I , m liw ^ y/'^/.' n- 1 § « Hill MRS. LORIMER SPINKS; OB, THE MARRIED LADY THAT WAS A LITTLE TOO GAY. It was past six in the evening before Mrs. Spinks and Varden presented themselves at Rodwell Hall, and their reception ex- ceeded their most sanguine expectations, arising probably in a great measure from the circumstance of the absence in London of those who usually took care of the estate. The young woman introduced to our readers, in Chapter IX., as Sally, had now been installed in the Hall as servant, and she, with Mrs. Dobson, were the only persons, with the exception of a watchman, in the house. " You have come sooner than we expected," said the simple- minded old woman, as she ushered Mrs. Spinks into a small but Seatly furnished apartment. " We did not expect either you, jiadam, or your brother, for a fortnight." Varden immediately perceived by this observation that some communication had been received from London, and he felt that it would advance their plans to know its purport. " You received the letter, then," he commenced; " ah, I am sorry we were obliged to alter the plan laid down in it." " What plan ?" inquired the old woman ; " I only had a letter from my husband, and in that he mentioned what I have just told you." " You did not then receive a letter from Mr. Darcie," said Var- den quietly, for he perceived he had made a mistake, " I thought he would have written to you." From Mrs. Dobson, Vardem ascertained that immediately upon | the return of her husband from the trial of the prisoners for the recent robbery, workmen were to be engaged, and most extensive alterations were to be made, as it was the intention of Mr. Andrew Dawkings to reside upon the property. The old woman was equally anxious to know the result of the trial, which Varden having put her in possession of, she observed that her husband and son would therefore be certaia to retura the next day. " But I am tiring you, ma'am," she continued, addressing Mrs. Spinks, " but you will excuse, I hope, an old woman ; if yea wifl wait here a short time, I will send a youag female, whe will attend upon you, and show you to a better apartmeat; perhaps, however, you would like te go over the Hall; there are seme strange nooks and crannies about the old building." Varden made a sign to Mrs. Spinks, which was understood, for she answered, " Not at present; I am fatigued with my journey, and require a little rest" The hint was sufficient for Mrs. Dobson, for she left the room almost immediately. " We have but little time to lose,'' said Varden, carefully closing the door; " the old woman has spoken the truth whea she says there are some queer places about this house; indeed, she is cor- rect, and we have but little time to see them." " What then do you propose doing ? I should have thought there would have been but little difficulty in obtaining the papers you spoke of; can we not at once proceed to the place ? " " Certainly not," replied Varden, " any want of caution would upset all our plans— for, although there is now no one in the house, the news of your arrival will soon spread, and we shall shortly have a visit from some of the tenantry. We must wait till night ere we do anything. Listen to my plans— there is a room in the left wing of this building, known as the ' Walnut- tree chamber," from it's being panelled with that wood. I have heard that it is the room in which your mother was born. Be that, however, as it may, you must ask to see it, for in that room, if I am not wrongly informed, there is a passage concealed behind one of the panels, communicating with the painted closet, in which hangs the por- traits of several of the Rodwell family, and, amongst others, that of your mother, when a girl." " You seem better acquainted with this house than I should have thought, notwithstanding you tell me that the days of your childhood were passed here ; I am surprised Mrs. Dobson did not recognise you." " No danger of that," said Varden; " she has come upon the estate only within the last few years; I might not, however, have fared so well with her husband, and I, therefore, again repeat the necessity of our using caution by concluding our business ere he can return. Mrs. Dobson can have no objection to show you the room I have just mentioned ; you must select that for your sleeping- apartment for to- night, thereby giving me the means of access to the painted closet." " Where, then, do you sleep ?" exclaimed Mrs. Spinks, with sur- prise, " sarely you do not wish to share my chamber ?" A peculiar smile passed over the countenance of Varden as he answered— " No; scandal might then, perhaps, say I was a little too gay— I shall not be far distant," he continued, " and you need not go to bed, although I prefer your retiring to your chamber early." No- 24-] P U B L IS H E D W EEKLY. rpRICE Qnk P ™ V I arts I., II., and III., aril now ready. Each Part will bo ^ jdirect, on receipt of IB Postage stamp.. For remoto part^ Single Copies n, av be sen. direct fr « » the Office1 forTwo PostTgfStamps 2 THE TOWN. The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Dobson, accompanied by the young woman, Sarah, carrying the tea equipage. " X thought you would require something after your journey," said Mrs. Dobson, " though it is late for teu, and too early for supper." Mrs. Spinks returned her thanks, and then intimated, after par- taking of some tea, a desire to view the mansion. Some time was occupied in going through the various chambers, at length Mrs. Spinks inquired why her conductress had pot shown her the Walnut- tree cnamber. " Good Heaven ! " exclaimed Mrs. Dobson, " surely you would not think of going there ?" " Why not t" enquired Mrs. Spinks. " It is lonely, and so— so— so—" " So what?" " There be so many queer tales about yon room," said Sarah, for the first time breaking silence ; " don't thee go there, madam." " This is nonsense," said Varden, " Mrs. Spinks is desirous of seeing the apartment, and surely she is to be obeyed." " Oh, certainly, sir," replied Mrs Dobson, dropping a curtsey ; " but perhaps the lady is not aware that this is the room in which Captain Rodwell was said to have been murdered." " Ridiculous," interrupted Varden, " that is nearly fifty years since." " It is also the room in which Miss Margaret Rodwell was born," resumed the old woman, " her ladyship's mother, a very excellent likeness of whom hangs in a small room to the rSiht of this staircase." " Ah, ah!" exclaimed Varden, " that must be what is called the Painted closet." " Just so," continued Mrs. Dobson j " and it is supposed that in that little room the thieves must have been first alarmed." This conversation had taken place in that part of the Hall, des- cribed to the reader in a previous chapter, as the scene of the murderous attack made by the Slasher and his companions upon young Dobson and the watchman, which the old woman was very anxious to explain, but was prevented by Varden desiring her at once to take them to the Walnut- tree chamber. " You are not much acquainted with this house," said Mrs Dobson, " I should think, for that room is on the other side of the Hall, some distance from here." " And how far are we from the Painted closet ?" inquired Mrs Spinks. " It is the fourth door down that passage," was the answer; " will you go in now or wait until the morning ? it is a bad time now to see the pictures, for it is getting dusk." " We will go at once," said Mrs. Spinks, and with these words all the four proceeded down a long narrow passage, interseoted by a number of doors. " What rooms are these?" inquired Varden, pointing to them " There must, at one time, have been a large establishment con- nected with this place." " You are right, sir," answered the old woman. " Here are sleeping apartments for more than forty persons." " How are they furnished now?" asked Mrs. Spinks. " They have all, except one, been uninhabited for many years,' was the reply, " and that is this room, which my son, poor fel- low, generally slept in, except, as misfortune would have it, nn the night of the robbery ; and this," she added, " is the Painted- room, which you have been asking about." As she uttered these words, she opened one of the doors, and admitted them into a small, badly- lighted chamber, the walls of which were hung round with a number of dusky- looking portraits, done in all manner of styles. " You see the place to a disadvantage," observed the old woman; *' that, however, is the portrait of Miss Rodwell," and she pointed to a full- length picture of a female about nineteen years of age, which, notwithstanding the disparity of years and the difference of costume, bore a strong resemblance to Mrs. Spinks " It is, indeed, my poor mother," exclaimed Mrs. Spinks; " often have I seen her look as she is there represented ; often have I seen that smile upon her countenance." She was interrupted in her observations suddenly by Varden somewhat rudely pulling her by the shoulder aud cxclaiming, Come, come, don't let us stop here now, there is a chilly air from that broken window, you will have an opportunity of again view- ing that painting." " Where does that window look to ?" inquired MM. Spinks, " and why is it not mended f " Into the garden," said Mrs. Dobson; " at least the garden is at a depth of above sixty feet, and that wall opposite which looks so close that you might almost touch it, is the wing of the Hall in which the Walnut- tree chamber is built; it is a long way, however, from here round, and I have been told that my husband, when a boy, was often in the habit of jumping from this window on to the leads. The window will be mended next week." " It was a bold jump," said Varden, " and one only warranted in a case of life or death. You mentioned just now, my good woman he continued, " that the next aparunent was a bed- room ; I will sleep there to- night, as I shall have to rise early in the morning and do not wish to disturb you." " As you think proper," said Mrs. Dobson. " And I will sleep in the Walnut- tree room," said Mrs. Spinks. " You have made a strange choice," said the old woman with astonishment, " but of course you know best; you will be far enough apart, that is certain." " Heigh, I wouldn't sleep there for a hundred suverrins," cried Sarah, " it beant been opened while this twelve years. There's some Wradely queer stories about yon room, there are for sure." " We will go there directly," said the housekeeper, " ifyou p. ease ma'am, for if you are resolved to sleep there it will require some little time to put the place in order." During the time these few words were being spoken, Varden had been engaged closely scrutinizing the figure ot a Highlander in full Tartan costume. Mrs. Dobson observed him and remarked " I don't know who that Scotchman is meant for, it appears to me to have been painted on the wall, and not like the other por- traits. I should think it had been there many years, for it seems very old." " It is of no consequence," said Varden; " come," he added, ad- dressing Mrs. Spinks, ' let us go to the Walnut- tree chamber; it will be dark before we get there." " I will go and fetch candles," said Sarah, " and bring them round to you." " Do so," answered Varden, and then in a low tone he said, grasping the arm of Mrs. Spinks, " it's all right, I have found the secret panel." Closing the door and firmly locking it, Mrs. Dobson proceeded to lead the way to the apartment in which Mrs. Spinks desired to pass the night. Scarcely, however, had the key turned in the lock, when a rope was thrown from the roof of that portion of the building which faced the casement through the broken win- dow and into the painted closet. The next moment a plank was passed across aud two figures entered the apartment— they were the Slasher and the boy Captain Flash. " I am certain some one was moving about this room," said the Slasher, " I saw them from the leads, quite plain." " Whoever they were," answered the boy, trying the door, " they have fastened us in tight enough." '' No matter," replied the Slasher," we must get these docu- ments out of the old painting of Miss Rodwell, and then we can go back the same way we came. We have stolen a march upon the villain Varden, cunning as he is, though I am inclined to think you were deceived in thinking you saw him in the church- yard this morning." Before the boy could answer, they were alarmed with the sound of a loud crash, and upon looking towards the window, to their consternation, they found that the plank had fallen from the roof into the garden beneath. " We are completely locked in now," said the Slasher; " I have heard my mother say there is a secret passage behind one of these paintings. Strike a light, my man. and we'll look for it, for its our only chance of escape." ( To Uo continued.) LIFE IN A LODGING HOSSR A QUEER LARK WITH A SOLDIER. CHAP. III. ( Concluded from No. 82.) PART THREE. Pleasant but wrong 1 yet more roinafus For my pen to disclose, About our loving heroine Aud A. Z. B.— Here goes ! One night, after looking rather demure, Talking about a wish to be pure, After his hands had roamed all ways, Pressed the warm bosom and played with the stayed The family all to bed were gone, A. Z. B. and and Sail were alone, And they toyed like innocent kids at play, She all loving, he so gay— A bit of a blush came over his face As A. Z. B. his thoughts did trace— How, having half a bed to spare, He begg'd she'd let him lie still there; She listened and heard his ardent prayer, I give it in full— as fond, as dear As ever was poured in a woman's ear. THE PRATER. " By the most luscious kiss you gave me last night, " By my hold on your waist, so tender and tight, " By the warmth of your breast, the swell of your heart, " By the close clinging ljps, by that sudden start, " By the down on your neck where my arms would unite, " By the eyes which now flash with love's fond delight, " By the thoughts on your pillow— those when you rise, " By the thing of all things which you prize as your eyes, " By all the soft pleasures a lady may share, " By the sweetest of moments some ladies oan't bear, " By these, and by more than I can recite, " I pray thee, entreat thee, admit me to- night." But Sail had not yet Been able to get Her mind screwed up to this part; Though full of desire, And her soul on fire, She still felt timid at heart— Till at length she could no longer deny His oft urged wish in her bed to lie, But made him promise ( against his will) If he did come to lie quite still! This treaty made, She felt not afraid, Though her heart heaved like a billow To say he might come, And find a warm home In her arms, and a share of her pillow- Deep silence reigned within the house, Quiet each flea, cricket, and mouse, When a cautious tread falls on the ear Of her who listens with hope and fear In her own room, in a robe de nuit, From frock and stays, and such things free. There's a row in the passage, a d— d board creeks, And the port wine colours her heated cheeks; But the passion she finds it hard to hide Is flowing now in a rushing tide ; She, a husband's deserted bride, To do without love in vain has tried, At length she has found for which she sighed, The issue she seems content to abide ; For A. Z. B., in his passion and pride, Stands, in his shirt, alone by her side! At seeing him thus so nearly nude, Sally acted a bit of the prude: Said she thought him extremely rude, And a little discussion on it ensued— But the woman now was easily woo'd, For the man in a different light she viewed; The original plan was therefore pursued; And to bed they both went, And the night was there spent, But how, I do not choose to disclose— The promise was kept, and Mr. B. rose, Leaving Sail's virtue under the clothes! PART POUR. Header! it seemeth very plain This could never happen again— Each would treat the thought with disdain. Sally ! she felt it was now too late To try and avert her pleasant fate— She had felt and fondled the craving bait, Leaving her virtue in a fearful state ; Whilst it made her passions fiercely burn, To think that for her he'd so much concern. So, though her tongue was quiet and mute, Eve- like, her thoughts had but one pursuit, To enjoy the prized forbidden fruit!— Sure she should manage so to scheme As not to shout, to cry, or scream, At her realization of Dudee's dream.* To her it was tar too pleasant a theme, The very thought brought joy supreme, Aud her brain with loving thoughts did teem— And she made up her mind that, happen what might, He should come to her room the very next night. She had not courage to say him " Nay !" The body is apt the mind to obey, And her's, ever ready for love's soft play, Was never more so than on that day. ( To be continued.) ADVANTAGE OP CORRECT PUNCTUATION.— Some few years since, a man of the name of Dixon, a compositor, was charged in Bolton with calling his next door neighbour's wife a naughty name, and was summoned before a magistrate ; although there was little doubt of the lady's profligacy, yet because Dixon could not give the husband, as Othello says, " give him the ocular liroof, make him to see it, or at least so prove it, that there could he no loop to hinge a doubt upon," he was ordered to make a public apology. He accordingly consented, made his appearance nearly where Sharpies now stands, and delivered the following words ; " Mrs M , I have called you a ; it is true. You arc an honest woman. I have told alie, and am sorry for it." Woman is in a more degraded position in China than in any other part of the globe ; in no rank is she regarded as the i oin- panion of man, but is treated solely as the slave of his caprice iiti'l passions. Even amongst the females of the highest rank ' ew m; e found who can read or write, a greater portion of their titnc living spent in smoking and play. It is very common to see the wives of the lower orders yoked toa plough while her husband guidrsit * Vide Don Juan. We concluded our last chapter with a choice specimen of li- terature, viz., the fac- simile of our heroine's letter to her lover, full- private Swodgers. As soon as that gentleman received the epistle, he felt an indis- cribable thrill, which, as he afterwards declared, run through him from one extremity to the other, He felt that he should no more press the dear lips of his dear Polly ; at the same time he knew that she could never exist without a Swodger of some sort; and that as he, full private, would not be handy, his notion was, that she would find some other Swodger to put in his place. Jack likewise sagaciously considered, that in a place like London, Swodgers were to be met with standing at the corner of every lamp- post, and in every tap- room, idle, luxuriant, and pristine. Jack, as these thoughts passed through him, heaved a sigh, and muttered something, and then determined to send his love an answer to her billet- doux. It would be something worse than an injustice to reb our readers of a copy of this precious letter ; we therefore give it ver- batim— MY DEAR POLL,— I was putrified when I received your letter. How could yew think ov going to Lundun vithout a seeing of me? Yet, Pol, I ham appv wen I rekerlects as yew thinks ov me and my short shirt. And now, Pol, yewer hone Jack is a goin to say summut to yew as makes his buzzum to heve, and his brest te throb. Yew nose, Pol, Lundun is a dangerous plaice, and sow, therefor be careful. Deer Pol, I shall cum to Lundun as soon as I oan; mind as yew prays for yewer Jack, and beleve me— I ham, deer Miss Squeaks, Though full of quear freaks, And a very rum codger, Yewer very true lover, Jack Swodger. To Miss Polly Squeaks, at the second- and shop, Liver- and- pluck- passage, Whitechapel. P. S.— When I cums to Lundun, I will cum and pass all day in yewer secondand close consern. We must leave the gallant Swodgers for awhile to return to Miss Squeaks. Precisely as Swodgers had anticipated, she was not long before she began to look out for some young, large made, broad- shoul- dered, thick- set fellow, to fill his place. This was complimentary to Jack, as it clearly proved she felt his loss. At the period of which we are writing, a good lady kept a small pastry- cook's shop, in Lemon- street, Whitechapel. Wc say the good lady kept the shop, and for this reason the shop did not keep her, and we will give the reason why. Tall mosaic- looking individuals were repeatedly seen devouring the pastry; as no per son ever saw the said young men pass any coin for these luxuries, it was murmured that they settled the account by giving work and labour of some character for the fair proprietress. Early one morning, however, a mysterious cart was seen hovering about the pastry- cook's, attended by a single horse, and shortly after all the worldly effects of the fair creature were, by its assistance, removed to another locality. Our readers must not, however, suppose this a digression; quite the contrary, it has a great deal to do with the story. After the removal of the pastry- cook purveyor, there was a vast number of idle young men, who had nothing to do, and very little money to spend, hanging about Lemon- street. One evening, re- turning from the Garrick Theatre, where she had been half- price, Miss Squeaks encountered one of these individuals, and, as it was raining, he politely proffered her the use of his umbrella. This our heroine accepted, and, with a little pressing, a share of sixpen- ny- worth of warm rum- and- water. Promisouous billings and cooings are, at the best, unpalatable subjects; suffice it to say, that Miss Squeaks' male companion turned out to be the person who was taking care of the premises, late the pastry- cook's, and, with a little persuasion, Polly was in- duced to go over the premises, from which, as it was very late, and raining very hard, she did not return that night. The pre- mises were not precisely empty, and Mr. Biffins filled the place of Mr. Swodgers, very much to the satisfaction of the faithless she for very many nights. The neighbours, however, began to smell a rat; a rumour reaohed the landlord that a woman went into the house every night, and left early in the morning ; and the result was, both parties were obliged to leave. Miss Squeaks, we should mention, had left the paternal roof, and it was now a question where she should go. Mr. Biffins was very loving but very poor, and equally lost to shame ; so he suggested to Miss Polly, that she should, as she was very pretty, turn her charms to some account. This piece of advice showed the young lady the true character of her lover, and she determined, if she embarked in that line of business, to trade for herself; and, full of this resolve, she immediately left the amiable youth, and commenced business on her own account; and, after a few weeks' sailing on the ocean of uncertain concu- binage, she was taken into the unlawful keeeping of a certain Colonel Pym. The course of true love, however, never did run smoot for, although she was now dressed in the first style of fashion, and lived in high state at the West, she could notrefrain from visiting her old haunts. Accordingly, taking advantage of the absence of her protector from town, she one evening sallied out, determined, to use her own expression," to astonish all her old pals with her greatness." Polly's first call was upon an aged relative, who superintended a mangle in Goodman's- fields, but she was from home; and she, therefore, determined to honour her respected parent, in Liver- and pluck- passage, with a visit. When she had arrived within a short distance of the house, she observed an extensive soldier sail- ing towards her, and as he approached, she became conscious of the fact, that it was her first love, full- private Swodgers. " Here's an unfortunate mishap," she exclaimed ; " I don't want to see him now— where shall I go ? I have it— Mrs. Pattisson's is handy, I'll go in there." Mrs. Pattisson's was in Wentworth- street, at this period famed for houses of a certain character ; and as Polly was well known to Mrs. P. she easily obtained shelter. Indeed, she was quite de- lighted to see her in such good feather; and, as is usual on such occasions, a girl was despatched with a milk- jug, for a quantity of spirituous liquidity, yolept gin and shrub, to the amount of a shilling. The girl had scarcely returned and deposited the beverage, when a gentle tap was heard at the door, which Mrs. P. proceeded to answer. The next instant a vast amount of kissing was heard in the passage, followed by the words—" My dear Swodgers," and " My darling Pat." Poor Polly, fora few moments, to use her own elegant and expressive language, was " struck all of a heap." Her first impression was, that Jack had followed her, and now wished to renew his love; but no; after listening a little longer, she clearly understood that her old lover had come to visit Mrs. Pat- tisson, and not her, the once adored Polly Squeaks. Polly being seated in the front parlour, could hear Mrs. P. enter the back one, ushering Jack Swodgers in also, where, be it observed, there was a large turn- up bedstead, which might also very plainly be heard being " turned down." " What in the world can he want there ?" thought Polly. We will explain. Mrs. Pattisson had formerly kept a house at Woolwich, where she had known Swodgers, who had been with her a great favour- ite. Jack had, therefore, come to London for two purposes; first t » see his old flame, Polly, and second to visit Mrs. Pattis- SOM. Being disappointed in his first visit, he thought he would make up for it in liis second. Having thus far explained the mat- ter, we will return to the scene in the back- parlour. Polly could liv. ii the smacking of lips very plainly ; and as she heard them, all her old love for Swodgers returned ; and, consequently, to force T H E TOWN. 3 open tie door with the reverse of her front, was but. the work of a moment. Our intuitive love of modesty will not permit us to describe the scene which met her view, farther thau to state that she found them in a very eccentric, though perfectly natural position ; the result ending in Mrs. Pattisson receiving a most severe castiga- tion from her female visitor. A reconciliation, however, ulti- mately took place between all the parties, and Swodgers again beoame the chosen swain of Miss Squeaks, till a letter reaching the hands and eyes of Colonel Pym, and that gentleman thinking he did not require Jack's assistance, Miss Polly was instructed to leave. " And now, my sister, tired of her sinful ways," said the elder Miss Squeaks, " has turned a godly woman, gives out tracts, and sells grocery ?" " And what bpcame of Swodgers ?" inquired her female com- panion, " and Biffins?" " I'm almost ashamed to tell you," was the answer. " Swodgers js not in the way now, for a middle aged lady who had seen him bathing, through a telescope, brought him off, and he's now kept by her like a gentleman. Biffins was transported for robbing an unfortunate girl of her shawl. However, as I said at first, take warning by my sister, and never sleep with a soldier." DINNER STEALERS. We never could understand how a man could enjoy a dinner a a tavern or a chop- house when he is totally unknown, who, before he entered, had made up his mind not tq disburse for the same; the very thought of the embarrassing consequences of such amuse- ment would utterly deprive us of any gout approaching to the name of appetite. We ieel quite persuaded that, in the absence of a miracle, we never could bilk, touching gastronomy. Yet there are these per- sons, attired as gentlemen, and not possessing the effrontery and hardihood ot a Dando, who systematically wander in search of a cheap dinner, id est, u meal obtained by fraud. Almost all the houses of public resort in the metropolis could tell the tale of such doings. One of the most flagrant things of this sort ever performed upon a grand scale, was achieved by a gentleman of the name of Noble, who some time since dressed himself in full canonicals, and entering the bar of the London Tavern, informed the then proprietor that he had just been ordained, by the Bishop of Lon- don, at church, in celebration of which important event he desired an excellent dinner for about twenty gentlemen, to be provided that day, at five o'clock. The proprietor bowed and thanked the divine for the preference he had given to his estab- lishment. The reverend gentleman then asked to be shown into a pri- vate room, and to be accommodated with pen, ink, paper, & c. This was done. Now, it happened that np to this period the or- dained one, although he had ordered his dinner, had not exactly se- lected his guests, and knowing that a public meeting was then being held at the City of London, at which many dissenting ministers of eminence were present, he bethought him that, after the fa- tigues of such a meeting were over, a good dinner would not be unacceptable to the pious fraternity, especially as they were, as a body, rather fond of the good things of this life. To this end ( and he knew many of their names) he despatched letters missive to about twenty of them, requesting the pleasure of their company to meet him. He suggested that although he was personally unknown to them, yet religious liberty and tolerance, in matters of faith, were his darling themes. Some of the reverend gentlemen did not ex- actly admire the style of composition; others suspected that all was not precisely right; a third class, however, with the leaven of a similar doubt, waived their scruples in favour of a good din- ner, being moved especially thereunto by that most excellent sauce, appetite. The ordained one made some good apology for the eight absentees, after which the parties went to work in right earnest. The dinner was sumptuous, the wines splendid. During dinner it was observed by many that the style of the reverend chairman's conversation was rather ungrammatical. This opinion, however, was awfully confirmed in his attempt at a speech prior to the coming on of the dessert, and which induced one or two of the party to make their escape. The dessert was superb, consisting of pines, melons, ices, and dried fruits. Ample justice was done in this department. It happened, on the day in question, his Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex was presidiug in the same tavern, at a charitable dinner. The ordained person spoke of him as his friend, and sent up his card to the royal duke. This circumstance was of importance in the eyes of the waiters, but did not weigh vastly in the esteem of the guests, who con- sidered it a mere ruse, which, in fact, it turned out to be. After a grand finale, in the shape of brandy- and- water and oigars, the divines departed. The ordained one was bowed out of the house by a troop of attendants, and, promising to call in the morning and give his check for the amount of the entertainment, he de- parted. He forgot, however, to call in the morning, and has been non est inventus ever since. [ We extract this story from the New York " Go- a- head," not 60 much for its humour, as for the singular resemblance it bears to a tale which recently appeared in this publication.] A LADY'S IDEAS OF EMIGRATION. TO THE EDITOR OP THE TOWN. Fleet Street, August 30th, 1849. DEAR MR. EDITOR, You having been kind enough to insert a letter of mine in No. 13 of your amusing publication under the title of A Ladylike Question," induces me again to trouble you. I am happy to say that I have now got a husband, and, although he is rather a young man, he talks of emigrating, and I can assure you I ieel much dread upon the point. America is spoken of. and, should I there encounter a Bushranger, do you think I should run any risk. The Indians way of fighting you are aware is prostrating himself with his back uppermost and firing hap- haaard through the bushes. Although I have not had much aquaintauce with random shots, I think I know enough to avoid that— but can you advise me how to act should he come to close quarters ? I am informed there is no standing that— with his tomahawk erected, his keen eye directing its aim, and the whole of his body in violent commotion, whilst he accompanies each gestures with a : terrible war- hoop, which is anything but playing at hide and seek. Therefore, dear Mr. Editor, I have to intreat that you will give me your opinion, as I guess you know all about the United States ; and tell me if you think it will be best for me to j. • or stay. I should add, that my husband says he can do nothing in this Coun- try ; he certainly has not done much here yet. However, I will take your opinion on the matter. Trusting you will pardon the intrusion, I remain, your old correspondent, Eliza E , now Eliza M Perhaps some of our correspondents will be kind enough to favour the lady with their opinion upon the matter. Little Bill Walters, the old Cheltenham Coachman, took it in his head, n few days since, to go down and pay a visit to his old flame Polly Windridge, who is still in business in that neighbourhood. Polly does a little in the farming line, and accordingly trotted Bill over her ground, showing him her pigs, poultry, sheep, and two line stallions. At length Bill enquired if she had'nt any horned beast, to which his lady- like friend coolly replied, " Oh, bless you, no; Windridge, poor dear soul, has been under the turf this two yearb and more.'' A DOWNEY OLD LADY DONE AT LAST SAM REYNOLDS, the celebrated Billiard player, who sailed last week for new York, was for many years one of the most successful hoaxers upon Town. In manner and appearance he was a perfect gentleman; rather good looking, and tolerably well dressed. With these natural and artificial appointments, he laid himself out professionally as a gay deceiver. He stationed himself every night at the door of the opera, or one of the Theatres, and when a respectable looking courtezan essayed to call a coach to ride home alone, the polite Mr. Reynolds would rush forward, as if he had just emerged from the box entrance, and insinuate his head into the cab window, just to inquire if the lady fair would take him with her. Now, it was a part of the policy of the wily youth seldom to address a woman until he perceived her enter a cab, because he then arrived at the fact that she had the where- withal to pay for one, which he, by the way, never had. Well, the lady in the cab being kindly disposed, would permit him to ride home with her. Reynolds then would display a huge packet of barber's notes, and express regret that he had no change to dis- charge the jarvey; if the bait took, the lady paid for the cab, and in nine cases out of ten, ordered champagne, & c , upon the strength of the stranger's flimsies ; which, as we have said, Reynolds took care that she should have a glimpse of. We know of one laughable case which we will give. Charley Smithers, the licensed victualler kept, or rather pretended to keep, old fat Polly Davis, in Foley Place. Now, Charley was very near, and Mother Davis, as some of her ancient friends called her, used to try to make a little more money by visiting the Theatres and looking up what she called the quiet people ; such as old bloaks with pig tails or powder, countrymen in coyduroys and top boots, or boys in paletots. About a month since, Polly took it into her head to drop into Astley's, with a view of cultivating the intimacy of the aforesaid quiet men, Now it happened rather strangely that on the same night Sam Reynolds had stationed himself at the door of this Theatre, and felt particularly quiet, for I he was exceedingly sharp set to obtain a supper and a night's lodging. At this moment Mrs. Davis tripped out of the Theatre with a juvenile specimen of the quiet fraternity, so juvenile that he might have been taken for the lady's son, had not Polly looked exceedingly smirking in his face and the lad appeared as If he were about to undergo some extraordinary process, or enter some place where he had never been before. Mother Davis squeezed his arm as if desirous of lifting him out of his very half- boots. Sam made up his mind in a moment for a cheap supper, he advanced with fearful boldness to Polly, giving her a familiar " how d'ye do"— the bait took— Reynolds certainly looked quiet— he advanced nearer and pushing the excited youth from the lady, he with an exquisite air of politeness offered her his arm, and bidding the boy go and purchase a top for his amusement instead of a woman, he coolly called a cab, handed the lady in, and bid the man drive to Foley Place. When the happy pair arrived at home, Reynolds with his usual ingenuity contrived to let his fair companion see that he had plenty of notes, but regretted the circumstance of his unluckily being without silver, the view of the notes had a talismanic effect upon Mrs. Davis ; she paid the coachman and ordered lobsters and champagne for supper. Rey- nolds made himself excessively agreeable, talked largely, behaved amorously, and altogether made the lady forget that such a person as Charley Smithers ever existed. Reynolds and the lady retired to rest. In the morning they breakfasted sumptuously and the gay young traveller, upon quitting her delightful society inquired for her purse, which she handed to him. He selected one note from the many folded it, placed it in, then twisted the purse in a knot, and playfully remarking that he had left her a puzzle to unravel, kissed her sweet lips and departed, with a promise to call again soon. Polly now set to work to undo the purse, fully expecting at least a twenty pound note had been deposited inside of it; in about five minutes after breaking thumb and finger nails, she succeeded in arriving at the fatal truth. The downey old lady was done at last, for a flimsy on the Bank of Elegance met her view. DISCOUNTING STOLEN BILL&. WHEN a bill has been stolen, the next thing is to get it discounted, and this calls into requisition the services of two classes of per- sons, who may be spoken of together as bill swindlers" assistants. First come the agents, who charge very often as much as Is. 3d. in the pound by way of commission, getting £ 6 5s for discount for a £ 100 bill, at three months, being at the rate of 22 per cent, per annum. Next, a class of discounters who take good care to as- certain that the acceptors are responsible, but ask no questions concerning the drawers or parties in whose hand the bill may be. These last are engaged in all sorts of trades, and do not discount in the ordinary sense of the term, but sell their goods at an enormous profit, receive payment in bills, and hand over to the agent the cash balance in his favour. Thus, suppose a £ 100 bill at three months, is offered to one of this fraternity, he will perhaps give for it £ 60 in cash, and a picture or tea- pot, invoiced at£ 40, butreally worth much less; takingits value £ 25, it makes 60 per cent, per annum, which, with the agent's commission, comes to 85 per cent, per annum, a trifling allowance which, of course, suggests a doubt of the bill having been got honestly obtained. Fraud seems out of the question ; the discounter is a highly re- spectable man, and is not within 60 per cent, of anything of the kind. JUVENILE NIGHT THIEVES. A stranger upon coming to the great metropolis, if he wishes to carry back with him anything like a correct idea of London profligacy, should pass through the Piazzas, a long colonnade facing Covent Garden market, after one o'clock in the morning. There he will find heaps of children, from eight or nine years to fourteen or fifteen, in groups upon the pavement, sleeping or dancing and gambling round the coffee stalls with which the place is adorned. Many of these children are sent out by their parents, to thieve or beg, as the case may be. Their instructions are to follow per- sons coming from the theatres or late singing rooms, and tell a lamentable tale, about a dead father, sick mother, and starving brothers and sisters; their principal harvest, however, is with in- dividuals a little worse for liquor, and then the system adopted is for three or four of the brats to surround the party, telling a long tale of distress, whilst the listener, confused by having so many urchins about him, at the same time not liking to strike children, has his pocket picked for his kindly consideration by an eldei member of the party. These scenes are of nightly occurrence; no blame, however, attaches to the police, for the moment that a " Bobby" appears, a signal is given, and the juvenile night crawl- ers vanish like spectres, disappearing amongst the carts and rub- bish of the market, in London there are upwards of 100,000 children who can neither read nor write, and 30,000 vagrants children who have either no parents to apply to, o? are totally neglected by their parents. A few weeks since, we saw a little creature taken out of Covent Garden market, for stealing a pocket- handkerchief; he was tried by a judge and jury, convicted of felony and sent to prison ; this course may continue week after week; month after month, till he becomes so utterly abandoned and reckless, that about this time two years he will finally be transported; and just as well might a child be punished for igHoranee of the alphabet which he has never seen, as for not practising rules of honesty, a system of duty he has never been taught. There is a coffee shop in Great Russell- street, which swarms with such elm- meters, and juvenile night thieves are one of the greatests pests of the metropolis. Whilst, upon the subject we may observe that our present, system of punishment rather tends to increase, than suppress this class of,: ofienders. Thus for the most petty con* ceivablo theft, a child is consigned to a prison, therein to learn how to he an accomplished thief. We have positive colleges qf crime in our gaols. The matriculation is the stealing from a fruit basket in one of our markets. The " little go" pocket- picking, a pair of boots or a piece of calico from a shop- door; then comes the higher degree of burglary, and the crowning honours of the student are the hulks or the gallows. In conclu- sion, we repeat it as our opinion, supported by our experience of Town life, that the majority of felons in the hulks have been Juvenile Night Thieves. TOWN TRIFLES. POVERTY AMONGST THEATRICALS.—- The celebrated doctor R who as most of our readers are probably aware, from his connection with , the press, the entree of all the theatres, gar- dens, and public exhibitions, was last season very much in the habit of visiting the Hay market theatre. Entering the green- room one. evening after the first piece he encountered the facetious Mrs. C—, " Well, my dear Mrs. C—," he commenced," what do you think of things in general?" " What do I think Doctor?" she answered, " well, if my honest opinion is asked, taking things as they are ge nerally, I think they are all too short." " That is the resultof your experience, is it ?" said the doctor, " you should have endeavoured to extend or stretch them out,.'' " There you are very wrong," replied the heavy lady, " my experience and the limited character of my circumstances have always compelled me to try and make them meet, and rather bring them in, than out." THE DUKE AT THE CHAPEL ROYAL.— J agreed with a friend to go to the chapel royal at St James's palace, on a Sunday morning in February. The faot that the Duke of Wellington actually attended ( there, was the inducement which attracted us. It was a bleak morning. There had been a heavy fall of snow, Our way to the chapel lay through St. James's park. We did not meet a single person, The stillness of London on the earlier hours of Sunday has often struck me. The state of the weather made this stillness seem greater than usual on this morning, and raised a suspicion in our minds that, so far as our visit to the chapel involved the hope of seeing the duke, it would be atten- ded with disappointment. Arrived there, however, and with the usual preliminaries admitted within, we found a singularly interesting congregation. The Chapel Royal is remarkable for a large attendance of the aristocraoy, and we saw before us a congregation of rank, fashion, fame, power, worth, and wisdom, such as is rarely witnessed. In a word, the congregation consisted of one single person— the duke alone! Bleak as was the morning, there he was, laden with more of earth's honour, dignities, and renown, than any living man, intently occupied with the workof worshipping his God, and all alone with the clergyman. The sight struck us as particularly fine. The Duke took alternative verses with the clergyman. He spoke with an utterance that was thick and indistinct, and occasionally stammered a little ere he could get out a word, but still his voice filled the chapel. Two brothers ef the name of Lawes, creating a disturbance at the Dublin Theatre, were called to order by the celebrated Felix M'Carthy, who was in the same box. One of them, presenting his card, said—" You shall hear from one of us ; our name is Lawes.' " Lawes, is it ?" said Felix, who was a most powerful man; " there, then," he added, pushing them into the lobby, " now you, out- lawes." TOM LEF.' P » A T. Here's success to good beu< , um g> <" 1 gin, Proclaim it eaeh man in the trade, May their strength long entwine With the strength of the vine, To keep us away from the grave. Let us Tipple Geneva like rain, It can't be a crime or a sin, While the people rejoice And exxclaim with one voice, Here's success to good heer and strong gin. Let the saints and such humbugs unite To drink nothing stronger than tea, And glory its name In each house of ill fame, Mid concubines merry and free. We'll tipple Geneva like rain, It can't be a crime or a sin, While the people rejoice, And exclaim with one voice, Here's success to good beer and strong gin. When Cholera was raging in Glasgow, a lady was asked out to a party, but sent her servant to tell, for an excuse, that she couldn't come because she had been in bed all day with Cholera morbus. The servant accordingly went and delivered her mes- sage, saying, that her mistress couldn't come as she had been lying all day with Colonel For bus. The assembled party were flabbergasted. THE OLD WOMAN AND THE OVEN. Mother Tub's one night lost her daughter, And for some time in vain had sought her ; At length she to the oven run, Found her and Joe just in their fun; She call'd her , and made a rout j At last they ventur'd to creep out, Said Joe, altho'you call her You've in the oven been before, When you was young, I make no doubt, Or you'd have never found us out; But if I marry her, what say then 1 • That done! said she, ' go on again" We of the TOWN think we cannot da better than caution our readers and the public in general to be particular in examining the new two shilling pieces called flarini, as the smashers are actively employed in manufacturing a most excellent imitation of them ; they are harder, if possible, than the pure metal, most elaborately finished, being galvanized. The polioe are on the look out for the " deliverers," but we question if they will not be too sharp for them. By the bye, manufacturing spurious coin is a very ancient offence; some of our classical readers will remember that the use of false money is mentioned by Herodotus, while by the laws of Solon, six hundred years before Christ, the forger of the public money was punished with death. Constantine, the first Christian Emperor, had the " schoffel- pitchers" burnt alive. When the Magdalen Asylum, in the Blackfriars Road, was first proposed in 1758, as a place of refuge and reform for unfortunate women, the scheme was positively met by this grave objection, viz. ; " That the institution would, at length, totally prevent a vice which every wise government had thought, fit to tolerate for the prevention of greater evils," and numerous clergymen of all deno minations supported it. ALL'S FOR THE BEST. All's for the best, be sanguine and cheerful, Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise ; Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearful, Courage for ever is happy and wise. All for the best, then, fling away terrors, Meet all yours fears and your foes in the van ; And, in the midst of your dangers or errors, Trust like a child, while you strive like a man. STREET WIT.— As Banvard, the proprietor of the Mississipi Panorama, was going through the streets the other day, he noticed a group of urchins closely observing him, and shortly after heard ne remark to the other, " I say, Jem, don't you know who that i>— that's the great Mrs. Sipphe." " Well," replied the other, 1 chould'nt have taken it for a woman, but if that's three mile painting, I don't think much of it. 4 NOTICE. Our readers who may find any difficulty in procuring THE TOWN from their booksellers, are requested to forward to our publisher the names of the persons refusing to supply them, as we are making arrangements for the appointment of Agents. MEMOIR OF A FRENCH LADY OF FASHION- ( Continued from our last.) CHAPTER XX. My father was in his dressing- gown, seated in my salon, and writing. I saw directly, from his manner, that we were about to have a serious discussion. After the usual salutations, my father rose, and leaning against the mantel- piece, said to me," Mv dear Armand, we have now to converse on serious matters." " I am listening, my father." " You promise to be frank ?'' " It is my usual custom." " Is it true that you are living with a woman named Marguerite Gautier ?'' " Yes." " Do you know what this woman was 1" " A woman of pleasure, or, in plain words, a kept womau." " It is for her that you have forgotten to visit tis this year ?" " Yes, my father, I admit it." " Yeu love this woman very much ?" " You see it plainly, since she has caused me to forget my duty, for which I now humbly solicit your par- don." My father, no doubt, little expected such categorical replies as these, for he seemed to reflect a moment, after which he said to me, " You have evidently comprehended that you cannot always live thus ?" " I feared it, my father, but I did not comprehend it." " But you must have comprehended, sir," continued my father, in a somewhat harsher tone, " that I myself would not tolerate it V " I considered that so long as I did nothing con- trary to the respect I owe your name, I could live as I chose, which re- assured me a little as to the fears I had." " Then, sir, the moment to live otherwise is arrived." " And why, may I ask?" " Because you are on the point of doing that which will injure your respect." " I cannot understand these words, my father." I will explain them to you, sir. That you have a mistress is a. 11 very good; that you pay her, as a gallant man ought to pay, the love of a courtezan, is also very proper, but that you should forget the most sacred duties for her, that you should allow the rumours of your scandalous life to reach my province and throw the shadow of a stain on the honourable name I hare given you; this is what cannot be, shall not be!" M. Duval continued in the same strain to endeavour to impress upon his son the folly and infatuation of thus sacrificing his worldly prospects, to bask in the cloudless sunshine of his mis- tress's eyes ; but he might as well have preached to the winds. Armand was deaf to every entreaty, to every prayer, to every threat. The notary had communicated to the father the fact of his son having transferred to Marguerite the fortune left by his mother; and when Armand told him that his reason for securing this sum to Marguerite was in recompense for the large sacrifice she had made for him, his father retorted to him, " Aud you accept this sacrifice ? what man are you, then, sir, to permit a prostitute to sacrifice anything for you ? Come, we have had enough of this ; you will quit this woman ; just now I entreated yeu— now I command you; I will not allow such obscenities in my family. Pack up your trunk, sir, and prepare to follow me." Armand still refused. " Take my luggage to the Hotel de Paris," said M. Duval to the servant, and at the same time passed into his room, where he finished dressing himself. When he re- ap- peartd, Armand met him. " You promise me," my father, ho said to him, " to do nothing that might cause pain to Marguerite?" His father stopped, looked at him disdainfully, and simply re- plied, " You are mad, sir." After which he left, slamming the door violently behind him, and Armand took a cab and started immediately for Bougival, where he found Marguerite anxiously awaiting him. They had a long conversation about the affair, anil as to the policy of allowing the storm to pass over. It was finally agreed that Armand should again see his father the next day at Paris. Accordingly, the next day he repaired to Pari3, and at twelve called at his father's hotel; the latter was already out,; he called at his own rooms ; no one had been ; then at his notary's; no one. He returned to the hotel, where he waited till six o'clock, and then departed for Bougival, where he found Marguerite seated at the fire. His mistress was plunged in some profound reflections, so that she scarcely perceived his approach. Armand told her of his liaviig been unable to meet with his father, and she then said he most again return, " to- morrow especially," her reason for which was, that an earnestness, as she said, on Armand's part would appear the more zealous, and their pardon would the more easily result from it. During the remainder of the day, Marguerite was abacs t and melancholy. As the day before, his father was absent, but he had left a note containing these words—" If you return to see me to- day, wait until four o'clock ; if at that hour I am not returned, come and dine with me to- morrow : I must speak with you." He waited until the appointed hour. His father did not come, and he left. On his return to Bougival he found Marguerite feverish and agitated, and from her nervousness and excitement, it was evident that something had occurred which she was reluctant to reveal to him. He inquired of Nanine, but she could explain nothing. He did all he could to encourage and reassure her, and towards morning she fell into a sort of dose. About eleven she awoke, and finding Armand already up, seemed hurt and surprised at his being already preparing to go; she begged him to stay with her till the last moment, and clung to him and kissed him so fran- ticly that Armand began to suspect she was losing her senses. When the hour for departure arrived, she accompanied Armand to the station, followed by Nanine. On the train starting, Armand whispered, " To- night, my lore." She did not reply to him. Once already, we may remember, she had not replied to these same words ; aud on that occasion the Count de G— had passed the night with her; but that time was so distant that it seemed to be effaced from his memory, and if he feared anything it certainly was not that Marguerite would deceive him. On his arrival at Paris, he went to Prudence to request her to go and see Marguerite at her toilette. She inquired after Mar- guerite, aud whether she was come? " Did she intend to come ?" inquired Armand. Prudence reddened, and replied with a certain embarrassment, " I mean, since you come to Paris, will she not join you here ?" " No," and he looked at Prudence, who cast down her eyes and seemed perplexed. " I even come, my dear Prudence, to beg you, if you had nothing better to do to, go aud pay Marguerite a visit this evening; you will be company for iter, and you can sleep there, for I really fear she is about to be ill." " Poor boy 1" murmured Prudence ; " I dine in town," she said aloud, " and I cannot see Marguerite this evening ; but I will see her to- morrow." He then took leave of Prudeuce, and repaired to his father whose first look contemplated him with attention; he took his hand and said to him," Your two visits have pleased me, Armand. I hope you have reflected on your side as I on mine." " May I be allowed, my father, to ask what has been the result of your reflections ?" " It has been, my friend, that I have exaggerated the importance of the information I had received, and that I have promised myself to be less severe with you." " What, my fa- th<~"'" " I say, my dear child, that every young man must have a mti ires', and that after the fresh information I have gained, I - ivcnldi.' athcr you were the lover of Mademoiselle Gautier than of : iEOthf'.\ I have been assured that she has a better heart than these sort of girls generally possess." And after conversing 3ome time, they sat down to dinner. M. Duval pressed his eon | Patay the night; this he could not make his mind to do, and his father therefore accompanied him to the station. At the mo- ment he was about to start, M. Duval pressed him a last time to remain. He refused. " You love this girl deeply, then ?" said his father. " Madly," he replied. " Go, then," and he passed his hand across his forehead, as if ho wished to drive away un- pleasant thoughts; he then opened his lips, as if to say something to his son, but merely pressed his hand and abruptly quitted kim, saying, " To- morrow, then!" CHAPTER XXI. As he approached Marguerite's house, he felt a sensation of cold and freezing horror. Not a window had a light in it, and he rang without any one replying. At length the gardener ap- peared. He ran into the house, which was silent as the tomb. Nauine joined him, with a lamp. He entered Marguerite's room. It was empty. " Where is madame ?" he inquired of Nanine. " Gone to Paris," she replied. " To Paris ?" " Tes, sir." " When?'' " An ho « r ago." " And she has left nothing for me ?" " Nothiug, sir." We may imagine his astonishment. At first, he thought Marguerite had gone to Paris on some important affair; but suddenly, the strange words and manner of Prudence, and the sudden change in his father's sentiments, seemed to clear the way a little before him. Had he fallen into a trap ? Had Marguerite deceived him ? What meant these tears, this absence, this mystery ? Such were the questions he asked himself, as he paced the empty chamber, and his eyes fixed on the timepiece, which, marking midnight, seemed to tell him it was too late to hope to see his mistress return. The night continued to advance, but Marguerite did not ar- rive. Anxiety overcame him. He feared lest something had happened to her. One o'clock struck. He resolved to wait till two, and if not then arrived, to start for Paris. In the meantime he took up a book. It was Manon Lescant. He opened it; it seemed to him that at different spots the pages were moistened, as if with tears. All appeared gloomy. The hour advanced slowly. The sky was obscured, a penetrating autumnal rain beat against the window. The empty bed appeared to assume the aspect of a tomb. He listened; not a sound could he hear but the dreary whistling of the wind. The half hoar struck. Then two o'clock! He waited a few minutes longer, and at length quitted the chamber, every object in which was invested with that gloomy aspect which the anxious solitude of the heart gives to all that surround it. In the adjoining room he found Nanine, who inquired if his mistress had returned. " No, but if she does return," said Ar- mand, " say to her that I could not resist my anxiety, and that I am gone to Paris." Aad in spite of Nanine's remonstrances, he bid her adieu. He took his cloak and the key of Marguerite's apartment in the rue d'Antin, and departed. It took him two hours to reach the barrier de l'Etoile. On arriving at the rue d'Antin, the mighty city was just stirring. Five o'clock struck at the church of St. Roch at the moment he entered Margusrite's house. He gave his name to the porter and passed on. He listened— not a sound. He opened the door and entered. The curtains were closely drawn. He drew aside those of the draw- ing- room, and turned towards the bed- room, the door of which he pushed open. He drew up the window blinds and sprang to the bed. It was empty! He visited every room— not a soul. He was nearly mad. He passed into the dressing- room, and from the window called Prudence several times. But Madame Duver- noy's window remained shut. He then descended to the porter and inquired if Mademoiselle Gautier had returned on the pre • vious day." Yes," replied the man, " with Madame Duvernoy." " She left no message for me ?" " None." " Do you know what they did afterwards ?" " They entered a ferriage." " What sort of one?" " A hired one." What could all this mean. He rang at the next door, and inquired for Madame Duvernoy. " She is not within," replied the porter, " for here is a letter for her which was brought here yesterday evening, and I have not vet delivered it to her." Armand looked at the letter, and found It was addressed to himself. " This letter is for me," he said. " Are you M. Duval?" " Yes." " Ah, now I remember; you often visited Madame Duvernoy." Armand did not even reply, but left. When in the street he broke the seal and read. Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, he would not have been more dis- mayed than he was on readiag this letter, the contents of which were as follows:— When you read this letter, Arrruvtid, I shall already be the mistress of another man. If I did not communicate to you yes- terday the resolution I wae compelled to take, it was because I had not the courage to do so, and that a word from you would have sufficed to prevent my accomplishing a thing on which your happiness depends. " All is now finished between UB. You will suffer much, no doubt, but what affords one a little consolation is, that you cannot suffer as much as I have suffered the last two days. " Adieu, my friend ; I no longer ask for your love, of which I am not worthy ; I do not solicit your friendship, which you would not accord me. You will despise me, hate me, injure me, per- haps. I pardon you beforehand, for one day you will acknow- ledge that never did a mistress, however fond she might be, do for her lover what I have done to- day for you. " Return to your father, my friend. His experience will en- lighten you better than I can do, aud one day, perhaps, he wiil be good enough to understand the sacrifice I make for you, and aid you to pardon me. " Go and see your sister, a young girl chaste and ignorant of all our miseries, and in whoBC society you will quickly forget the suffering caused you by the girl named Marg. Gautier, whom you loved for a moment, and who owes to you the few happy moments of a life which she hopes will not now be a long one." When he had read the last words, his senses appeared to leave him, and his strength to fail. On recovering a little, he remem- bered that his father was in the same city, that in ten minutes he could be with him, and that whatever was the cause of his grief he would share it. He ran to the Hotel de Paris. He entered his father's apartment. He was reading. From the little astonish- ment he betrayed on seeing his son, it appeared as if he had ex- pected him. Armand threw himself into his arms, gave him Marguerite's letter, and, sinking on the bed, wept bitterly. CHAPTER XXII. After the stupefaction caused by the perusal of Marguerite's letter had moderated ( continued Armand), my father persuaded me to depart with him. It seemed to me like a dream, and all that I remember is, that about five o'clock my father made me enter a post- chaise with him. Without saying anything he had had my boxes packed, had them attached with his own behind the carriage, and carried me off. During thejourney I spoke but little, for I feared he would say to me, " Was I not right in saying this woman would deceive you." After my arrival at my father'! everything was tried that might in anyway dispel my gloominess, such as sbooting and hunting parties. A mouth thus passed, but this was all I could endure. I felt an irresistible desire to see this woman, whom I still loved too well, once again, and on my promise to return to him soon, my father made no objection, did not sleep till I had arrived at Paris. I went direct to my rooms to dre6s myself, and from thence to the Champs Elvsees. In about a quarter of an hour, I saw Marguerite's carriage, though empty; 6he had consequently re- purchased it, as well as the horses. Bat on looking round, I beheld Marguerite walking, accompanied by a female I had not seen before. On passing me, Marguerite turned pale, and a nervous smile played on her lips. I coolly saluted her, and my ancient mistress directly entered her carriage with her friend, and they drove off. I could not be in- different to the actions of this woman, and I therefore imme- diately repaired to Prudence, and after waiting a few minutes Madame Duvernoy appeared, and led me into her dressing- room. As I seated myself, I heard the door of the saloon open, and a light step creak on the floor, and the entrance door was then vio- lently closed by some one who went out. ( Xo bo continued,) iBtolices to WovMpontitnte. PICKLES PLAIN, ( Liverpool).— The idea is old, but we 6hall be glad to hear from you again. Of course, no such society exists. ESTRELLA, ( Manchester).— You will find a communication as you desire at the Post Office on Wednesday next. FELIX, ( Old Street)— You remind us of the man who always kept a nutmeg- grater kandy, that when a GREAT man's name was mentioned he might say there's a GRATER. WIDO, ( Oxford).— You are a very strange individual. Yo » say, " I should Mke to know whether you intend making uae of the copy I have already sent you, and, having furnished you with my address," if WE will write to you. Mow, with every desire to be courteous, we must observe this looks very like " stringing,"— for we have RECEIVED neither address or copy, or most assuredly we should have written. S. & F. ( Glasgow).— Would'nt answer twice a week. S. G. H., ( Derby).— Tk « notorious Lady Barrymore's right name was Mary Ann Pearce— sh « lived at one time with his lordship, and has been dead about fourteen years. She was a devil to mill the old watchmen, and we have seen her floor five or six one after the other. IGNORAMUS, ( Liverpool).— The postscript of your letter proves you a filthy beast. A YOUNG CHRISTIAN, ( Bristol).— TO prevent the profanity of dealtag on tke Sabbath, there is an early edition of Bell's Lifo in London, Sunday Times, and the Satirist, published on the Saturday. M. G. R ***** w, ( Exmouth Street).— Vidocq, the celebrated Thief- tAer. did write for the old TOWN. AN ENGLISHMAN.— You are quite right— the women in London, especially of the upper class, at the present moment, endeavour to dress their chil- dren as unlike anything English as possible— a theatrical doll, or a perfomi- ing monkey,^ apparently being their model. PHILLIPS'S, ( Queenhithe, Lower Thames; Street).— We heard of the misfortune that nearly occurred to Lady Faintaway, in Holborn, early on Tuesday morning, after leaving thtf ball in Gravel Lane. The giddy girl must avoid large policemen in future, or her camping days in drag will soon be over. GANDER, ( Middlesex Hospital).— The lines are very old, and occur in a song called the " Farm Yard," after the Imitation ef the Cock- crowing. " Blest is the man who's 6uch a cock To give his neighbour's warning, Who's quiet on his roost all night, But rises in the morning." Our correspondent " JUDEX" has no idea of the misery of a life of female pros- titution in London— he may, however, well say they have a surfeit^ f love. Even perfumes, with painful associations, become painful. Think of the lines:— Poor Peggy hawks nosegays from street to street, Till— think of that who find life so sweet- She hates the smell of roses. 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