" IT'S WELL UP, SIR." ' WHY DON'T YOU GET MARRIED?' OR, THE FIRST BOTTLE OF SOYER'S NECTAR. CHAPTER I.— A Young Swell— A word about Cigar Shops — Miss Julia Miffins and the advantages of a Residence in Paris— A strange name, and a strange story. " Why don't you get married, my dear?" said a dressed- to- death, jewel- bedizened young gentleman to a stylishly caparisoned young woman one evening, whilst running his gold- bound fingers through a box of Havannas which the party addressed was offer- ing him. " I'm sure you'd do better than selling dem'd rubbishing cigars in this wretehtd looking shop, to a parcel of fellers. I've a great idea of coming and fetching you away myself one of these evenings." " I have liad enough of men," answefed the female, with a slight foreign accent, looking shrewdly at the young swell; " and I now only treat them as I do these cigars, which I detest, using them as a means to an existence." " Nous me semblez toute melancolique," he replied, in tnincing French. " What is the matter with you ? that look of your's was positively charming just now; but you should never speak in our barbarous English— your own language best becomes you." "' Monsieur, vous vous moquez," ( you jest, sir,) she replied, in the same tone. " Well, my dear girl," he answered, " I must tear myself away from you; take for these cigars— half- a crown. Don't pine much till you again see me— Bon- jour,'' and, lighting a cigar, he quitted the place, being nearly knocked down in his transit through the door by a stout built man, who brought from a cart a quantity of oddly- shaped bottles, labelled " Soyer's Nectar" which the man, having deposited upon the counter, left. Truly has it been said, that " one half the world little knows how the olher half lives," we might add, or indeed cares; the correctness of this aphorism is strongly exhibited in the metropo- lis, where so many dodges aie hourly put in practice to obtain an existence. For the purpose of our taie vve would, however, pre- mise that for many years in Loudon, a very lucrative business was carried on by certain pieces of muslin, by what was then termed, " the Cigar- shop and Pretty- women" Caper ; this affair however, is nearly over, and there are now comparatively very few houses of that class about town. In one of the streets, how- ev, r, that diverge from the Colosseum, till within a few days, was tc be found a shop of this description presided over by a young creature of the name of Julia Miffins, the person already introduced to the reader, who had been in Paris and there having picked up a perfect knowledge of French and a slight acquaint- ance with the Italian . language, she thought she would give to herself a foreign name, and accordingly had altered Miffins to the more euphonious one of Phieravai, passing for a Frenchwoman, and vending cigars, soda- water, and Soyer's Nectar, to 110 end of swells, who were delighted by being permitted to parley Fran- cais in wretched French, and make love in, if possible, more ex- ecrable English. Julia Miffins was, however, a woman of the world; she had seen much of its changes, and although she loved a lark, as the sequel of this tale will show, and was called by the neighbours a thoughtless, wriggling, French Madam, she had a mind that could comprehend and distinguish between the crowd of fops and libertines who olten visit her shop after the theatres were closed, and the man of education, whose misfortunes or his own follies had compelled him to become that most question- able of all characters " a Man upon Town." " Minadab is devilish liard- up," she would often observe to herself, " and sits for hours in this shop without spending a farthing; but then, he's a good heart, and when he did have tho means, he was a trump," The reader will probably ask, who is Aminadab? but of him anon. Such reflections often cross the mind of those unfortunates who, by a strange abuse of language, the world call " gay," and hence the enduring character of the love which they exhibit towards those for whom they may happen to have formed an attachment. The story of Julia was like that of all the frail sisterhood. She had been a lady's- maid in the family of a noble- man, that passed a third of their existence in Paris. Seduced by one of the younger members of the family; loss of situation, cha- racter, and position, followed; and, after being brought to Eng- land and kept in splendour for a few short months, she v/ as left by her seducer to perish. Fortunately for Julia she had foreseen that the hour would arrive when her " friend" would become satiated with her, and she had, in some degree, endeavoured to prepare herself for it. The sale of her furniture, and the few pounds that her seducor left with her when he quitted her, she appropriated to the taking of the shop where she now lived, and had resided, for about three months prior to the opening of this tale. In the neighbourhood of. Miss MifEns, existed a Mr. Aminadab Neversweat, the individual of whom she had been speaking. Now, Mr. Aminadab was what would be termed in French, a che- valier d'industrie— in plain English, he lived on his wits. This young gen'. leman would often sit in the shop of Madame Phier- avai, and regale himself with a cigar, when his means would permit. On the day when our story opens, he had sauntered into the shop just after the young swell had quitted it, attired in the dress of a French National Guard, having worn the dress the evening prior at a masked ball. People told him he looked exceedingly well in it, and he thought for a lark, as he termed it, he would wear it. " You look stunning, Minny," said Miss Miffins in her familiar 2 way; " how the girls stare, and the fellows are looking in at the window ; I shallhave sights of custom presently." " I'm glad to hear it, Julia," answered the would- be frenchman, twirling his moustache. f I must engage you to sit in the shop as an advertisement,' Bhe continued; " oh! that you had been here a iew minutes since, and in that dress, it would have been such immense fun." " What was the matter then," ho inquired. " That young donkey, the banker's son, was here, and I had such a bother with him," she answered. " Was he rude to you?" he inquired, sharply. " Oh no," she replied, with equal quickness, " I'll take care that no man's rude to me; it's the woman's fault when the man's rude; single or married, modest or gay, a womart can always keep a man at bay ; talk as much as you like, but ' hands off, Poinpey,' is my motto. No, he was not rude, but he would in- sist upon bothering me with his bad French and calling me a Frenchwoman ; you're bad enough, but not so bad as that." " I'm glad to hear you say so, Julia," he answered; but what have you got in those oddly- shaped bottles? whatever do they look like ?" " I know what you think they look like, but never mind that; they contain Soyer's nectar, and, now I remember, you've never tasted it, you shall have a bottle, but for htaveu's sake don't call me Juleear; you, a Frenchman, and pronounce Julia like that." " Je dis la meme chose que vous ( I say the same as you do)," answered her friend. " Ah, ah! Bravo! Encore !" exclaimed Miss M., clapping her hands," that's excellent. Keep it up, and everybody will take you for a National Guard. But come, have a bottle of Nectar." As she spoke, she took from the shelf a bottle of Soyer's world- renowned drink, when Aimnadab again interrupted her with— " Je n'ai rien fait encore, Madame, pour meriter cette grace." ( I have done nothing yet, Madame, to merit this honour.) Julia appeared not ito notice this, but placing the bottle between hsr legs, sue observed, laughing— " I know you like it well up." " Just so," was the answer. " Soyer's affair is like other things," she continued. " How? explain." " The cold weather has a great effect upon it." " Indeed 1" " Then it never rises." " That must be a great loss to you." " Well, sometimes it is, for you see it's much patronized by tHe ladies." " Well! what then ?" " What then,!" repeated Julia, " why, don't you know the women will never have it if it's flat ?" " I understand," sa d Neversweat, smiling, " and this warm wea ber always affects it, I presume, in an opposite manner." " Oh bless you, yes," replied Miss Mitiius, looking at him archly ;' " heat pla< s the very devil with Soyer's stuff. My boy oftenmakes me laugh, for he'll call out two or three times in the day,' Oh, Missus, here's Soyer up again ; if I don't put liiiii in coid water, he'll burst.' " " Well, well," said Aminadab, " give us a bottle, at any rate." " This will do for you,'' was her answer, patting the bottom of the bottle; " I can always bring it up with the hand. How you sit there, can't you mov e ? get a glass." Aminadab did as he was desired, and then she, with a violent effort, exclaiming, " It's a tight fit I" ( see Cut), drew the cork, and handed to him a glass of the refreshing beverage. The strange effect the conversation and the drink had upon him will be fully detailed in our next. [ To be continued,] TALES OF THE TOWN. MRS. LORIMER SP'fflKS; MARRIED LADY THAT WAS A LITTLE TOO GAY. CHAPTER XII. MYSTERY THICKENS— THE TWO VARDEN? PORTRAITS— WHO " OF COURSE YOU WERE AT ASCOT ?" " Of course you were at Ascot, Mr. TOWN," said a fair friend to us as we emerged from 34, Ilolywell- street, on Friday last; our rejoinder was, of course, in the affirmative, for, not to be at A- cot, not to see the Cup run for, would indeed behove a falling off, a losing of caste, never to be regained. Our fair friend, too, hail been there, she had seen Chanticleer make the running; but, oh ! sad change, Van Tromp come in fust. Every true " Man about Town" goes to A* ™ > » : wq ilo not mean the cockney ' prentice, or the city shop- lit.;; r : ' la v strut and fret their hour either in a van or hired trap at Kpso/ n, and then, till another Derby, slumber in their slibps. But, we repeat, the man about town must he at Ascot, his place is on the luath, or in the neighbourhood of the grand stand ; for him, London can now present no charms; the West- end, London, isaperleot city of the dead, a drear and barren wilderness, S consiifntfiution of sterile hopelessness, like " To the apples on the Dead Sea shore." Take a walk in Pall- Mall, pass up Waterioo- place, arid saunter for an instant in Reu'ent- street, who do you See?— Nobody ; posi- tively, nobody; even the deirii- rip swell can't show. Their days have passed, the afflicting of tailors, and the swindling of plat" people now annoy them with painful recollections; they are pros- trate in their garrets, and although the sun that warms out into life all other things of the vast family of the caterpillar genus, they dare not disport their flimsy toggery, and why ? It is the Cup- day, and they have not been to Ascot. We repeat, there is positively nobody in Regent- street. No, we are wrong. There is a being at the corner of Water- loo- place— but look at him— look at him, if it be but a moment — examine his horrible highlows, glance at his degenerate shaped trousers; what a rascally uniritellfcctual nob; what is he— who is he ? We have it, he is a banker's clerk, going to present a bill for payment ; his folio of black leather is unchained. Why 1 It is the cup- day— all the swells and all the thieves arc at Ascot Tiie unchained existence of this man's memorandum has at annual Monday, to wit, on the Cup- day. He now can wander all over the vast west without his dog- chain remembrance, that " sin has come into the world," and that there are beings who cannot " keep their hands from picking and stealing." Yes, he has a commercial conviction that the western portion of London is unrobed of its pillaging population, and that every adventurer in the stealing art is on Ascot Heath. In short, any mail of the town, who has about him the atom, the mere suggestion of pride, cannot show himself at the west on the Cup- day; yet, nature will out, and the deplorable man who couldn't go to Ascot, says to himself, " Never mind, I must have a stroll, and should I meet an acquaintance, we meet upon a" equitable footing." How do they meet ? Our publisher, who was HI the Derby, and " of course wasn't at Ascot," overheard the following dialogue between two boggyfied- looking swells:— " Ah ! Stunnembloind, how are you?" " Miserable, my dear Mr. Duubroun ; not at the races I per- ceive, sir." " Not exactually ; my d d tailor has ceased to comply with that excellent scriptural command, ' Have faith in one another.'" " Just my ease, Mr. Dunbroun. Icould'nt go in this excessive state of dilapidation." " How is Captain Fooste' 1 ?" " Poor Fooster, its the first, year, since 1S34, he has been absent from Ascot; he's dreadfully smashed up at his lodgings in Ger- rard- street; so he's consoling himself with a breakfast of Devon- shire pork- pie, and no termination of hot gin- and- water and pipes of tobacco." " Wonder what horse has won ; I've laid 16 half- crowns to 2 on Cossack ; I shall toddle, and manage, about eight, to get myself in that admirable state of dust, that if I meet any of the city snobs, and they say— Of course you were at Ascot'— I shall point to . my boots and say—' Dont you see I were.' " Mrs. Spinks proceeded as desired, putting Gascoigne in posses- sion of that information already known to the reader, relative to the extraordinary scene in Miss Bunker's bedchamber ( described : n No. 6). It appeared, however, that the man had been seized whilst in the act of crossing the roof of a neighbour's house, and given into the custody of the police. " How can this affect me ?" inquired Gascoione ; " I know not this Miss Bunker or her paramour; was it he who committed the robbery at the old Hall ?" " No," answered Mrs. Spinks ; " after, however, the man had been taken to the station- house, Lorimer was sent for, and he there saw a bill offering a reward of 2001, for some persons who had broken into Rodwell- hall, and stolen an immense quantity of property." " It is strange," muttered Gascoigne, " and at this time, too. How are the supposed thieves described, and what description of property have they taken ?" " It is indeed strange," answered Mrs. Spinks, " for the des- cription given of the principal depredator tallies exactly with that of yourself. I dout know exactly what has been taken ; but from from your having only just arrived from the neighbourhood of Manchester, mentioning Kersall- moor, and having so much pro- perty with you, Lorimer instantly suspected you." " That was complimentary on the part of your husband, cer- tainly," said Gascoigne ;" it is the first time I ever knew that my features bore any resemblance to those of a housebreaker. Did he do me the honour to communicate his suspicions id the police ?" he continued with a sneer. " No," answered Mrs. Spinks, " he but mentioned it to me." " Mentioned it to you," repeated Gascoigne ; " bow long is it since, this disturbance took place, and where is your husband now,?" " It is an hour since the disturbance, as you term it." " What does your husband at the station- house ?'' " The woman, Bunker, was left at the nation- house," answered Mrs. Spitiks, " she having, with brazen effrontery, endeavoured to justify her conduct, saying she had as much right to a man in her room as ' the married lady that was a little too gay ;' a name that some of the neighbours have given to me," she added with a sigh. " It would seem, however, that she had listened to the con- versation that took place when you entered my bed- room, and she mentioned, at the station- house, that a strange man had been in my bed- room, so much a stranger, she said, that he had only tliat night come from Manchester " " D tion 1" exclaimed Gascoigne, hastily, " this may indeed attach suspicion to me." " It may attach suspicion," repeated Mrs Spinks, " and there- fore it is that my husband is now at the station- liouse ; when, upon his return, iie told me of the statement made by the woman. I, of course, denied a portion of it, but said I had met you upon the landing whilst he bad gone for the brandy ; and that I. had discovered in you an old friend ; he had often heard me mention your name, and I felt confident you could not be the person for whom the reward was offered. I, therefore, rjesireil him to return to the station- house and offer to, bail out Mr. Hopkins, for the purpose, if possible, of silencing her tongue. It now, however, is of no consequence, even if the police should come here, as your in- nocence would be proved hi a few minutes." It is of the greatest consequence," answered Gascoigne quickly, " and if the police come here I must be concealed." " Concealed!" exclaimed Mrs. Spinks,. " then my suspicions were, correct, and you have perilled your liberty, afld perhaps your life for a few pounds." This is absurdity j" replied Ofiscoigne, " wliat could I want with tilings belonging to Rodwell Half; or what jiave you ever seen in me to intiucfc you to' suppose that 1 could co'fhmit such a de- predation?" . .,...:...,, • " And yet," said Mrs. Spinks," here ph'ere are papers and articles which belong oiily to tliSt estate— how borne they In your posses, slon , . j njl ... ti f " Margaret^" answered § . Ga. scbigriq, quickly,. " I have no time now to answer your questions oven if I were at liberty to do so— learn, however, that if found here to night by the police, I know not what may be the consequences to my family and yours." " To your family and mine!" e^ ciiiimod . B^ rs. Spinks with considerable doubt in her manner; " EilwaraJ ate Voii certain vou " Yes," said Gascoigne, sharply; " I now remember thecircum- stance." " Of course you do," said Mrs. Spinks ; for now I recollect reading in the newspapers, that a young man was suspected who lived in Mr. Babington's private house, called the Warrens, and that the place was searched." " What has that to do with the present matter ?" continued Gascoigne, sternly. " Everything," was the quick reply; " for if you are innocent of this last outrage, which I now believe, I doubt not but you are acquainted with the first. Still, you cannot have much to fear, for in the morning your uncle will prove your innocence, and I can accompany you." Gascoigne glared wildly upon his companion as she made these observations; he knew that he had been playing a double game with her, anil, finding that she had rightly guessed one part, he was fearful she might stumble upon the rest. Although he had spoken truly when he told Mrs. Spinks he was to seek her out by his uncle's orders, he had deceived her, and acted contrary to Babington's instructions, when he had hinted at the cause. In- deed, the letter directed the greatest secresy. He now, therefore, fully comprehended the dilemma into which his passion had drawn him, and he perceived he must further dissimulate. " Yon have, I feel, discovered a portion of my secret," he ex- claimed. " But still, Margaret, I believe I am safe. You must uow, therefore, indeed assist me." " How?" " By remaining silent, whilst I commit to the flames such of these articles as may tend to betray me." He accompanied these words by taking from the box a packet of papers, which he proceeded to burn; after which, he entirely emptied the box of its contents, and held it over the flames until the fire had melted the solder that held it together, and then, with his feet he stamped it into a misshapen mass of tin. His next act was to open the portmanteau, from which he also took a roll of letters, and having destroyed them, he from a small case, drew a miniature; it was the likeness of a middle- aged female, attired in a foreign costume. " Do you think there is any likeness?" he said, smiling ; " that is toy grandmother, and this," he continued, opening a small book, upon the inside cover of which was fastened a small coloured en- graving of a man, " this is Jonathan Babington." Mrs. Spinks looked earnestly at the engraving, and then at the portrait; " Was your grandmother a foreigner?" she inquired. " Yes," was the reply," a Spaniard ; and was for many years a resident at the Hall, prior to the birth of my uncle, who was born there." " That, perhaps, accounts for the great command he had over the late Baronet?" answered Mrs. Spinks. " Just so," said Gascoigne; " this is considered a good likeness of her, she must have been a handsome woman." On the back of the volume were the letters and figures, " R. H. 1802." Gascoigne held the covcr over the candle, until the heat had scorched the lettering Out, observing, " This might tell tales; the picture I will not, however, destroy, for it is solike Jonathan." " He is not easily mistaken," said Mrs. Spinks, " for when young he must have been a man of extraordinary beauty, and the brilliancy of his large black eyes, I even now remember." " True," replied Gascoigne; " and hence it is the more surpris- ing, he is riot known at the hotel he directed me to; indeed, were it not for this letter being in Jonathan's handwriting, and sonic other little circumstances, I should have suspected that it was some villainy of his scoundrel and confident Varden." " Varden !" repeated Mrs. Spinks, with extraordinary vehem- ence, " Varden— surely— that name— and he also has been in- quiring for me ; and yet— no— no— it cannot be the same." " Yes," answered Gascoigne, " I said Varden— Robert Varden — the villain who lias accompanied my uncle for years, and whom, some say, though I hope not, of my blood— surely you can have had no communication with him, for he's been but a very short | ieriod in this country." [ To be continued.] are not deceiving me; for what interest can I have in this" matter?" " I told you," he continued, not spearing to notice her tone of voice, " that it was imperative that I should 6ee my uncle with these documents to- morrow; these papers being of the greatest importance to the Rodwell Estate, and circumstances, which I cannot now explain connects your family with them. You must have heard, although young when you lost your mother, that she was in some way connected with the Rodwell property, which has been so many years in Chancery." " I have, I have!" answered Mrs. Spinks, rapidly ; " often, very often, have I pondered on my mother's dying words— but go on and tell me, wh. re is your uncle. Frequently have I wished, yet dreaded to see him, but much question if I now should know him, it is so very many years since we have met." " It is some years too since I have seen him," answered Gas- coigne, " and I am fearful lest I have missed of him, for upon in quiry at the hotel where he had directed me to apply, the pro prietor knew nothing of any person answering to his description ; if, therefore, the police are after me, and come here and search this apartment, the discovery of some of these papers will involve ruin upon me." " I do not now understand you," said Mrs. Spink. " If I am to believe you know nothing of this recent robbery, why should you fear ?" There was a marked emphasis in the tone of Mrs. Spinks as she uttered the words " recent robbery," which did not escape the ear of Gascoigne. " Recent robbery .'" he exclaimed. " What mean you ?" " Surely, Edward," she answered, " you are aware that this is not the first time the Hall has been entered by midnight ma. rauders !" The brow of Gascoigne darkened as Mrs. Spinks put this ques- tion, and he gazed full upon her countenance for a moment, and then said— " To what do you allude ?" The gaze of Mrs. Spinks was of an oqually scrutinising cha- racter, as she replied quickly— " This ignorance is extraordinary. Have you ever left the Warren- house, near Kersal Moor, since a boy?" " No," answered Gascoigne, doggedly. " Then you must have beard there, for, if I recollect rightly, it's scarcely a mile from the Hall, of the first robbery." " You appear to know much more about the Hall and its neigh- bourhood than I should have thought for, considering the many years it is since you were there, and you, too, so young," Not so," replied Mrs. Spinks. " You should remember, that after my poor mother's death, that wretched woman, Mrs. Saun- ders, several times brought me to your uncle's private house, the Warrens, as it was called. But I was speaking of the first robbery It's nearly ten years since the Hall was entered at night, and the library stripped in a must extraordinary manner " TOWN OUT OF TOWN- BRISTOL. On the 29th ult., Jars. Haberfield, the mayoress, gave a ball at the Victoria Rooms to about. 300 people, who began to arrive at eight o'clock. The mayor and mayoress received their company, and everything was most splendidly arranged, as only Mrs. Haberfield knows how to do it; but, unfortunately, ber most inti- mate friends were out of town, and we really could not find out who was there. Poor John Hcrle was in fancy costume— knee breeches, and soar across his nose, which he got the other night by a very ill- natured lamp post, that, had a grudge against him. His misled looted as if she had coma from California, all gold. Can Dinah Alexander answer the following canundrum? Who was at the ball? MR. EDITOR— I see a letter in No. 10 of your paper, which has brought me to a certain extent into disrepute; the writer of the letter in question, asserts that I keep an infamous depot for the sale of dangerous prints. I beg very respectfully but firmly to say that this is false; all the prints that I keep are humorous and innocent, and not calculated in the least to outrage moral decency. Should the writer of the letter favour me with a call, and make himself known, I will muke him a present of a few to convince him of the truth of my statement. I guess the author of the letter is some methodistical humbug, a fellow who has nothing else to do but write gammon. If the writer of the letter has so much time on his hands, let hitn do his utmost to banish vice, using his influence ( if he has any) to make Bristol a city of prin- ciple, and his neighbours lovers of truth, which latter particular is not to be found in Bristolian's letter. I agree with the latter portion of your correspondent's letter, in reference to the numer- ous gay houses; I know we have too many poor beguiled creatures degrading our Bristol streets, but I think the parson of St. John's Church a very unfit person to set about reforming them. Let Mr. Barrow ( for this is his name, not Barraw, as your. correspon- dent has it), with others, decline taking their hundreds a year from the poor, and then we may expect a change for the better. Hoping, sir, you will, out of fairness, give this a corner in your next, and trusting that Bristolian, in future, will write that which is strictly truth, I remain an enemy to hypocrisy, H. COOK, Proprietor of the depot, termed infamous. Sims's Alley, Broadmead, Bristol. [ We are excessively aggrieved that our small friend should be so annoyed at the letter of " A BRISTOLIAN," and from a love of fair play, we now insert our, Sims's Alley correspondent's answer. Young Cook must, however, learn to take as well as give chaff, and not " flare up" so much about nothing. One part of his letter is not bad, viz., that portion where he says, " I know ( mark the " I know") we have too many poor beguiled creatures," & c. Perhaps if we of the TOWN " favour him with a call," he will, in the words of his letter " make us a present of a few to convince us of the truth of his statement."] A BROADMEAD ANECDOTE.— A certain young gentleman, who keeps a shop in the Broadmead, Bristol, whilst seated with his intended bride at a window, pointed out a young girl, whom he was pleased to call a " d— d fool." " Why so?" inquired Jane G—. " Why," he answered, " do you know after she had allowed my brother to sleep with her for two nights, she told my mother." " She was, indeed, a fool," replied Miss G., quickly, " for our shopman, Long Fred, slept with me for two months, and I took care that not one of the family knew anything of it." THE TOWN. 3 WHAT IS AN OLD CLOTHESMAN ? Everybody knows that, dnubtless is our readers answer, " Clo'! clo'! clo'! clo'! clo'!" There's the unvarying ory again. Winter or summer, fair weather or foul, still does that melan- choly sound peal forth ; still wanders the long bearded carrier of the faded and dingy- looking nondescript, half hop- pocket, half sack- receptacle of the miscellaneous wares condensed in the repe- tition of that single monosyllable. The theme comes from the lips of one of Judah's children. Now let us endeavour to describe one of these sons of her ancient and modern race. Th? purlieus of Rosemary or Petticoat- lane may, most likely, lay claim to the honoured distinction of having first been greeted with his infant wailing. In all human probability his penurious sire, like many of his brethren, had progressed far in the heart of alchymy, making a precarious existence by the transmutation of the most unredeemed rubbish into one of the precious metals known as the sole means of procuring this life's comforts. This fralernal abode was exteriorly decorated with a square- headed sable Janus, robed in a melancholy reminiscence of a small chdd's frock, dangling over the low doorway, suspended by a piece of old tarred twine, made fast to a rusty hook in the top- most beam, and then inserted in a ponderous iron staple, which had been inhumanly driven into the skull of a luckless effigy. A bundle of white rags, a Patagoriian blade bone, and confused jumble of remnants, old iron, ships' junk, gallipots, blacking- bottles, phials, Mtchen stuff, fried fish, and second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth, nay, sixtieth, hand- articles, huddle themselves in vast and chaotic confusion in every part, corner, cupboard, and floor, of the small, reeking, and dirt- crammed hovel ; and here, like the great luminary of old, frequently has the judgment of Solomon been called into requisition. The usual premonitory preparations for the world's ills, which the small scion of its working denizens endure, consisting of an unlimited abundance of kicks, and a remarkable scarcity of half- pence, was the early fate of the small, black- headed, oily, and dirty Israel Solomon. The first manifestation of his having an eye to business, was the capture of sundry old horse- nails, scraps of iron, patches of rag, and hall'- gnawed bones, scratched from the crevices of the neighbouring streets; and his knowledge of the rights of property, and propriety of reckonings, was made clear by his insisting on recovering from his beloved parents, the full market price of three farthings a pound for the produce of his industry, and vehemently remonstrating against any unne- cessary " turn in the scale." At ten years old, it was high time for him to start for himself, and begin making his way through the world. Sundry hints as to his future conduct, each impress- ing upon his young mind the more absolute necessity of making money, than the nice observance of such means as it should be made by, • arious quotations as to the " penny saved being the penny gained;" " the annual value of three hundred and sixty- five pins;" " the virtues of prudence, and iniquities of extrava- gance;" together with many other wise saws, and a splendid new shilling, were the stock in trade of the young Israel. Never were passers- by at the Bank and Exchange more importuned to purchase the " vax and penshils" of the young speculator in resin and cedar, and that, too, with success. A bag of oranges and lemons succeeded the " vax and penshils;" and a curious assortment of yellow slippers, vitriol- bleached sponges, and straps at three pair for sixpence, usurped the place of the oranges and lemons ; and thus, for the few years between childhood and the lanky ugly state— half man, half boy— his time was passed. The next phase of his existence is that of barker to an old clothesman; outside whose door, with ruffian impudence, or honied accents, he endeavours to attract the passers- by, as his quick eye detects as likely to " vak insliide and buy a coat." Should the stranger hesitate, he takes him by the button, and, in a manner the most private and confidential, hints at his willing- ness, should cash be short, to trade upon the good old principle of barter, vaguely surmising he has at home some cast- off things, which will be as good to him as money. The purchaser comes forth, one glare of gloss, sporting, a very sable moth, in the sun's rays, but the first shower which wets him to the skin, tranfers the die to that, and once more opens to the gazer's view the unseemly seems of the impostor suit. He has been done; but he has paid, and that to Israel, was his only use. At length, tired of this service, or, perchance, detected in some small commission overcharges, he leaves his den, shoulders his bag, and boldly sallies forth to 6eek his fortune, crying up and down, loudly, and all day long, in life's high and bye ways. Has he a coat to sell, is it one beyond all price; the cloth is super- superfine, the cut unequalled, the purchaser the very mural of the lord for whom ' twas made, but who, wanting money, sold it to him. It is tried : the practised knave sees at a glance the waist some seven inches larger than his intended dupe's. In well- feigned extacy, he " blesshes his dear eyes," and, quick as lightning, secures in his sinewy grasp that portion of superfluous cloth, and holds it tight till the' last button meets. The victim sees the coat fit well in front, and Israel vows " it's better than a skin behind!" Then comes the time for bargaining: it is taken off, thrust in, and pulled from out the bag a thousand times; haggled over for every shilling, one by one; and when at last it is sold " ata dead loss to the good gentleman," he pockets thirty shillings, and exclaims, " Holy Moses, only made von pound five by that ere job!" In buying all this is reversed' The things are worn to the last, the cloth was never more than second, and at first they were slop made; a rent, the seller can scarcely perceive, is, by the cunning Israel, magnified into a tremendous breach, intil. disgusted with your wardrobe and his eloquent vituperation, you ask him, as a favour, to name his price. This he declines ; " he cannot buy and sell; he knows what they would fetch him, and that's all." When, for as many pence as he in one short hour turns into shil- lings, he becomes their purchaser. If, in the course of trade, a doubt is cast upon the value of the article he would dispose of, or less offered than he fixes at his price, his great resource may be found in one question— Do you think I stole it? At lengt+ i, years and the clothes- bag bow his head to earth, and then his flowing beard may be seen hanging below his waist: while, like his father, he has a numerous brood in some back alley, living on his exertions, till they can barely crawl, and on that instant thrust into the world to do for themselves. It may be on a winter's morning we miss his cry, and know not wherefore; but in twelve hours the bell is heard, and the poor- box makes its tour through the Jews' quarters, to defray his funeral charges, and the old clothes man is no more. During the interval of the races at Ascot, last week, there was a great deal done in the neighbourhood of the course in the thimble- rig and prick- in- the- garter line, particularly at the latter game. It's surprising how flats are caught by this bare- faced robbery, which is simply performed with a long piece of leather or felt, by forming with it three loops, and then coiling it round till the strip is wound up. The game is to place in one of the loops a pointed piece of wood, in such a manner that, when it is unwound, you catch the strip in the centre. This, to a by- stander, seems the easiest thing imaginable; but those who venture to try will find it quite the reverse. We will allow any person to drive through either of the loops a nail, and then bet them which way they like, catch or slip. As this is the case, how is it possible for any one to win? The trickery consists in two things, both of which tend to the same end— first, by winding the coil up with one end longer than the other, or coiling up fair and even, and slipping the end after, which answers the purpose of throwing the loop out of the centre; then if they prick the centre, you unwind fair, and it throws the point out; and if they prick out of the centre, unwind unfair, and the player loses. " Why may we call the Americans a nation of paupers? 1'— " Because they cannot muster t'sonerciyn amongst them." THE , SC>? 7£- LESS ONE. " Go, soulless one, we part for ever ! The dream is past, and now we sever Every tie That you and I Once bound Around Our hearts ; the words are madly spoken— We part, like scissors fate has broken; Whose rivet, Or pivot, Some urchin A birchin Would well repay, hath vilely lost, Although a shilling bright they cost! " Go, soulless one ! and ne'er again Attempt to sue—' twill be in vain! Think, fright, The plight Your spite, Last night, Entailed upon your Arabella! The deluge showered: my umbrella Was gone! Alone, In mud, I stood, Patience in pattens, fondly thinking That you ( who doubtless hard were drinking) Would rush Through slush, To meet And greet The maid who left the Saloon Bower, To keep thine own appointed hour. " Go, soulless one 1 and when my name Is uttered, red thy cheeks with shame, Or hang, Or hang Thy bead, Instead. For from this hour I swear "— " Oh, Arabella, pause— beware, My pet, Don't fret, Or curse; That's worse." " Release me, or I'll scream ! lean, sir!" " You are free; but, Arry, hear my answer : To these Dread pleas Of wrong, My tongue In purest innocence replies, That my own Arabella lies— Under A blunder, Delusion, Or confusion, Which doth usurp her seat of reason, And make her tax my love with treason. But hark, And mark. And, dear, A tear Get ready down thy cheeks to course. You call me soulless— I'm far worse. Just view This shoe, And when You do, You'll find, love, I am heelless too." TOWN TRIFLES. When the French returned to Civita Vecchia, a few weeks since, after their defeat by the Roman republic, some of the women of the place were terribly alarmed, as they had heard such an awful account of them, and were fearful lest, in revenge, they should sack the town, and afterwards perpetrate violation upon them. Things, however, going on peaceably as before, an old maid, whose window looked into a street where a number of soldiery were stationed, one evening after dark, opened her casement and accosted one of the men with, " Pray, sir, are you one of the French gentlemen who retreated from Rome ?" " I am, Ma- donna." " How many are there in your party?" " Sixteen." " Bless me, that is just the number of women in this house, married and single; when, sir, do you begin the ravishing ? there'll be no necessity for any violence in my case, as you'll find my door wide open." QCEEN'S THEATRE WIT. " What's the reason," cries Bill, " The Queen's Theatre won't fill? Such a great falling off is there seen;" His friend replied pat, " Can you wonder at that, When you know that the manager's Green ? A shoemaker of the name of Rippem, having purchased a shin of beef for his new- made wife, who was sick in bed, requested the butcher's young man, a strapping youth about nineteen, to take it home for him. " Has the butcner left your mother the meat?" inquired the father of his daughter, a girl about four years of age. " I saw him standing with it at the bed- foot," she answered, " but he put it into his breeches' pocket and took it away again." It is a maxim in the low lodging- houses about London, never to clean the place out. " If they ( the sleepers) brings the dirt in with them, let them take it away with ' em," is the common ob- servation of the proprietors of such places. " It always costs soap and water, and wears out the pails and brushes," was the remark we once heard made by an old two- penny lodging- house keeper. Miss F., it is well known, is particularly partial to fur, and never appears, during the winter season, at the theatre, without either a muff or boar. Whilst engaged at the Queen's, at Man- chester, Sloane met her one morning, with an immense victorine, which completely covered her. " How bad you look," he ob- served, " with so much hair in front; you don't look at all like your mother.'' " Not like my mother!" was the answer; " there you mistake. You should see my mother's; it is much larger, and the fur twice as black, though it has been used 600 times more than mine." Did ladies now, as we are told Our great grandmother did of old, Wake to a sense of blasted fame, The Jig tree spoil to hide their shame, So numerous are these modern Eves, A forest scarce could find ' em leaves. " It often puzzles me," said Miss Eliza Terrey, " when I look over the map, to think at what point Moses set out when he forced the passage of the red sea'' " Hicks will resolve that question in a craclc," said Lewis. Douglas laughed heartily, and observed " that Lewis had just said what Hicks had often done— a good thing." " W'hat pieces should Kerschner have opened with when he joined Mother Yarnold," asked a friend of another, a few days since, " to have given the Pavilion a Shaksperian character?''—" Can't say."—" New Way to Pay Old Debts, and Taming the Shrew." A correspondent has found fault with our observatious la& t week relative to jewellery; we will therefore add these remarks, that if he deems it necessary to wear such articles, and his purso not admit of the expensive reality, it may be useful to know that electro- plated articles are now got up equal to gold, which do not tarnish, and cannot be distinguished from real. A watch chain may thus be sported from 12s., pms from 4s. to 6s., and rings in proportion. Your taste can be exhibited in shape and size. Avoid however, cable chains, thick rings, aud bullet headed pins, they are quite out of fashion. BATTERSEA FIELDS ON A SUNDAY. ( BY A COUNTER- JUMPER.) Having heard a great deal of talk about this cockney surburban retreat, and last Sunday being fine, I determined to visit the place so extolled by the counter- jumper as the happy spot where, once a- week, he does his gal and penny pickwick. The fields present a very animated appearance from the crowds of people of both sexes, and numerous round- abouts, swings, & c. The gentlemen here all seem admirers of cattle, young mutton being much looked after; also calves, which latter the gentler sex display in mounting and moving about their asses. I saw one young lady fall off the donkey she was riding, and cause a great exhibition of feeling to be displayed on the part of the gentlemen. Farmer Hall is the major- domo of a little snuff- box kind of place called " The old house at home," which you are certain to piss if you visit Battersea of a Sunday. And certainly this establishment does not belie its name, as " All do make themselves at home." Having asked the servitor in this temple for tea and tippling, a large buttock- constructed wench, what refreshments I could have, I was informed, with a knowing wink, that " she had a sweet little bit of mutton, which had hardly yet been cut, that I could taste if I liked to step in;" feeling more inclined for malt than meat, I declined this kind offer and contented myself with a pint of humble heavy, and then left, to gaze upon some other object* of notoriety. I remembered that Mrs. Procter kept a good house of enter- tainment in these parts, yclept " The British Flag," and thither I journeyed. On my way I disturbed an amorous old gentleman very busily engaged in mysteries of matrimony, to some fair maid now, we fear, we cannot call her. Just as I hove in sight of the flag, a blockhead, in dirty whites, who was throwing clubs at some toys on the top of a long stick, hurled them so devilish wide of the mark that the missile struck me in a most sensitive and peculiar portion of the animal economy, and sent me hob- bling home to St. Paul's Churchyard, thereby renderingme unable to give you any further description of the doings that day. YARD- IN- HAND, ( Hitchcock and Rogers). [ We are sorry that the crippled state of our correspondent has compelled him to come to, what appears to us, a somewhat" larne and impotent conclusion ;" we shall ourselves, however, visit this surburban retreat and report progress.— ED. TOWN]. A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF AN ACTOR. ( Continued from our last,) " Acrobat business, Grecian statues, strong man, fire- eating, and the balls and basin." " Rayther illegitimate. That ain't our walk, young ' un," said Mr. Gaggem, shaking his head. " P'raps we . might shove you in the pantomime, though." He paused for a moment; but just then the two fiddles and trombone, which formed the orchestra, having ceased playing, he started down the break- neck steps leading to the interior of the booth, pulling me after him. We dived under the green baize which hung loose at one side of the miniature proscenium, and I found myself in the gentlemen's dressing- room. Its floor was the bare ground, hard and brown from the summer sun. Its only equipment, except the properties and dresses strewed on all sides, were three or four huge chests, which were at once wardrobe, tables, and chairs; a small six- penny looking- glass hung on a nail, and a gigantic tin basin, with a coarse and filthy jack- towel beside it. The curtain rose the moment I entered, and the play began. I made myself useful while it lasted, in getting anything that was wanted, aud happened to be of service at a critical moment in chalking the ghost's face, when nobody else happened to be at leisure to do so. This, I be- lieve, secured me in the good graces of Mr. Gaggem, who, when after twenty minutes the curtain fell on the tragedy, suddenly stripping my great coat from my shoulders, said to rne, " Now, young'un, the pantomime's just a going to begin, and we'll make a star of you." Before I knew what he meant, he stepped on the stage and announced that, " besides the regular entertainments in the bills, he had engaged, at an immense expense, Signor Flex- ible, the Malabar Indian juggler, and unique double- jointerl youth, who would appear in the comic pantomime with the other per- formers from London." The announcement was received with applause, and the fairy stepped on ( the same lady, by- the- bye, who played the tragedy heroine, with the addition of a scarf and wand), and performed the transformation, which, however, could hardly deserve the name, as there was no change whatever, Harlequin, Clown, and Pantaloon coming when called for, at once, and without the usual introduction. " Now, then," said Mr. Gagg'em to me, " go in and win." I needed no second bidding, but, bounding on to the miniature stage, took a spring that sent me clean into the ladies' dressing- room on the other side. The rush, and shriek, and scuffle that followed my unexpected appearance, delighted the audience, who cheered me lustily when I re- appearod. But this was nothing to their delight when I flopped down, with legs extended horizontally at right angles to my body; rose up slowly, threw my head be- tween my legs, and my legs over my shoulders ; hopped like a bird on my hands; flung a series of summersaults that, nearly carried me off the stage into the orchestra, and wound up my achievements with my most graceful bow. In short, I made a hit, and was assured by Mr. Gagg'em, when I made my exit, that " I was a great card, and should be underlined in the bills;" an announcement I did not understand, but which I saw mado Clown, Pantaloon, and Harlequin, exchange glances of indigna- tion. Mr. Gaggem, the booth being now cleared, proceeded to Introduce me to the different members of his company. There was Mr. Farrington, who did " the heavy business," an overgrown young man, whose head was concealed in the flies when he stood upright, which, however, he did but seldom, as he was weak in the legs and stooped. In compensation for this weakness of the legs he had a very strong lisping voipe, and was, what Mr. G. called, a " bould speaker." This was the gentleman in the Roman costume whose dignified manner had struck me on the parade. He enter- tained hopes of eventually rising to a regular theatre, but labour- ed under an exasperation of his II's that drove him at times to despair He was married, though not above eighteen years old, to a young delicate- looking creature, who had been a lady's maid, and had followed Mr. Farrington when he left haoerdashery for the stage. She held in her arms their first child. She was the heroine of the troop, or first trapedy lady. . Mr. Soaker, the comic man, who played Clown, and, with the addition of a smock frock, ail the comic characters, and sang all the comic songs, was a man of forty, in the last stage of consumption, with a drunken wife, who played the confidantes, and who, having been beaten by her husband' when he was strong enough to do it, revenged herself now by beating him. Mr. Gagg'em declared to me his conviction ' that he would have to bury Soaker at his private expense, as that ere blessed woman, his wife, drank every penny they earned, and Soaker would soon make his last appearance." [ To bo continued.] 4 THE TOWN. 3 On Saturday, June 16th, will appear, No. I. of the PUNCH THE YOUNGER, A CHIP OF THE OLD BLOCK, In presenting himself to the World, deems it necessary to state, that, in consequouce of the protracted bodily and mental infirmi- ties of his father,— of that imbccility, alas! which old age but too frequently produces,— he is urged by filial love to relieve his adored parent from the heavy responsibilities of " the guardian- ship of the public weal," the duties of which, when in robust health, he so ably and effectnally discharged. Like most mon in dotage, the " poor, dear soul" reluctantly submits to superan nuation ; but the serious complaints against the OLD BLOCK, his apparent and most lamentable decline, the Whole World's en- treaties to the CHIP to assume the reins of government, the promptings of conscience, and the noble ambition to be as useful to mankind as his reverend progenitor has been, are the motives which have induced the younger PUNCH to leave his loved seclu- sion, and to sacrifice his social and domestic comforts to the pub- lic good. PUNCH THE YOUNGER trusts that, from his own and the exertions of the well- known, highly- talented, and justly- celebrated writers and artists who have proffered their kind assist- ance, as well as from the considerate regard he has manifested for the pecuniary interest of his friends, his production will be crowned with success as great, and even greater, than that which attended the labours of his respected parent when in the prime and glory of his intellectual greatness. For convenience of parties in remote parts, the PENNY PUNCH will be sent per post, on receipt of two stamps or 2s. 2d. per quarter. W. Winn, 34, Holywell street, Strand, and all booksellers. NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS • C. B. ( Camden Town.)— Will perceive that we did know what to do with it, and shall be glad to hear from him again. NIL DESPERANDUM ( Bath- street, City- road.)— IIow well we know your writing. How about the New City Hall, old fellow? Your present communication shall be attended to next Mon- day positively. BUZFCZ ( Bristol.)— In our next Batch. BOITE A SOIR.— You must be chaffing. Send, however, the par- ticulars relative to 16, Foley- place. A BUM CODGER ( Glasgow.)— You misunderstand us. Send us some local fun. We know Ivinloch's in the Trowgate, it seems, better even than you do, for we have had many a lark there. Kinloch is a stunning trump— a right- down good fellow, and no mistake, to those who know him. There are several houses in the Close, you have mistaken his. Tell us what they are doing at the Robert Burns in the Salt Market. " You see we ken Glasco a wee bit." The correspondent who sent the letters for " The Post- bag,' relative to Harry Bailey and G. Todraan, might have had the courtesy to have sent some note or signature with them; we therefore don't understand what they are about. CLAREMONT may write as often as he think3 propor. He will always receive attention. " Ellen Webster ; or, Love," has been received ; but we have been so repeatedly deceived by correspondents sending the com mencement of an article, and forgetting or neglecting to send the remainder, that we must now have every article perfect. S. M. ( Next door to your late Home.)— The fact is, we are posi- tively inundated with correspondents from the quarter you allude to, and, with one exception, all females ; your request, however, after this Number, shall b » complied with to the letter. What can " Bevan" take us for ? Not for the worth of our publication seven times over would we insert the letter relative to Father Williams, of New Bond- street, for we think it no disgrace that he should have held the office you mention. The other affair is too infamous to allude to, and must have occurred seven or eight years since. We believe " T. J." to be a gentleman in the most extended sense of the word. Thus " Bevan " will perceive that the TOWN knows to whom he alludes. PAULINA.— In our next lot. F. WAB.— We must have lost the song. Accept our best thanks for your kind favour. V. ( York.)— They are very old, but we are obliged for your atten- tion. W. H. DAVIS.— In answer to this gentleman's polite and unques- tionably proper letter, we beg leave to quote his epistle when we say that the intention of the TOWN publication is harmless, and we trust that our chaff may never even excite a feeling of annoyance to any of our readers. The article you allude to is discontinued. Other correspondents next week. lessons, habits and labours, took the place of the idea, and when I thought of this first adventure, I only saw in it one of those passions we are often the subject of when we are young, and at which we afterwards laugh. Besides, there would have been no merit in triumphing at this remembrance, for I had lost sight of Marguerite since her de- parture, and as I have told you, when she passed close to me in the corridor of the yarietes I did not recognise her. She was veiled, it is true; but veiled as she had been two years before, I should not have required to see her, in order to recognise her; I should have divined her. Bat all this did not prevent my heart beating when I knew it was her, and the two years I had passed without seeing her, and the results which this separation seemed to have produced, vanished us the same smoke at the mere contact of her robe. " Not at all; she is alone." " Why, she will weary herself to death," said Eugene. " I pass almost every evening with her, and when she returns, she calls me. She never goes to bed till two or three o'clock in the morning. She cannot obtain sleep before." " Why ?" " Beeause she is consumptive, and has almost atways got a fever." ' And she has no lovers?" I inquired. [ To be continued.] MEMOIR OE A FRENCH LADY OF FASHION. » ( Continued from our last.) ^ I had a great mind to go and strike one, anS to kill him, or be killed the next day; in fact, I cannot tell you all the foolish ideas that occurred to me. Before the piece had concluded, Margue- rite and her friend quitted their box. In spite of myself I quitted my stall. " Are you going?" said Ernest to me. « Yes." " Why?" At this moment he perceived that the box was empty. " Go, go," he said," and good luck to yon; or rather, better luck." I left. I heard on the staircase the rustling of robes, and the sound of voices. I drew aside, and saw pass, without being seen, the two women and the two young men who accompanied them. Under the peristyle of the theatre a young page presented himself. " Tell the coachman to wait at the door of the Cafe Anglais said Marguerite, " we will go there on foot." A few minutes after, strolling along the Bouvelard, I saw, at i window of one of the large saloons of the Cafe, Marguerite, leaning on the balcony, and tearing off the leaves one by one from her camelia bouquet. One of the two men was leaning over her shoulder and speaking to her. I installed myself at the Maison d'Or, in a saloon on the first floor, and did not lose sight of the window at which was Marguerite. At one o'clock in the morning she entered her carriage with her three friends. I took a cabriolet and followed them. The carriage stopped at No. 9, Rue d'Antin. Marguerite descended and entered* her house alone. This was no doubt a mere chance, but this chance made me very happy. From this day, I frequently encountered Marguerite at the theatre, at the Champs Elvsees. There was still the same gaiety with her, and still the same emotion in me. A fortnight, how- ever, elapsed without my seeing her anywhere. I was with Ernest, from whom I inquired how she was. " The poor girl is very ill," he replied to me. " What is the matter with her, then?" " Why, she is consumptive, and as she leads a life not very likely to cure her, she is in her bed and dying." The heart is a paradox. I was almost glad at this illness. I went every day to inquire for her, without inscribing my name or even leaving my card. - I thus learnt that she was conva- lescent, and that she had departed for Bagneres. Time now ran on, the impression, if not the remembrance '". ppinc1 ' 1 ' - fVo'- t my mind. T lied, n CHAP. VIII. Still, continued Armand, after a pause, whilst discovering that I was still amourous of this woman, 1 felt myself stronger than formerly, and in my desire to be again in her company, there was also the determination to show her that I was superior to her. What routes the heart takes, and what reason it finds to obtain that which it seeks! I endeavoured, moreover, to convince myself that if chance again threw me into the presence of Marguerite I would avenge myself for past railleries; and yet, by sndden starts I recognised the influence she still exercised over me. Thus I could not remain in the corridors, and I returned to my place near the orchestra; throwing a rapid glance over the theatre to ascertain in what box she was. She was in a front box of the lower tier, and quite alone. She was changed, as I have told you, and her face, more serious than formerly, seemed to bear races of a moral change. I no longer observed on her lips her indifferent smile, and the idea that she had suffered, and suffered still, perhaps, gave me pain. Add to this, that although we were already in April, she was still dressed as in winter, and attired completely in velvet. I re- garded her so obstinately, that my regard attracted her's. She looked at me for a few moments, took her glass to have better view, and, no doubt, thought she recognised me, without positively knowing who I was, for when she withdrew her glass, a smile, that charming salutation of the women, rested on her lips, as if to reply to the salutation she seemed to expect from me. I fancied that I began to triumph, by appearing not to recog. nise her; I therefore turned away my head without making the least sign. The curtain rose. I have often seen Marguerite at the theatre, but I never saw her lend the slightest attention to the performance. As for my- self, it interested me but little; I only thought of her; but, using all my efforts that she might not perceive it. I saw her exchange glances with the person who occupied the box opposite to her; I turned my eyes towards this box, and in it I recognised a woman with whom 1 was very familiar. This woman was formerly a courtesan, who had endeavoured to enter the theatre, who had not succeeded, and who, relying on her relations to the elegantes of Paris, had set up in a business, and had taken a millinery shop. In her I saw the means of again being with Marguerite, and I profited by a moment when she looked towards me, to say, " good evening" to her with my hands and eyes. What I had foreseen, took place; she called me. I hastened to her box. Herdaughter, about twelve or thirteen years of age, was with her. Prudence Duvcrnay, this was the happy name of the milliner, was one of those women with whom there is no need of any great diplomacy to draw from them what we wish to know, especially when that which we are anxious to know is as simple as that which I had to seek from her. I took advantage of a moment at which she was recommencing her telegraphic correspondence with Marguerite, to say to her, " Who are you looking at so?" " Marguerite Gamier." " You know her?" " Yes, I am her milliner, and she is my neighbour." " You live in the Rue d'Antin, then?" " No. 7. Her dressing- room window looks upon my window." " They say she is a charming girl?" " You do not know her?" " No, but I should very much like to know her." " Would you like me to ask her to come into our box ?" " Not at all, I would rather that you presented me to her." At her own house?" " Yea." " ' Tis very difficult." " Why?'' " Because she is protected by a very jealous old duke." " Protected ! that's charming." " Yes, protected," repeated Prudence, " seeing that she never has nor ever will be his mistress." Prudence then narrated to me how Marguerite had made the acquaintance of the Duke at Bagnere. " It is for this reason, she is alone here?" " Precisely." " But who will conduct her home?" " He himself." " He will come and fetch her, then?" " Almost directly." " And who will accompany you home ? " No one." " I offer myself." " But you are with a friend, I think." " We will both offer ourselves, then," " Who is your friend?" " A most charming fellow, very witty, and who will be en- chanted to make your acquaintance." " Well! ' tis agreed ; we will all four leave after this piece, for I know the last." " Willingly. I will apprize my friend." " Go. Ah!'' said Prudence, at the moment I was about to leave, " there is the duke entering Marguerite's box." I looked. In fact, a man of seventy had just seated himself behind the young woman, and handed her a bag of bonbons, into which she immediately plunged her little hand, smiling. She then advanced to the front of her box, making a sign to Prudence, which might be thus translated:— " Will you have some ?" " No," signed Prudence. Marguerite again took the bag, and, turning round, oommenced talking with the duke. The recital of all these details appears childish, but everything that related to this girl is so present to my memory, that I cannot help recalling them to- day. I descended to inform Eugene of what I had arranged for him and myself. He accepted. We quitted our stalls to ascend to the box of Madame Duvernay. Scarcely had we opened tha doors of the orchestras, when we were compelled to stop to allow Marguerite and the duke to pass. I would have given ten years of my life to have been in the place of this worthy old duke. Arrived on the boulevard, he handed her into a phaeton, which he drove himself, ana they disappeared, whirled away at a trot by two superb horses. We entered Prudence's box. When the piece was finished, we descended and took a plain fiacre, which conducted us to No. 7. At the door of her house, Prudence made us an offer to enter and view her show- rooms, of which she seemed very proud. You may j udge with what eager- ness I accepted. I could not help fancying that I was approaching Marguerite by degrees. I had soon brought back the conversation > o her. The old duke is with your neighbour," I said, to Prudence. 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