winder paid a very large sum for the business of the Great Mogul, of course with the expectancy of realising it, from fair profit and attention to the regular business of the house— i. e. the concert- room. It is equally well known to the authorities that the house has been conducted in the most respectable manner, and talent of a high order, both vocal and instrumental, engaged daring the period Mr. W. has been landlord. The recent fulininations, however, of the powers that be, if patiently endured, must have the effect of reducing every unfortunate victualler who comes within their range to a state of bankruptcy. For how is it possi- ble that the high rents and heavy rateage of these places can be paid when the only legitimate means of meeting them are re- moved. We, ot THE TOWN, are the last to hint at, much less entertain even the shadow of an idea suggestive of opposition to the law; but we believe it to be as unjust as it is unintended on the part of the government to enforce enactments that have only a vexatious tendency. Something, iherefore, should be done; re- presentations made of the grievance in a proper quarter, and in a becoming spirit, notwithstanding the objurgative eye with which some persons look upon concert- rooms, would doubtless have the desired effect. A meeting should instantly be called, not only of the licensed victuallers, but also of the respectable portion of the professional singers, many of whom, to a great extent, depend for a subsistence upon the rooms, which fact should be made palpable in a petiiion. We trust this suggestion will not be lost sight of. There are amongst the professional singers men of education and sound practical business, and it is their interest as much as that of the licenser! victuallers to bestir themselves in the matter; indeed, it is unfair that persons in the position of Mr. Winder should jeopar- dize their license on the nex'. meeting of magistrates, when a little active co- operation might probably remove the cause of annoy- ance altogether. LONDON PROCURESSES. MOTHER SEYMOUR, NEW CROSS. Mary Seymour, or Old Mother Seymour, as she is more com- monly called, for she must now be near sixty years of age, was for a number of years tolerably well- known in the neighbourhood of the old English Opera, as " Little Polly Levy," she being by birth and education a Jewess. Her faihr r, Mosr » Levy, was transported for life in 1820, ( or purchas- ing a large quantity of property stolen'from Belling's tea ware- house in Fi iichurch- street,— the mother of Seymour, at the period of this circumstance, and for some time afterwards, keep- ing a common brothel in Exeter- street, doing considerable busi- ness iu the dress- lodger department, her daughter Mary acting in the respectable charaiter of watcher, i. e, follower of the un- fortunate creatures. In 1824 old Moiher Levy was compelled to give up the bouse in Exeter- street, and retired to a humble lodg- ing iu the neighbourhood of the Miuories, where she shortly after expired, at the age of 84, having, according to her own confession, kept a brothel since she was 30 yiars of age. The death of this abandoned old woman created much talk at the time, it being reported that she had died almost in want of the common neces- saries of life, her only child, the subject of the present sketch, being in Clerkenwed prison at the period of her death, for a street- row. After the funeral, which, as is the custom amongst the Jews, took place the next day, the wretched- looking apart- ment was locked up, and remained so until Mary's liberation from gaol. Almost immediately after her return, the neighbours were surprised at the change in the appearance of the daughter, a house being taken in Gooilrnan's- fields, and most magnificently furnished. It subsequently, however, transpired that the old broiliel- keeper h id - amassed a considerable sum, for in a stuffed figure was found by the daughter, Bank of England notes to the amount of several hundreds, together with securities on the Hamburgh and other German banks, amounting in all to up- wards of 2 000?. Shortly after this extraordinary change in Miss Levy's fortunes, she became acquainted with Alec. Seymour, a violin player at the Surrey Theatre, a person at least a dozen years her junior, with whom she has continued to live down to the present time. Mrs. Seymour ( for from this period she assumed that name) afterwards removed from the neighbourhood of Good- man's- fields to the Westminster- road, where she opened a very dashing cigar- shop, in the name of Stanmore; this house became a thorough nuisance to the neighbourhood, and after one or two visits at Union- hall, Mrs. S. again found it neoessary to remove. During this time Alec, had contrived to make vast inroads into the " old gal's" property, and in 1834 Mrs. Seymour's name appears amongst the list indicted for keeping houses of ill- fame in Union- street, Blackfriars- road. After this, we find her carry- ing on her career of infamy in Castle- street East, where she opened a small stay- shop, and first commenced business regularly as a procuress. Her house was soon found out and patronised largely by many of the old roues on town, amongwhomwere C. apt. P H y, Sir C s S d, the Hon. Lord M H , together with a certain high dignitary of the church. It should here be mentioned, that for many years Seymour had had in her service a middleragtd female of the name of Myers or Miers, who acted occasionally as servant, shop- woman, and sister; it was this infamous creature's custom to perambulate the neighbourhood of Oxford- market, in the dusk of the evening, respectably dressed with a large canvass bag, apparently containing work, and accosting any young creature whom she might meet, requesting them to carry it for her to her house. By this means many girls were trepanned, for the first time, to Castle- street, where the amiable manner of Mrs. Seymour, who was so thankful " for having assisted her poor dear sister home," induced the stranger to call another day, " just to have a cup of tea ;" and numerous were the young women who came to their ruin through this means. A bout eleven years since, a girl of the name of Sophia G— h,* a servant at a house in Upper Portland- place, having been se- duced and brought to the streets through visiting Seymour's, the latter, fearful of the consequences, was compelled suddenly to quit the neighbourhood of Oxford- street. But little is known of the creature's movements after this, until 1845 ; it is, however, supposed she bad a share in two houses at Southampton, she being often seen there prior to removing to Little Guildford- street. Whilst at Guildford- street, she continued to visit the boxes of the Surrey, and Astiey's Theatres with little Fanny Hayes, now in " keeping" with Sir John H— n, and it is strange, that during the period she resided in Guildford- street, her calling was never suspected. About May last, she first met with the handsome Matilda Rey- nolds, tolerably well known at the Piccadilly saloon, although now but in her seventeenth year. With this girl, then really in appearance but a child, she met with an elderly gentleman, and, being induced to enter a privato box, by threatening to give him • Wo suppress the name, out of respect to the family. ' n charge for attempting to take indecent liberties with her niece, she " bounced," or rather robbed him, of seven or eight pounds, this sum being obtained after Seymour found he could not accom- pany them home, having to leave England in the morning. At last Christmas quarter mother Seymour opened her present establishment. It is furnished with every appointment of a gentleman's mansion, and she passes in the neighbourhood as a German lady of independent property ; the name being slightly altered, viz., to that of " Seimour." It is a mystery where the money has come from, but it is rumoured her old patron of Castle- street; the clergyman ( who is a Bishop.'), has been seen at the house within the last month ; if this be correct, and tee have little doubt of it, he is very likely to have " dropped the tin." Levy has had four children by Seymour, three of whom are living, Alexander, Rachel, and Louisa. The son is in business as a cigar merchant, at Bristol; and her daughter Rachel is kept by a celebrated public singer, who, like his father, is rather partial to the " Jewish persuasion." Louisa is the pretty brunette that is frequently seen at the parlour window, and accompanies the lame silvery- haired gentleman in the Brougham occasionally. We have been thus ample in our sketch of this infamous woman, in consequence of the extraordinary lengths she has gone to procure victims for the lustful gratification of her debased supporters ; and farther, by reason of a threat having been held out that the Town would not dare to publish a sketch of Mrs. Seymour— that " her noble (?) supporters would protect her." The aged harridan and " her noble supporters" will perceive that we have " dared" to give her true history ; and farther than that, we shall shortly have a few very choice anecdotes to publish of both. So much for threats. COURT CIRCULAR. ( From our own Reporter.') His Royal Hifthness the Duke of York took an airing and a trifling cold on Thursday morning, after which he had a short interview with Mr. Edward Moore; during which time, at the request of the latter gentleman, bis Highness with considerable condescension partook of Pule. Rhei et magnes curb, and tasted some syr. papav. alb., with which latter he expressed himself much gratified. Her Majesty and Prince Albert took a walk in the neighbour- hood of the Castle, on Tuesday; they were accompanied by a large umbrella, aud a slight wind. Her Majesty looked extremely wel , and wore a pair of new French clogs and fur gloves. His Royal Highness did not appear quite so well, and we thought we observed some inflammation around the nasal organ, probably arising from the imitation of the linsey- woolsey which he wore about his throat. His Roral Highness the Prince of Wales entertained a select party at the Palace on Friday afternoon, consisting of Princess Victoria, Prince Alfred, and Princess Helena; the conversation was diversified with readings from Murray's Exercises, Walking- ham, Lempriere, and Pinnock; during which, Princess Louisa was introduced, but did not remain l ® ng, as she loudly expressed herself dissatisfied with the entertainment. There was some excitement at the Castle last week, in conse- quence of a report that Prince Albert had met with an accident whilst walking on the slopes. Our reporter was immediately on the spot, when it transpired that it was his Highness's trousers which had refused to fraternize with the straps; his Highness, who appeared much excited, was compelled immediately to return to his apartments in the Castle. TRADE REPORT. The hat trade is pretty nearly come to a head, and the French paramatta cloths have been springing into pretty general usedur- ing the past week, both our editor and sub. having taken to wear- ing them, as they keep the head cool, a thing very necessary con- sidering the mass of communications they have to answer; we have serious thoughts of insisting upon our publisher wearing one. The sausage market is in a very unsettled state in consequence of the increase of the penny pie- shops ; the latter business has also singularly affected the cat and dog's meat trade, in which there has been a most alarming falling off, supposed to arise from the wonderful mortality in these animals since Christmas. In Rus- sell- court, Drury- lane, where there are two ! pie- shops, the returns for the week ending March 24th, of the deaths of these animals, from all causes, in this neighbourhood, are 285, being an in- crease upon the week of 36. It is, however, anticipated that as rhubard and other fruits are coming in, the purveyors of pussey's meat will experience a revival of their business. Notwithstanding the changes in Field- lane, some business is done even now occasionally in the highlow, and hob, and clinker line. On market days a little is done iu the silk- handkerchief trade, and last Monday being a busy day in the city, a great deal of property of that description changed proprietorship at the foot of Holborn- hill. Several fresh hands made their appearance in the market, but there was a deal of unsteadiness about their transactions, and excited so much attention that one very large holder was compelled to transact business, at a later hour of the day, in Giltspur street. COCKNEY PATHOS. Placid as is thy bosom, lovely Thames, Heaving alone with boats and steaming craft, On which, as kissed by ruddy sunset's flames, We read, " No smoking is permitted aft." Yea, as beneath this mighty span they glide, This bridge of Huugerford— late Charing- cross — We see night's shadows deepening o'er thy tide, Midst showers of spray which reckless paddles toss ; And as we gaze, we cannot but presage That when time desolates this busy scene, Haply in some far distant future age On such an eve a passenger may lean, Upon thy chains, and listen to—" I say, You, sir, d'ye hear! youve got the toll to pay." " To be poor, and seem poor, is the devil all over," says the proverb. Denvil, the actor, no doubt, finds this tolerably cor- rect, for although the Standard Theatre has been offered him gratuitously for a benefit, the company are in no haste to do the same. Miss P. Horton observed to Mrs. W. Clifford a few days since, " that she did not think Buckstone looked so well as he formerly did; in fact, that his provincial trips appeared to have quite used him up." " Oh, my dear," replied the heavy lady, " no wonder he don't look so well, for wherever he goes he has fits ( z) in bed." Lysandcr Thompson, we are happy to state, still continues an immense favourite with the threepenny auditory, at the Britannia Saloon. His versatility is most extraordinary in a piece called " Rose Clinton." He introduces a fresh dialect in every scene, his transition from Irish to Yorkshire being amazingly humorous. James Katty Darling Lawson, Esq., had a narrow escape of being discharged from Moses and Son's last week, in consequence of being seen in Bow- street at two o'clock in the day in one of his own coats. If a man undertakes a duty, he should perform it; if it is only to act as a walking pattern- card. DELICATE HEALTH.— A medical gentleman once attended D— M— the singer, who said he was in very delicate health. " What has he had iu the way of refreshment?" inquired the doctor of his carasposa. " Oh!" answered the lady, " he had some Irish stew just before he went to bed last night, and two drops of rum to settle it, lie has had nothing this morning but a pint of beer and a few fried fresh herrings for his breakfast. ISLE OF WIGHT KISSES; OR, SPORT IN THE UNDERCLIFF.— No. II. TO JULIA, ON DISCOVERING IIEIT INFIDELITY. Ah, Julia! do not frown because I come not, as I lately came; Nor fancy that another draws The cash to which you laid a claim. Imagine not my heart is chang'd, Nor think on other charms I dots; I never from your presence rang'd, To save a paltry five pound note. My only plea for having left Your boudoir, love, is simply this— I found myself at once bereft Of present and ulterior bliss, By being palpably disgrae'd, And left to what the lover shuns, That fare of which so many taste, Known by the name of merciless duns! _ . OCTAVIAN. Bonchnrch, Iale of Wight. THE HEART OF MID- LOTHIAN AT THE PRINCESS'S. We of THE TOWN do not often go into theatrical matters, but the announcement of a new opera at any of our metropolitan theatres is certain to command attention ; and although it has been observed that the English are not a musical people, lyrical productions, no matter how meagre the talent contained in them, are seldom, if ever, doomed to obscurity, without having, in the first instance, a tolerable numerous auditory to judge of their merits. The new opera at the Princess's certainly excited some talk in the musical world, in consequence, as it has since proved, of the absurd announcements put forth by the management; and considerable disappointment is now felt in many quarters, for after all the expense gone to in the getting up, " The Heart of Mid- Lothian" has, unquestionably, proved a failure. The libretto, by Messrs. Scribe and Plauard, is a most shameful mangling of the beautiful novel. Such a version in French may be excusable, arising probably from the ignorance of the transla- tors, or a desire to fit the subject to the taste of a Parisian audience; but to imagine such a shameful libel upon the writings of a man so beloved as Scott would be tolerated in an English theatre, was as ridiculous as it was insulting. It did not, however, require this circumstance to render the reception of the opera unfavourable, the music being a compilation of noisy twaddle, with a few weak, incipient airs, one or two of which v\ ere pla- giarisms, that could not be mistaken. " The Lily of St. Leonard's," and " Afloat on the Ocean," are the only two pieces worth notic- ing. It is due to the lessee to observe, that the opera has been most splendidly put upon the stage, and must, we presume, in consequence, be made to run some time. HOW TO MAKE LOVE. BY OYID THE YOUNGER. • To succeed as a lover, you must profess the highest value for every thing belonging to your mistress, and must extend your regard even to her lap- dog, whose very barking you must think extremely pleasant, and whose beauty you must allow no painter can equal ; his instinctive sagacity you must extol beyond that of the famous dog— who, as we are informed, used to bark only at thieves, and showed his complaisance equally to his mistress aud her lover. Above all strive to amuse your mistress with pleasant tales and witty anecdotes; endeavour to render yourself amiable if you wish to be loved. He knows but little of the nature of love, who talks with his fair one on no other subject. The great point is to become necessary to her entertainments; she cannot then when alone, do otherwise than employ her thoughts upon you, and provided she does but think of you, no matter what her thoughts are. When you are convinced that she cannot do without you, invent some pretext for absenting yourself from her for a short time, and assure her that nothing could be more unpleasing to you, that nothing could be more unfortunate than this cruel separation. The amorous fiame is fanned by a short absence but it is extinguished by a long one. You should also, now and then, suggest that she is not the only woman in the world whom you think amiable, and that it is not impossible but your heart might be susceptible of a tender attachment to some other beauty. Find out the method of irritating licr gently, and coutinue to make her self- love co- operate with your affection. Put in prac- tice with women all their own artifices. What advantages may not often be derived from letter- writing ? Letters serve admi- rably to spare a maiden's blush, and to convey ideas too indelicate for the ear. As for your subject, you may write about anything she has said; or, for want of that, you may write about nothing. A lover will never be at a loss for matter, and a thousand opportunities will occur for writing. Should she acquaint you that she does not approve of such impertinence, and that you had best look for other women to whom this foolery may be accept- able, take it in good part, and never write the less for it; but be careful that your letters are not stiff or affected; they should be inspired by love, and dictated by the graces. Studied epistles made up of long and rounded periods, are fit only for those* ladies who expect love declared to them with all the formality of ancient times. He is but an unskilful lover who loses courage at the first, re pulse, and abandons ail enterprise on the first appearance of an obstacle. A moment has often got the better of a ten years' re- sistance. But what arms can you employ 1 what arts put in practice, against those women who feign sentiments which they are perfect strangers to— who have no delight but that of increasing their admirers? Leave them a prey to their vanity, and rest assured that love, whose laws they transgress, and whose empire they seek to usurp, will find means to punish them. You will see them become the scorn and laughing stock of the public, when they give themselves the air of youth, after their hairs are grey, and vainly aim at conquests after they have lost the charms to effect them. You will see them like old tyrants, at war with them- selves, neither fit for action nor society, nor able to endure repose and solitude. The most propitious season for love is, when youth give them- selves up to mirth and festivity, which have the same effect upon the heart that springs have upon the earth. Phileutus took it into his head to make love to Lisbia, just after she had seen Asteria with a new fashioned damask. Judge whether this was a proper occasion, and you may easily define the result of his ad- dresses. There is, however, no rule so universal as not to admit of an exception. There was a dame in Ephesus who listened to the addresses of a soldier on her husband's tomb; and Pliillis gave her hand to Arceus on the very day on which she lost her lap- dog. THE MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS OP THE LORD CHIEB BARON NICHOLSON.— We feel much pleasure in calling attention to the circumstance that, notwithstanding the onerous duties of host entailed upon Mr. Nicholson at the Justice Tavern, he pur poses issuing, on the 1st of May ( to be continued monthly), his numerous miscellaneous writings, atone shilling the part" The portrait to be presented with the first number is splendidly exe- cuted. We are compelled to give our most public denial to the report that Lysander Thompson is the contractor for the new Foreign. Loan. In fact, nearly all the loans in which that gentleman is con-' cerned are mostly negociated at his mother's brothers. 4 THE TOWN. 3 MEMOIR OF A FRENCH LADY OF FASHION- ( Continued from our last.) Tis to my generation I address myself, to those for whom the theories of M. de Voltaire happily no longer exist— to those who, like myself, comprehend that humanity during the last fifteen years has taken its boldest leap. The time of the apostles is returned. In the Indies we have missionaries who teach, live, and die, as did the companions of Christ, and as Christ himself. The knowledge of good and evil is for ever acquired; faith is reconstructed; the respect of sacred matters is restored to us, and if the world does not become wholly good, it will, at least, become better. The efforts of all intelligent men tend to the same object, and all great minds are attached to the same principle. Let us be good, let us be just, let us be true 1 Evil is but a vanity ; let us possess the pride of the good, and, above all, let us not despair. Let us not despise the woman, who is neither mother, nor sister, nor child, nor wife. Let us not lower our estimation to familiarity, our indulgence to egotism. Since Heaven is more rejoiced at the repentance of one sinner than for a hundred just ones who have never sinned, let us endeavour to rejoice Heaven, who will return it to us with usury. Let us leave on our road the gift of our pardon to those whom terrestial desires have ruined, and whom a divine hope will perhaps save, and, as the old women say who advise a remedy of their own, if it does no good, it will do no harm. It must certainly appear very pretentious in me to endea- vour to produce such great results from the slight subject I am treating of, but I am one of those who think that great things arise from trifles. The child is small and yet he con- tains the man ; the brain is narrow, yet it shelters life and thought; the eye is but a speck, yet it embraces leagues. CHAP. IV. Two days afterwards the sale was completely terminated, and had produced one hundred and fifty thousand francs. The creditors had divided two- thirds of this amongst them- selves, and the family, consisting of a sister and nephew, had inherited the rest. This sister had stared when, on sending her the portrait of Marguerite, as the latter had requested before her death, the notary had informed her that fifty thousand francs of this sum fell to her share. It was six or seven years since this girl had seen her sister, who disappeared one day, without their knowing, either from herself or others, the least detail as to her life from the mo- ment of her flight. She had, therefore, arrived in all haste at Paris, and the astonishment of those who knew Marguerite was great when they found that her only heiress was a fat, good- looking, country girl, who, up to this moment, had never left her village. Her fortune was made at one blow, without lier knowing even from what source this unexpected fortune had reached her. She returned, I was afterwards told, to her village carry- ing with her, for the death of her sister, a deep sorrow, which was, nevertheless, compensated by the investment at four- and- half per cent., which she had just concluded. Now, all these circumstances, which had made some noise at Paris, the mother- town of scandal, began to be forgotten, and I had even myself almost forgotten in what way I had taken any part in these events, when a fresh incident gave me a knowledge of the whole life of Margaret, and apprized me of details so touching, that a desire to write this history seized upon me, and I wrote it. For three or four days Margaret's apartment, emptied of all its furniture, had been to let, when one morning some one knocked at my door. My servant opened it, and brought me a card, telling me that the person who had given it him desired to speak with me. I glanced at the card and read these two words— Armand Duval. I considered where I had already seen this name, and remembered that it was on the first page of the volume of " Manon Lescant." I was curious to know the object of this visit of the per- son who had given this book to Marguerite, and I told the servant to introduce immediately the individual who was wait- ing. I then saw a young man, fair, tall, pate, attired in a travelling dress, which he appeared not to have quitted for some days, and not to have taken even the trouble of brush- ing on arriving at Paris, for he was covered with dust. M. Duval, since we know his name, made no effort to con- ceal the emotion which seemed to agitate him, and it was with tears in his eyes and a trembling in his voice, that he said to me— " I beg, sir, that you will excuse my visit and the costume in which you see me; but, besides that, amongst young men we are not over ceremonious ; I was so desirous of seeing you to- day, that I did not even take the trouble to alight at the hotel where I have sent my portmanteau, and have hast- ened to you, still fearing, though it is early, not to meet with you." I begged M. Duval to take a seat near the fire, which he did, whilst drawing from his pocket a handkerchief, in which for a moment he hid his face. " Sir," I said to . him, " you arrive from a journey ; be- tween young men, you have just observed, there is no cere- mony ; will you breakfast with me ? We will converse whilst despatching it." " Oh!'' he replied to me, drying away his tears and ap- pearing to inhale calmness by a sigh, " I thank you, sir, it would be impossible for me to eat. You know not," he added, with a melancholy smile, " what this unknown visitor desires of you at such an hour, and in such a dress, and with with tears in his eyes. I am come quite simply, sir, to re- quest a great service from you." " Speak, sir, I am entirely at your disposition." " You were present, sir," continued M. Duval, " at the sale of Margarite Gautier's furniture." At these words, the emotion over which the young man had triumphed again mastered him, and he was forced to carry his handkerchief to his eyes. " I must appear very ridiculous to you," he added; " ex- cuse me again for this, and believe that I shall never for- get the patience with which you will kindly listen to me." " Sir, I replied, if the service which it appears I have the power to render you, can in any way soften the grief you suffer, tell me quickly in what way I can be useful to you, and you will find in me a man happy to oblige you." The grief of M. Duval was sympathetic, and, despite myself. I was anxious to be agreeable to this man, whom I saw for the first time. He then said to me — " You purchased something at Marguerite's sale V' " Yes, sir, a book," " Manon Lescant ?" " Precisely." " Have you still this book V " It is in my bedroom." Armand Duval, at this news, appeared relieved of a great weight, and thanked me as if I had already com- menced rendering him a service in preserving the volume. I then rose, went to my chamber, took the book and pre- sented it to him. " That is it," he said, looking at the dedication on the first page, and turning over the pages, *' this is indeed the one. Poor girl!" And two heavy tears fell on the book. " Well, sir," he said, raising his head to me, and not attempting to conceal from me that he still wept, " are you very anxious to retain this work:" " Why, sir?" " Because I am come to ask you to yield it to me." " Pardon me my curiosity," I then said, " but it is you then who gave it to Marguerite Gautier ?" "' Twas myself.'' " This book is your's, sir ; take it, I am happy at being enabled to restore it you." " But," resumed M. Duval, with embarrassment, " I must at least give you the price you paid for it." " Permit me to offer it to you. The price of a single volume in such a sale is a mere trifle, and 1 do not exactly remember the sum I paid for it." " You paid a hundred francs for it." " It is true," I said, embarrassed in my turn, " how did you know it ?" " It is very simple ; I hoped to arrive in Paris in time for Marguerite's sale, and I only arrived this morning. I was absolutely bent upon having an object that belonged to her, and I ran to the auctioneer to requestfrom him the permission to inspect the list of articles sold, and the names of the purchasers. I saw that this volume had been pur- chased by you. I determined to beg you to transfer it to me, although the price you paid for it made me fear that you yourself had set some value on the possession of it. I thought to myself that perhaps you had known Mar- guerite, like myself, and as every one might have known her, and that on your part, you might also be desirous of having some remembrance of her." In saying this, Armand evidently appeared to fear that I had known Marguerite as he had known her; I hastened to re- assure him. " I only knew Mademoiselle Gautier by sight," I said to him; " her death made the same impression on me which the death of a pretty woman, whom it was a pleasure to meet, always produces on a young man. I wished to purchase something at her sale, and I was obstinate in bidding for this volume, I knew not why, for the pleasure of enraging a gentleman who was furious for it, and served to defy me for its possession. I therefore repeat to you, sir, this book is atyonr disposition, and I again beg you to accept it, that you might not take it from me as I took it from the auctioneer, and that it might be between us the promise of a longer intimacy, and more esteemed friend ship." " Very good, sir," said Armand, offering me his hand and pressing mine, " I accept, and I shall be grateful to you all my life." I had great anxiety to question Armand as to Marguerite ; for the dedication of the book, the journey of the young man, his desire to possess the volume, piqued my curiosity; but I feared, by questioning my visitor, to appear that I had refused accepting his money, merely to have the right of intruding upon his affairs, and I was silent. He seemed to have guessed my anxiety, for he said to me, " You have read this volume?" " Entirely." " What did you think of the notes you have seen ?" " I was unable to read them, but I have read the two lines you have written on the first page, and I immediately comprehended that in your eyes the poor girl to whom you gave the book was above the ordinary class, for I would not see in these lines a mere every day compliment." " And you were right, sir. This girl was an angel. Stay," he said to me, " read this letter." And he handed me a paper which appeared to have been read over a hundred times. I opened it; the contents were as follow :— " MY DBAR ARMAND— I have received your letter; you have remained good, and I thank God for it. Yes, my friend, I am ill, and of one of those maladies which do not pardon; but the interest you still take in me greatly dimi- nishes my sufferings. I shall not, in all probability, live long enough to have the happiness of pressing the hand that has written the kind letter I have just received, and the contents of which would recover me if any thing could now save me. I shall not see you, for I am very near death, and hun- dreds of leagues separate you from me. Poor friend ! your Marguerite of former days is greatly changed, and it is better, perhaps, that you should not see her again than to see her such as she is. You ask me if I pardon you; oh, with all my heart, friend; for the injury you tried to do me was but a proof of the love you had for me. I have been in bed for the last month, and I set such a value on your esteem, that I write daily the journal of my life, since the moment we parted until the moment I shall no longer have the strength to write. " If the interest you take in me is real, Armand, on your return go to Julie Duprat, who will deliver you this journal, in which you will find the reason and the excuse for what has taken place between us. Julie is very kind to me; we often talk of you. She was here when your letter arrived; we wept on reading it. " In the event of my receiving no news of you, she is charged to deliver to you, on your arrival in France, what I have daily written for you. Be not grateful to me for it; this daily retrospect of the only happy moments of my life does me a deal of good, and if you find in this perusal an excuse for the past, I find in it a great and purifying comfort. " I wished to have left you something that would always remind you of me, but all I have is seized, and nothing belongs to me. " Do you understand, my friend ? I am about to die, and from my bedroom I hear in the saloon the steps of the bailiff whom my creditors have placed there that nothing may be carried away, and that nothing might remain to me in the event of my not dying. It is to be hoped they will await the end before they sell. " Oh, men are unpitying! or rather, I am wrong; ' tis God who is just and inflexible. " Well, my best beloved, you will come to my sale, and you will purchase something; for if I placed aside the least object for you and it was discovered, they would be capa- ble of pursuing you for embezzling articles that were seized.! " A sorrowful life is the one I quit 1 " How good would it be of the Almighty if he permitted me to see you before 1 die! In all probability, adieu, dear friend ; pardon me if I do not write you more, but those who say they will cure me, exhaust me with bleedings, and my hand refuses to write further. " MARGUERITE GAUTIER.'' Indeed, the last words were scarcely legible. ( To be continued.) SPORTING INTELLIGENCE. ( FROM OUR OWN REPORTER.) NEWMARKET.— 1The result of the 2,000 guinea- stakes ha" created quite a sensation, it being a stake that but little of the cattle could approach. " Do- tlie- boys" has indeed done many of them, and the speculators now look anything but sweet on ' Honeycomb." The " Vatican" has proved a most formidable bull; whilst some bettors, had they probably listened to their betters, would not now be wishing themselves at the " Indus," through laying their money upon him. One or two gentlemen have bolted, the same as " Garrick;" and the " Fire- king" has made the corner such a warm one, that without waiting for favourites to " walk over," his friends have preferred to " walk off." In short, " Nunnykirk"* has literally played " Old Nick" with the sporting men, and " Oquetos," coming in last, has been the quietus for many. " Vates'' says, " There was nothing done either for the Derby or the Oaks ;" the only bet we heard of was upon the " Dutchman," viz., that if there were thirteen starters, it would be twelve to one against him. Since the above was written, there have been numerous complaints upon the subject of the many false starts for the races, and various plans suggested to prevent so much annual disappointment; we have also heard of one or two real ones with the betting money. * Mr. Nicholls, the winner of the stakes. Notices to © omspontitntis. SAMUEL HOME ( Finsbury).— We are obliged for your favour, though we should have preferred something racier. A YOKEL.— We don't clearly understand you, old feller; is it in meat or malt you mean? Write again. R. D. J. ( Green Lanes, Birmingham).— We shall most certainly make use of " The Dream," probably in No. 7, although we are positively inundated with poetry. Our correspondent will find a letter left for him, as he desired, on Wednesday morning. **** ( Albert Saloon).— Mr. E. Green's sketch stands over till No. 7, chiefly in consequence of your letter. Your's are, indeed, " startling disclosures," and mi est be inquired into. The proprietor of the TOWN will call where you desire on Monday night, at half- past ten. P. AND W. ( Glasgow).— Yourjokesare " reyther " too purple tinted. You can do better, we are convinced. LITTLE JANE ( Exeter- street).— Put the number of your house. J. P— k ( High- street, Edinburgh).— Why don't you send us some copy? We have such little time for letter- writing: however, we'll try and send on Thursday next. Order the back numbers of your newsvender, and tell H— y, the typo, that we " arx d ai'ter him;" don't forget. " Stands Clare- market where it did?" " I believe yer, my boy, and looks stun- ning." A LOVER OF FAIR PLAY ( Standard Theatre).— The conduct of Shepherd, of the Surrey Theatre, towards Neville, in the matter of the benefit, was truly disgraceful. Dick should not forget the time when he " roughed " it with Jack Bear, at the Albion, in Windmill- street, Haymarket. The TOWN don't. JUSTITIA ( Hull).— In our next, if possible. PHILO COMUS ( Bishop- wearmouth, Sunderland).— We are much obliged to you for the trouble that you have taken, but your " Pendulum " is too broad, and a little too long. It must be both cut and covered up a little before it appears in our columns. FIBHARD is thanked, but too late for this week. ,* In consequence of the severe indisposition of our artist, we are compelled to postpone the re- issue of No. I until Monday, when we hope to compensate for the delay, by having a new and splendid illustration. TO ADVERTISERS: Advertisements not exceeding 10 lines, single insertion,.. 4 0 Every additional line, 0 3 A liberal allowance on several insertions. All advertisements must be sent to the Office on Thursday at the latest. TIT- BITS FOR GENTLEMEN. EIGHT SPICY PLATES, a la Frangaise, One Shilling Post- paid, Is. 6d. SPICE NDTS, a charming collection of delicious pictures for Bachelors' parties, Is.; post- paid, Is. 6d. BEAUTY OF WOMAN, six coloured French plates, by Dizier, 3s. Cd. PRETTY GIRLS OF LONDON, twelve engravings, splendidly coloured, 10s. 6d.; postage, Is. 6d. JULIA ; or, I've Saved My Rose, coloured plates, 10s. 6d.; postage, Is. COAL- HOLE SONGSTERS, Is. each. W. JOHNS, 35, Holywell- street, Strand. JUST PUBLISHED, Eleventh Edition, Price 3d., or post- free for four stamps, TEN SECRETS FOR GENTS, concerning a universal but most perplexing Article of Dress, contain- ing full instructions for its satisfactory arrangement, with appro- priate Diagrams, and upwards of thirty Illustrations. Also, price One Shilling, or post free, for eighteen postage stamps, AVOLUME OF SECRETS. Contaiaing tit- bits for everybody, and threo hundred amus- ing and unique wrinkles on every possible subject. Price One Shilling, or post free, for sixteen stamps, SECRETS IN THE ART OF DRESS, including a Disser- tation upon every Article and Style of Attire, with full Practical Directions for improving the Figure and Appearance, & c., & c. Price Sixpence, HE ILLUSTRATED BOOK OF SONG. T Containing Two Hundred and Fifty of all the most popular Songs and Recitations. Price One Shilling, or post free for Sixteen Stamps, O W TO GET M O N E Y ; or, Six Ways of Making a Fortune. Now Publishing, the most extraordinary work ever published, complete, price One Penny, entitled ATURE'S W O N D E R S, as exemplified in II N the Extraordinary Contents of the Museum of the Col- lege of Surgeons, including Monstrosities, Malformations, and wonderful Lusus Naturae, together with Cases of Remarkable Disorders, & c., & c., profusely illustrated. London, S. COLLINS, 39, Holywell- street. W. COLE ( late with Caffyn) BEGS to inform the Trade, that in consequence of the immense increase of his business he is compelled to REMOVE to more extensive Premises, No. 7, BEDFORD- STREET, OXFORD- STREET, MILE- END, where he will be enabled to keep a large Stock of the current and back Numbers of every Publication. The Trade supplied with every Periodical as soon as published. A Circulating Library, containing several thouse. nd of the most popular Works ot the day. To Booksellers and others. HCOOK, SIMS' ALLEY, BROADMEAD, BRISTOL, . undertakes to supply THE TOWN, and all other periodi- cals, at the same price as in London. Newspapers, & c., & c. H. Cook invites the public to inspect his stock, which coutains every amusing work published. Printed and published for the Proprietors by Vf. WINN, Holywell- street, Strand, where all communications arc to be addressed. To be had of ali booksellers.