WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MY CHILD? " WHY DON'T YOU GET MARRIED?" OR THE FIRST BOTTLE OF SOYER'S NECTAR. ( Continuedfrom " The Town.") THERE was no mistake, in fact there could'nt be a mistake, about the safe delivery of the iilthy liquidity into the optical arrange- ment of the gouty individual. " Hush," said the lady in the carmine, " here'U be a frightful row presently, Tilley, you cut your stick into tho room, and do you Mr. Neversweat come and sit here." There was something so fascinatingly easy, such a perfect abandon about the style of Mrs. Major Bugsfug that Aminadab Could'nt resist, and as the girl had retired into the inner room, he again tool: his seat upon tho sofa. '• He seems to take it very quietly," said our hero, " considering he must, I think, have been smothered." " Oh never mind him," replied the lady," i can bear him shuffling about the passage, but that's of no consequence, can you play at cards?" " A little," was the answer. " The Major is a brick at ecartif," said the graphic feminine, " do you understand that game?" " I do," said Aminadab, rising, " but I would rather be otherwise employed when in ladies company." " Oli do, do have one came." Aminadab who had risen from the sofa now took a seat at a small card table. " Shall we cut for deal," enqmred Mrs. Major Bugsfug ? " Oh dear, no," enquired the obliging Neversweat, " I could'nt think of such a thing, I never take it away from a lady." The l"' y coquetted a little behind her carmine, and then served the card)!, exclaiming, Xe rot," and marked the king, " but what do we play for?" " It's a matter of indifference to me," said the polite youth, who could really play the game, " well, as I have the king, we'll make it a sovereign a rub." " Perfectly agreeable," was the answer, and his opponent hiving served, he took up the cards to deal. king," cried Aminadab, " I score this time." | " Now I'll deal," said the carmine lady, " le roi, three kings in I succession— game— wonderful, is'nt it ?" " Reyther," answered Aminadab, looking somewhat awkward, " shall we go double or quits?" " Well, I don't seem to care about it," said the lady," we'll pay as we go on, if you please." " Oh, certainly," replied Neversweat, us with a considerable elaboration of facial arrangement, ho deposited iu the band of the wide- awake female, the amount of her winnings. " Quite correct," said Mrs. Major Bugsfug, quietly pocketing tho gold, " now if you like I'll give you your revenge." " Very good,'' answered Aminadab, " It's my deal then this time." " Exactly." Neversweat proceeded to deal, " The king," ho exclaimed; " Hallo my covey," shouted the laity, tearing the cards from his hand," come, stow that." " Do what," replied her astonished friend. " I do'nt stand any of the De Eoos' caper, none of your slip- ping the curds," she continued. " Whatever da you mean?" said Xeversweat, completely as- tounded. " You know too much for me, my swell, replied the Major's ladv, " the next game we play I'll take care we're partners;" and with these words she thrust the cards in a table drawer, and again threw herself upon a sof'u. Mr. Aminidab Neversweat and Mrs. Major Bugsfug having respectively deposited their fundimentalities upon the sofa, they commenced a series of little billings and cooings, not at all inter- esting, save to the parties concerned; in the midst, of which, they were, however, doomed to be interrupted by a loud knock- ing at the door. " Come in," shouted the lady, and the next instant the frontispiece and a portion of the body of the thin woman insinuated itself into the room. " Don't move," continued her of the carmine, per- ceiving that Aminadab was about rising from the sofa, " this is a gentleman, a friend of Major Bugsfug's," she added, addressing the thin woman, " and wo were merely talking over a few family matters." The thin woman took a rapid survey of the position of the sofa embellishers, aud, there certainly being nothing strictly objection- able, sherepli » " That's nothing to me, ma'm, I don't allow gentlemen to re- main here after twelve, it's against the rules of my hoose, if you requires anything of that kind you must go somewhere else." " I tell you this is a friend, my dear— a very particular friend,'' said the Major's lady. You said so the night a- fore last, when you brought home the soldier." " That was one of the Major's privates," replied the other, " but your request shall be complied with, and this gentleman shall leave directly he's bad another glass of sherry." And the thin woman, upon this information, left the room. " There's a gallus old cat for you," said the fashionable and ac- complished Mrs. Major Bugsfug, " but we'll match her; I say, old fellow, are you game to go down stairs, aud hide your- self. I'll go down and gammon to open the door, and shut it, and then you can take off your boots and come up again." " Like a shot, I will," said Aminadab. The plan being thus arranged, it was speedily put into execu- tion; the pair of sinners went down stairs, and Aminadab took cure to bid a loud good- night, where, for the present, we will leave them. CHAPTER III. A KIND OLD GENTLEMAN— AN ADVENTURE AT A PICTURE- SHOP WINDOW. About the same time in the evening of the day when Amimadab was requested to visit Mrs. Major Bugsfug, viz., about seven o'clock, Miss Julia Mitfins, who had her own private and especial reasons for so acting, adorned herself after the fashion of a modest and retiring maid servant, posted herself in a door- way in front of a large noble- looking building, in the neighbourhood of Dover- street, Piccadilly; she had not remained long there when a car- riage drew up, into which stepped a very elegantly attired female, assistc.' by a young man in deep mourning, who took his seat by her side; the carriage dashed off at a rapid pace down the street. Although the view that Julia had of the parties in the vehicle was but momentary, it enabled her to perceive that the female was in tears. " It is her," exclaimed Julia, " would that I could speak to her— there must be some truth, then, in the report that appears in the evening papers, and her companion is the vo » ng Count de St. B ." 2 THE TOWN. 3 Whilst Julia was thus cogitating, one of the servants connected with the establishment made his appearance, for she knew the livery, and crossing the road, she inquired if his master, the Earl, was in. The interrogation was answered by his informing her that he was just leaving the hall for a walk before dinner. The, man had scarcely uttered the word and left her, when the party respecting whom Julia inquired, made his appearance. He was a tall, elderly, well dressed man ; evidently a person who, in his younger days, had possessed a very line exterior, and his walk, and the general style of his dress, evidenced that everything that could be done by the tailor's art to conceal the ravages of time, had been brought into requisition. He proceeded at a moderate pace through the adjacent streets, till he reached the Burlington Arcade, when he paused to gaze at some French pictures. Whilst looking at some Parisian caricatures, his ear can « bt the words of " How beautiful." The Earl of M—, for it was thut distinguished nobleman immediately turned to observe from whom the observa- tion had proceeded, and beheld the figure of Julia gazing, appa- rently with rapture, upon an engraving of " Le Fleur Marie." The Earl was immediately struck with the appearance oi his com- panion, for he examined her closely through his eye- glass, and found she was faultless as to contour ; a highly interesting countenance, and a pretty leg and foot, have proved the stumbling block of many ft rich though aged nobleman, and, as the Earl continued to gaze, he found himself irresistibly drawn towards her; he felt fidgetty, a desire of becoming better acquainted with so interesting a person stole over him. Perhaps, it was a parental feeling; it was getting dusk, and he thought the streets of London were dangerous for young females. Be it as it inay, he, after again looking at her, in a tremulsus voice, but a low tone, exclaimed— " Where are you going, my child ?" " Home, my Lord," answered Julia, looking archly. " Ah," exclaimed the Earl, catching at the title, " You know me then 1" " Oh, yes," said Julia, quickly, " yon are the great Lord Wil- liam D that my father cooks for, and lives in Connaught- square. Good evening." " She has mistaken me for some one else," muttered the Earl, " this is becoming interesting— I must follow her." The Earl proceeded in the direction that Julia had taken, who, having an intention of walking at such a pace that he should not overtake her, reached her about the middle of Cork- street, a nice quiet locality, as our readers will remember, for giving advice, for that was the object of the Earl, is evident, by his observing upon reaching her. " Stop a moment, my little dear, for I've something very parti- cular to say to you." t' Go on, Sir," said Julia, smiling, " I'm all attention." ( To be continued). father became spirit- carrier extraordinary to the King's Bench prison. This contraband traffic was carried on by my worthy pro- genitor and myself for between five and six years with unexam- pled success. Whether the turnkeys up to that time suspected my father's occupation or not, it is impossible to say; certain it is, however, that either from ignorance or good nature they did not interfere with him. About the period of my attaining the age of fifteen, the precarious service was fated to be exploded. Two new turnkeys were appointed, and my lather and myself went as usual with our cargo on board into the prison. We passed the first gate, and just entered the lower lobby, when a gruff voice, calling my father by name, bade us wait a moment. In half a minute the marshal's clerk appeared ; we were directed to return again into the upper lobby, and there we were both searched. Haifa gallon of" Old Tom'' was taken out of long bladders fr » m the legs of my trousers, and my poor father's corporation was ma- terially decreased by being tapped of a gallon and a half of over- proof rum. " How long have you carried on this game, my kiddies ?" said the officer. ( To be continued.) RECOLLECTIONS OF A LONDON PICKPOCKET. CHAPTEK I. A NEW COMIC SONG, WRITTEN BY MB. CHARLES PATERNOSTER, Of the Nag's Head, Leather- lane, Holborn, and sung at the Dinner for the benefit of the Licensed Victuallers' School, at Highbury Barn Tavern, on Wednesday, 27th June, 1849, BY MB. WEAVER. TUNE.—" There's a good time coming." There's a good time coming, Bungs, A good time coming, We hope to live to see the day, When youthful minds shall shed a ray, On the good time coming! Our princely friends have lent their aid, United we are stronger, And wonders we have done of late, Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, Bungs, A good time coming, When " Charity" shall be the word, And all kind hearts their aid afford, In the good time coming. Birth and merit here combine To make our cause the stronger ; A noble impulse has been given, Wait a little longer. DONE AT LAST. ( A True Story.) BY AN OLD GAMBLER. MY BIRTH AND PARENTAGE. I shall not be particular as to dates, suffice it to say that I am about forty- five years of age, so the period of my birth may be pretty nearly arrived at by those who feel sufficient interest in my progress to calculate it. My father had been for many years what, is called from the force of ignorant prejudice, a diverting vagabond i. e., a player. Having succeeded in all the principal comedy parts in the provinces, he sagely imagined that he would make a fortune by visiting the metropolis. He attempted it and was deceived. The ungracious Londoners pelted him off the stage with oranges, a fruit by the way, to which my talented progenitor ever after the untoward event had a most unfeigned and unmitigatod aversion. However, my father succeeded in one walk of the drama, viz., get- ting into debt, and consequently into prison. Mv poor father had made a love match while attached to a strolling company, and just before appearing in London had led to the altar an itinerant colum- bine of vast and considerable pretensions to excellence in the light fantastic portion of the terpsichorean art. My father had been incarcerated nearly six months when my mother gave birth to as indefatigable a thief in embryo as ever buzzed aflat at a Lord Mayor's show, that being identical was my illustrious self. And now it becomes my duty to state how my father the player and my mother the Columbine, managed to support themselves and the offspring of their mutual loves. The fact was that my father, who was tenderly attached to my mother, would not per- mit her after she became pregnant to continue an e;; j. nent as figurante at one of the minor theatres, so he resolved to endeavour to earn a honest living by purveying for his fellow prisoners. The good man kept a little shop for the sale of the necessaries of life, such as boiled beef, red herrings, tea, tobacco, sand, and wood, and an excellent living he managed to obtain. In after days I have frequently looked upon my birthplace with those almost inde- scribable feelings of enviable sadness, which thrill through the human frame in the contemplation of the scenes of childhood, After many roving years, How sweet it is to come, To the dwelling place of early youth, Our first and dearest home. There my happiest hours were passed, and the racquet ground facing the window was the scene of niv earliest pastimes. At about two years old I was sent to a school kept by an old female at the foot of the sixteenth staircase, more for the purpose of keeping mo out of mischief than for anything I could learn at so early an age. I was a great pet of the old woman's and as I grew in favour and years, I was permitted to act as my childish fancy led me. The hours apportioned for my early scholastic duties were passed in knocking a racquet ball up against the wall at the back of the public kitchen, so that it may be guessed my progress in letters was not very rapid. At four years old I was an adept at racquet- playing, and at five, I cut the book to look after the balls, or in other words to become an amateur racquet- marker, and in spite of all my father's remonstrances, and my mother's soft persuasion, continued this avocation for three or four years, the labour bein^ sweetened by the liberal gratuities of the swell players; in all pro- bability I should have been a racquet- boy to this day, had not a circumstancc occurred which took me entirely away from the scenes of all my joys. My father's creditors, finding that he had been for years getting a good living in the Bench, out of spite sent his discharge to the marshal, and the day after it was received, my father the player, my mother the Columbine, and myself the racquet- boy toddled out from the happy valley of our seclusion to buffet the turmoils and troubles of the wide, unfeeling world. The prison had been to my father and mother as a city of refuge, to me a happy native home; can it then be wondered that we regretted leaving it. We next domiciled in a one room lodging, in a dirty- house at the back of the Britannia Wine Vaults, opposite the Kin ' Bench gate. My father, like a bird long caged from worldly associations found his freedom exceedingly irksome to him ; he liked his prison far better than the world; and day after day did he repair within its walls to have a game at racquet, or to share in the humble fare of the lads he had left behind him. Being a good- natured man, my father was frequently requested by his old " chums " to bring into the gaol a " leetle drop of the cratur"— a commodity strictly prohibited by every rule of prison discipline. However, despite the daily view of the rules which may be seen in the lobby of the Queen's Bench, a drop of the cratur found its way into the pro hibited regions every morning in my father's great coat pocket The little cash he was possessed of, on quitting prison was very soon ' xpeiided, and how and where to get more was a problem my poor father was for some time at a loss to solve. At. length it was suggested to him by some of his prison companions, that the office he had undertaken, to relieve the wants of his unfortunate friends inside, might be turned to account in the way of a living. The suggestion was acted upon, and from that day my There's a good time coming, Bungs, A good time coming. Bungs with honest pride elate, See those youths in happy state, In the good time coming. Every child shall lend it's aid To make our right arm stronger. ' Tis education forms the mind, Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, Bungs, A good time coming, Let us aid it all we can, Every woman every man, The good time coming. Smallest gifts so freely given Make our friends the stronger ; We're gaining strength each meeting day, Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, Bungs, A good time coming, When worthy magistrates shall be Protecting friends of harmony, In the good time coming. Informers then shall quit their trade, And police tease no longer, Music sanctioned to be play'd, Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, Bungs, A good time coming, When we shall have increase of trade, And then our fortunes may be made In the good time coining. Then Bungs their friends can entertain, And sympathy get stronger; As brother beings we shall maintain Our charity the longer ! THE CHOLERA.— It is fearful to read the quack announce ments in the country newspapers from the pill vendors; in Lon- don also this genus are busy pushing oft* their purgatives, which assists the diarrhoea, that ever ushers in this Asiatic pest. Thus, thousands may be killed, so that the quacks but flourish. WAGES.— The other day a schoolmaster was hearing a boy his lesson, he came to the sentence, " the wages of sin is death ;" when the tutor wishing to get. " wages out by deduction, asked, what does your father get on Saturday night," tho boy answered -" Drunk." In the vestry of a village chapel in one of the Midland counties, a plan of the preaching had, according to custom, been fixed up on the wall over the mantel- piece. One day, two friends were examining it, when one of them observed at the foot of the plan the following notice:—" The Quarterly meeting will be held on Monday, March 26tli ( D. V.) and inquired the meaning of the last two capital letters. " Why," said the other, " it's quarter- day, and it means Dinner in the Vestry." Truly lias it been said, that " out of the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh." DREADFUL NAUSEA.-— Lord Brougham has had an attack of sickness, brought on we hear through reading a paragraph in his favour in a recent number of Punch. The real old- fashioned man- of- war's man is nearly extinct. Some years back the neighbourhood of Wapping, and all the northern bank of the Thames swarmed with individuals called crimps, who obtained a most lucrative livelihood by plundering the tars, the flash, frail, and fair doxies, both black and white, assisted to clean Jack out from stem to stern, from the kelson to the deck. This was particularly the case in war time, when two or three years pay, for which he had often ventured his life, and got wounded, vanished like a summer's cloud. Truly was it said of him, that he earned his money like a horse, and spent it like an ass. We remember some doggrel lines, strongly applicable to the subject. The scene is laid in that far- famed watering- place, Wapping. A sailor is supposed to have just landed, and lias cha- racteristically enough provided himself with a fiddler and a lady. His officer, as Jack would say, heaves in sight, with " Halloo, my tar, sailing orders just received, leave in a week." The sailor re- plies by lamenting that the time specified will not enable him to spend all his rhino, and, according to the poet, expresses himself briefly, and to the point— " ' Twill take two weeks to 3pend my store, I've got a fiddler and a . The answer will show how well the officers understood their men : " Then two of each, my lad," says he, " Will just fit you out for sea." Which advice the tar immediately followed. A rich, elderly gentleman, who was in the habit of playing, some years ago, at a certain house in Pall- mall, was sought after by all the swell sharps of the day. This gentleman was a gambler at heart, and played for play sake ; he always came with a large sum of money, sat down, never took the slightest notice of any one, and whether he won or lost, no impression was visible. He walked away without opening his mouth or looking at any one; and when accosted by sharps at the table, for the purpose of scraping or com- mencing an intimacy, seldom or never replied. He was given up as a fruitless job. A celebrated captain then, but now styled " old colonel," of most prepossessing and gentlemanly sddress, had beard of, but not seen this gentleman's propensity for play, and, still better, inexhaustable supply of cash. This was enough. The colonel's wits were in a moment at work, and he saw, with his usual intuition, the machinery of the plot how it should be tried and worked. After some little trouble, his residence was discovered, and found to be in Portland- place. The colonel's plot was matured, but he wanted 201. This was made up by a pal or two, who were to stand in, in the event of the thing coming off right. But what was the 20Z. for ? The colonel saw there was no other chanoe of scraping an acquaintance with this stand- off and cool- mannered old gentleman, than by the spec, of throwing the 201, away ; but the clever colonel was conscious of his insinuating powers, when once an interview was effected. Everything was arranged, the 20?. in the colonel's pocket, and he was dressed in the first style of elegance. The colonel had oalled in the morning at the gentleman's house in Portland- place, and ascertained that be dined at home that day, and left word he would do himself the honour of calling in the even- ing. The colonel knew and marked his time well— he calculated when the old gentleman had taken wine. The time arrived for the colonel's visit; he came with a consequential knock ; his name was announced, but the gentleman knew no such person. The colonel, however, said that, as his business was of a peculiar and pressing nature, he begged an interview that moment, as he believed he was leaving town for a few days. The old gentleman reluctantly left his wine, and granted the request. The colonel bowed, and apologized for the unseasonableness of the visit, hut pleaded the emergency of the occasion. The old gentleman stared, and was all amazement to i know the purport of the mission. The colonel, with well feigned ! gratitude, as if incapable of immediate utterance, slowly drew the j handkerchief from his pocket, blew bis nose, wiped the perspiration i from his forehead, then took a pinch of snuff from his box, offered : the same to the old gentleman, which was politely, but coolly de- ! clined. The colonel, recovering, at length said,—" Sir, the purport j of this visit to you at this moment, is to offer, and beg you will ac tcept, my thanks and gratitude for the very great kindness you j shewed me on a late occasion, by lending me 20/. on the night we j met at a certain place in Pall- mall. I have made a solemn promise never again to enter the place, and knowing I could not find you there, I have with some trouble ascertained your residence, and have thus taken ( which I hope and trust you will excuse,) the liberty of calling at your house to repay that which you so gene- rously and disinterestedly accommodated me with when I had lost all my money." The old gentleman was astounded, in fact, overwhelmed with as- tonishment, and told the colonel he had not the " remotest recollec- tion of such a circumstance. The colonel assured him it was the j case, and immediately proceeded to take from a handsomo silk pocket- book the 20/. in bran new notes ; which, with an elegant but grateful air, he held out to be received. The old gentleman hesitated, and again repeated his total igno- rance of the matter. After a pause, he at length replied— " Well, sir, really this is the first time in my life that I have met with such gentlemanlike conduct in a matter of this nature. If you say it is the fact, I am bound to believe it, and, at your request, will receive this money ; but once more I will repeat, that 1 have no present remembrance of such a circumstance. You seem warm, sir, and overheated; will you take a glass of wine ? I am quite alone." The colonel could scarcely reply— his gratitude had struck him speechless. i " Come, sir, pray walk up stairs ; you will find yourself better j presently." The colonel spoke not but heaved a subdued sigh, and followed his benefactor. A glass of wine or two brought the gratified colo- nel to his speech ; the conversation became animated ; the old gentleman was pleased with the fascinating manners of his new friend, and particularly with his high sense of honour, and once or twice observed that he had often times lent money which had never been offered to be returned. Observations on play, its ex- ; citement, & c., & c., occasionally broke forth ; at the same time, the I colonel observed, " My family have heard of my infatuation for play, and I am getting into deep disgrace. I, therefore, mean to give it up, totally, and not intending to go to the house again, I was compelled from a sense of honour and gratitude, to call at your residence to repay that which I owed you." The old gentleman once more thanked the colonel, and regretted the trouble he had taken. More wine was called for, and the old gentleman was delighted with the jokes and gaiety of the pleasant colonel. The time was now fast approaching for the colonel to come to the point; hut he was waiting the opportunity of being invited to call and see the old gentleman again. At length the colonel made an observation about going; the bait took. " I hope, sir," said the old gentleman, " that you will favour me with a call at some other time, should you be passing by, shall be happy to see you." " Nothing will give me more exquisite pleasure than so doing," replied the colonel; " but it is on one condition, only— will you grant me a promise ?" " If in my power I shall be happy to comply," was the answer. " I will guarantee," said the latter, " that it is." " What may it be, sir ?" " That you will, in consideration of your politeness this night to me, honour me with your company to dinner the day after to- morrow." The old gentleman paused and said be would seud an answer in the morning; the colonel saw that this would not do ; then pres- sing him for an immediate answer, said he really could not, nay, would not, take an excuse. This appeal was irresistable ; the old gentleman was caught, and consented to dine with the gallant colonel. After departure, the colonel had an interview with his friends and every arrangement was quickly concocted for the forthcoming banquet. The day arrived, and the old gentleman came in his car- riage at seven o'clock. The colunel met him, and welcomed him with a hearty shake of both hands, and introduced him to two friends ; the dinner was excellent, the wines delicious, and sent about with an unsparing hand. After some time the two friends of the colonel asked his permission to play a hit at backgammon, as they had taken enongh wine. The colonel knew that the music of the dice would charm the old gentleman's ears. The colonel answered " That he had himself given up all kinds of play, and that he and his friend ( the old gentleman) would sit and enjoy their wine." The game was commenced, and the dice lustily shook about in the box, the colonel taking not the slightest notice. On a sudden one of the players exclaimed, " I shall take 30/. to 20Z. on this throw." This was irresistible, the old gentleman arose, and the colonel requested him to take no notice, but to sit down and enjoy their wine. " Oh! let us go and see them play," said the old gentleman. " Very well," replied the colonel, " if you wish to do so, but I don't think I shall join." After tho game of backgammon was over, hazard was introduced on the wine table, and the old gentleman lost TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. THE TOWN. 3 TALES OE LONDON LIFE. MRS. LORIMER SPINKS; MARRIED LADY OK, THI THAT WAS A LITTLE TOO GAY. ( Continued from " The Town.") CHAPTER XIV. A LONDON PIKE— A CADGER'S HOME. It was not Varden's intention to proceed direct to the house where the Sailor was waiting for the brothel- keeper's servant, he felt that the possession of the letter which he had stolen from the drunken old woman, rendered him, to a considerable extent, independent of the Marquis. He could not forget the manner in which he bad received him, even in the presence of Shadrach, and he muttered to himself, as he walked rapidly through Newport- street, " This letter would prove everything that is wished for; and Mrs. Spinks would gladly, or I much mistake her character, compromise matters, even with me, did she know of the existence of this letter. I will first sound the Sailor— if my suspicions are correct, and there can scarce be any doubt about it, he would be the best for me to deal with." During this soliloquy, he had proceeded as far as the Shambles, at the corner of Newport- market, when his attention was attracted to the brightness of the horizon, followed almost immediately after by a rush of people shouting " Fire !" with all that gladsome love of excitement so peculiarly the characteristic of a London mob. " It is indeed a fire," exclaimed Varden : " there'll be sure work for the thieves to- night— it'll empty the coffee- shops of the beggars, and afford a few hours amusement to the houseless." As he uttered these words about half a dozen ragged wretches, principally boys, Sprung from beneath the stall- boards and blocks in front of the butchers'- shops where they had been sleep- ing— sleeping amongst heaps of filth the refuse of the day's mar- ket— not yet removed by the night scavengers. " Jemmy, Jemmy," shouted a nondescript looking creature, " s'elp my greens here's a stunning fire." " Where's the fire, governor ?" enquired a grey- headed old man, wretchcdly dilapidated in appearance—" I vonderif they'd give us a job at the engine." " Here's a lark ; old Jemmy's going to vork at the engines/' said one of the urchins. " Get inside and clean the pipes," answered another. " I s'pose." " Come Captain Flash," cried a boy, " get up, or we shan't get a job to pump." The party spoken to, crawled from a heap of rubbish, presenting the appearance of a long lad, not more than 11 or 12 years old. " Well, I'm blowed if them'ere rats ain't eat nearly the whole of my boots off," exclaimed the young gentleman, " ye's don't catch rne snoozing this side of the passage again." " What, don't they bite so much then on the other side," en- quired Varden who, although busied in his own affairs, could not help being amused, and also struck with the manner of the boy. " Lor'bless you, sir," answered the urchin, " the rats never bites on the other side, ' cos they belongs to the houses and gets plenty of grub ; but these here are shore covey's, and doesn't they nip a fellow. Give us a ha'penny, please sir," he continued, in a whining voice, " to buy a loof with, sir." Varden gave the juvenile mendicant a few coppers, and then continued—" Are you going to the fire ? why you can't pump at the engines— you can scarcely reach one." " I can get my name put down though," was the quick reply. " What do you mean ?" continued Varden, looking full upon the boy's countenance, and at the same time muttering to him- self, " he will do." Ararden, who seldom if over condescended to converse with a stranger, much less relieve a street- beggar, without an object, had been taken with the boy's manner, and with that rapidity of thought so peculiarly a trait in nis character, he copceived the boy might be useful to him. The brat also apparently felt honoured by the notice taken of him by a person of Varden's appearance, and he was about to answer him, when he was pulled forcibly by the arm by one of the boys, who said, in a low tone— " Vhat are you pattering ( talking) about to that swell bloke- he's no good ?" " An't he though," answered the boy quickly; " he's given me tray- soldee ( threepence). Wait a minute, I'll buzz him of his skin ( purse) if he's got one, or his stooc ( handkerchief)." " Yes you will," replied the other, " a heap." " Why you flat, he's a bobby." " Is he, though? look at his boots," replied the other, alluding to the fashionable pair of cloth boots worn by Varden, the police- man being always told by the peculiar cut of his feet encasements. " Veil, I shall cut, you can stop as long as you like ; there goes one of the Watling- street engines," and as the boy spoke he rushed up the dirty narrow passage, which, consisting of about sixty butchers' shops, formed then as now, Newport Market. There was evidently an immense fire raging in the neighbour- hood— people were rushing from all quarters, and cabs dash- ing along the streets filled with swells, anxious to be present at what promised to be an immense conflagration. The true cockney, as we just observed, delights in a fire, observe the pleasure that il- lumines his faee, wheu he is informed that there's " a blazer down in Spital fields," and then if he can afford it, he immediateiy calls a vehicle, and is conveyed to the scene of destruction. If he has not the means, he will walk from Drury- lane to Deptford, if there is a chance of its being what he terms " a regular good ' un;" at any nour of the night the Londoner will turn out of his bed to see a " tidy flare- up," and a theatre will bring thousands. Varden appeared to be watching the people as they hastened past him, but in reality he was waiting for the boy to return and answer him. Ho had turned his back but for a moment, but, it, was sufficient for the boy to crawl to his side and extract from him a small pocket- book, which he as quickly threw under one of the stalls, and then passed by him. " So you have'nt gone to the fire, then," said Varden, " where's your companions?" " I thought you wanted me," said the boy, looking sharply into the face of Varden. " I want you," said Varden, really surprised at the boy's shrewd- ness, and fearful that he suspected his purpose, " Pooh! nonsense ! what could I possibly want with you, my man ?" The boy made no answer, he felt and looked confused; there was a pause. Varden appreciated the character of the urchin, he judged of him by himself, little deeming how much his future, fortunes were connected with his movements, it was the perfection of villainy gazing upon itself in miniature. " So you are not going to the tire," continued Varden, " I thought you intended to get. a job there." " Well," answered the boy, somewhat re- assured by the manner of Varden, " it's no use my going to this fire." " Why not to this fire?" enquired Varden, speaking merely for the purpose of inducing the boy to talk, " I suppose if you do get anything to do at such affairs it can m„ ke but little difference." •' Oh ! don't it though," was the answer, " there'll be too many there now, if I'd been in time and at the engine pumping when they com'd round, I should have'got a bob— a shilling," he added, correcting himself, " and that, you know, would have made Sarah comfortable." " Who's Sarah?" said Varden, with a slight change in his man- ner, " you speak as if I knew her." " You don't live about here then," answered the boy, " or you'd be sure to know Sarah— crarikey ( mad) Sarah as they call her." " Do you live about here ?'' said Varden. " Live !" replied the brat, with a bitterness in his tone, extraor- dinary for hie, age, " live, I don't live anywhere, they won't let us." " Who won't let f" " The peelers." " What do they do ?" " They beat us; the other night a boy they call little Bob was sleeping in the dry arches in St. Giles's, and cos he would'nt come out they got some straw and stuffed it in the end, and when they'd burnt it they stifled him out like a rat." " And what did they do with him when they came out ?" said Varden. " The policemen wallopped him with their belts, the buckle part too; and did'nt they cut him over the face. They always serve the beggars so, except Hannah, and she gives it to ' em again ; she bit the nose off one of the peelers, and now they let her sleep where she likes, cos they say she's crankey, but she aint so crankey as people thinks for, I can tell yer; hear her how she barrack'd ( talked) away at the sailor cove to- night." " Where is she now ?" " Snoosing under that board— don't you hear how she snores ; that sailor nearly drove her mad, talking about Liverpool and Manchester, and all them ' ere outlandish places." " Ah !" exclaimed Varden, " what sort of a man was he ?" " Well, I could'nt ' sactly see his face ; old Hannah was mooch- ing ( begging) about at the corner, when I went up to speak to him, and she said to me ' Now Captain Flash, cut your wood;' so I was obliged to step it." " That's an elegant name they have given you," said Varden. " They give it me in St. Giles's, when I was a young ' un." Varden could searce refrain from smiling at this last observa- tion, but continued, " You know St. Giles's?" " I should think I did."^ " Were vou born there ?" " No."" " Where ?" " I was born In Brummagem." " What part ?" " A place they call Edgbeston— but why do you ask me all these questions ?" exclaimed the boy, quickly stepping back. " Would you work," said Varden, " If I cot you a place ?" " What sort of work is it ?" enquired the boy with true cadgers whine, " I got no clothes, and perhaps I should'nt be strong enough." Varden appeared not to notice the question, but continued— " You say you know St. Giles's— do youknowany of the people that live there ?" " No," answered the boy doggedly. " Do you know a man called the Slasher ?" " Do you ?" said the boy, his eye brightening, and casting a cun- ning glance upon his interrogator. The manner of the boy did not escape Vsrden. " If you will take me to his house I'll give you sixpence." " Will you?" " Yes." " Perhaps you won't." " Why ? Do you think I'll deceive you— here's the sixpence first,— now take me to where I can find the Slasher." The boy drew back his hand from tho proffered coin, and then in the same dogged tone of voice that he had at first spoken con- tinued, " what's the use of offering me the sixpence; I does'nt know where the Slasher is." " You did know, then ?'' said Varden. " No I did'nt," answered the boy, " but I knows what you are ?" The manner of the boy indicated what he imagined, viz., that Varden was a policeman in disguise; Varden felt somewhat puzzled: it was, however, important to his purpose that he should, if possible, secure the services of a sharp lad like tho one he was speaking to. The circumstance of bis being a houseless vagrant being doubly advantageous, and hehad only introduced the name of the Slasher, from the fact of being aware that he was a well known thief, and to ascertain if the boy was acquainted with such characters. Varden now felt convinced that the boy knew the Slasher, and, from the character of the latter, he could understand that it might not be desirable for everybody to know his dwelling, and hence the urchins reluctance to show it. " Where is your father and mother?" " I don't know," he answered. " Are they alive?" " I don't know." " When did you see them last?" " What do you want to know for?" " Come, come, master Captain Flash, these tricks wo'nt do, I must know something more about you;" and Varden accompanied these words by putting his hand, apparrent. lv in a good humoured manner, on his shoulder, but really to detain him, the boy, how- ever saw his purpose, for he called out lustily, " You let me alone now, can't you, or you'll get the worst of it; let me alone, I say; Sarah, Sarah, come and make this cove be quiet." This call was almost immediately responded to by a female crawling from beneath one of the adjacent shopboards and ad- vancing towards Varden and the boy. She was a tall, masculine looking woman, and, even amidst the rags and filth that hung about her, showed that in her younger days she must have been a very beautiful woman. There was a wildness in her look, the effect possibly of drink, that gave to her an appearance somewhat maniacal, hence probably her cognomen " mad Sarah." Rush- ing, or rather staggering up to the boy, she was about to pull him from the grasp of Varden, when suddenly every nerve appeared paralysed, as she gazed upon the man, and giving vent to a loud shrill cry, she reeled against the lamp- post. Varden instantly released the boy, who, crawling to the place where he had thrown the pocket book, made off. " Great God !" exclaimed Varden, advancing to the female, and his habitual caution forsaking him, " Can this be real— is it in- deed her ?" Tho woman spoke not; her eye was fixed upon his countenance one hand holding by the lamp- post for support, and the other' beckoning him towards her. " She is dying I" ejaculated Varden. " Sarah— Sarah Morton, do you not know me ?" " Varden, dear Vardeo, do not leave me," she faintly articu- lated. " This is terrible, and at such a time," said Varden. " To stay now is impossible. I will give her something, and leave her." He had placed some silver in her bosom, when she fell heavily on the pavement. " Sh•! is dead !" said Varden ; " poor devil ! Well, it saves me trouble!" and turning upon his heel, he was about making off when a butcher advanced fiom out of one of the doorways, anil grasping Varden tight by the arm, exclaimed— " I say, young fellow, what caper have you been up to with this gal' I've been watching you this last ten minutes. Here! police! police! there's something wrong hero— this covey's mur- dered a woman !" ( To be continued). THE MOCK MORALITY OF THE AGE. " Modesty," so said Voltaire, " has left the heart to take re- fuge on the lips ; the more depraved manners become, the more measured are the expressions in use; what is lost in virtue is sought to be regained in language." The year one- thousand- eight- hundred- and- forty- nine will most assuredly be remembered is one full of the most superlative hypocrisy and indecent cant. No individual, however humble, but has fallen under the dis- pleasure of the designing Cantwells and Tartuffes of the day. Immoral publications and desecrations of the Sabbath, form the sample complaint, directed especially against the cheaper order. We think we can show the gentry, who complain how infinitely more chaste are the columns of any of the cheap publications of the present day, than are the pages of any writer of celebrity from the days of Charles I. down to the commencement of the present century. The whole stream of literature, from that period to the reign of George III., is covered, and polluted with the most unbridled bawdy and licentiousness. And we now beg of our readers to mark that the books to which we shall presently allude form an essential appendage to every library. Every boarding- school young lady has access to them, and no one can have any pretensions to a knowledge of Eng- lish literature who is not acquainted ( with at least the names) of Butler, Sir John Suckling, Congreve, Pope, Swift, Prior, Arbuth- not, Oldham, Somerville, and so forth, down to Dr. Walcot ( Peter Pindar) and theByronicandTom Moore school; of course wo say nothing of the dramatists, with the exception of Congreve. Bad as they were, they were not worse than the playmongers of our days ; but it is a fact that all these authors are what are called standard, and no library is complete without them. In a note to the 1st Canto of " Hudibras " occurs lines fit only for Cider- cellar bacchanalians. Turn Butler out of the library, by all means ! such information is highly demoralising. But stay, Butler wrote for the Church ! Aye, that perhaps alters the matter. Does it indeed ? Then read the lines on " Transubstantiation" by Oldham, vol. ii. page 39. Oldham was a clergyman of the Church of England, and the disgusting and filthy lines written upon his own father, with which his stupid biographer has concluded the third volume, are a dis- grace to any English library. Yet, no clergyman's bookcase is complete without " Oldham's Satires upon the Jesuits;" but here the conventionality of the Church intervenes again. Had wo written such balderdash— but no matter. Proceed we to the Very Reverend Father in God, Dean Swift. The vilest publisher of obscene prints could not find anything more appropriate to his disgusting works than the lines by this learned Dean of St. Patrick on Strephon and Chine. There is no double entendre, everything is called by the right name. Of equal delicacy is the learned divine's " Carenia," " Tom and Dick," and " Whiston and Ditton." Of the reverend gentleman's prose bawdy, our readers may form a good opinion by the " Tale of a Tub," " A Discourse on the Mechanical Operation of the Spirit," & c. Miss Jemima has nothing to do but go to papa's library, and, if she feels naughtily inclined, the two reverend worthies we have noticed will fully gratify her excitement. She may then turn to the miscellaneous works of Arbuthnot, and fill the store- house of her mind with " The Art of Selling Bargains,'' & c.; or, if poetically inclined, she may peruse Prior's " Nut- brown Maid," Somerville's " Account of the Farmer's Journey to Dinner," or Dr. Parnell's disgusting address to " A Lady who had Rotten Teeth." All these things will doubtless be found highly edifying, and the next thingfthat Miss Jemima may do, is to pick out a few of the warm scenes of Richardson, Fielding, and Smollet. ( for, she must remember, all these authors are in any decent book- case.) A few pages of another clergyman, Maturin, will not be amiss. She will then be enabled to appreciate the tender sensa- tions of Donna Inez and Don Juan, the island daughter of old Lambro and the voluptuous, ghost- acting Duchess of Fitz- Fulke. Of course, Tom Moore's works stand'alongsideofByron's; andthe glittering witchery of harlotry will be fully impressed on her mind, without the slightest fear of allusion to its frightful consequences. In that moment of excitement, when the young blood tingles to the cheek, and the idea of an indefinite something passes across their mind, let them turn to the warning pages of LONDON LIFE. " Vice is a monster of such hideous mien, As to be hated, needs but to be seen." The sentiment is Bolingbroke's, although the little " Twicken- ham Wasp" claims the glory of jingle. But here we rest upon our oars, satisfied that nothing half so filthy can be found in our writings as the quotations we have made from authors who are considered to be the glory and the pride of English litera- ' ture! A HOT JULY. July is a rare old fellow, He's a month when the Sun does shine j He makes the poor quite mellow— Sagittarius is his sign. Hurra ! hurra ! still loud we'll cry, For that rare old month— a hot July. The quail, that ne'er deceives us, Now makes his morning call; The fickle cuckoo leaves us, But that's tho way with them all. Then hurra! hurra ! still loud we'll cry, For that blazing month— allot July. THE PHILOSOPHY OP WAR ! BLOODSNUFF, the Giant, lives sole in his den, Breakfasting, dining, and supping on men : Chained to his chain with a horrible gout, He rises, but seldom, and never goes out. Yet piled is his table with roasted and raw, M n, women, and babes, come alike to his maw. Huge platters of soldiers descend at a gulp, Small children by scopefuls all mashed to a pulp. Bright maidens by forkfuls, not dressed a la mode, But, shrieking with terror, go down tho same road. Full beakers of blood stand for wine at his dinner, And tears are the tea of the merciless sinner. " How catch you, old Giant, your grog and your grub Of a race you no longer can follow or drub— Whose ears are of lightning— whose legs are of steam—• Who fathoms the sky with a tube or a dream ?" " Right easy ! Ha! ha!" he replies, " with a war, Right easy my larder and cellar I ftore With barrels of men and hogsheads of gore, When I need something fresh to keep famine away, Calling newsmen and poets that serve in my pay. To the kings and the presidents go you I say, Rub the ears of their spunk, pull the tails of their pride, That they for my household may further provide. They set them a- going and give them a puff, And straightway my house has provisions enough." The old Bow- street officer contrived to scrape together an im- mensity of " tin." We never hear of even the top- sawyers amongst the new police dying worth 25,000/., and that's what old Townsend left behind him. A Yarmouth herring is salt, but, a psalm- book is a psalter. The word " Post" is taken from a Latin word, which signifies " after." It is so called because the letters are invariably delivered i wo or three hours after. IF THE CAP FITS, WEAR IT ! " Call me not drunkard !" out she cries In wrath. " Why, bless you, ma'am, I only takes pure malt and hops, A Lid A' hltun drinks dram. " For of that same I never takes No more than what's befitting, Because as how I only drinks To keep my clay from splitting." SUNDAY EVENING LECTURES.— That old east- end, and indeed, we may say, general public favourite, Mr. J. Carcass, has entered into an arrangement with Mr. J. F. Atkinson, to give a series of lec- tures every Sunday evening at his establishment, Harmonic Hall, Laystall- strest, Gray's- Inn- lane. The subjects are of an amu- sing and instructive character, and a man may with safety take his wife, daughter, or female friend, to listen to them. Above eighty highly respectable persons were present on Sunday last. 4 THE TOWN. 3 jiioticcs to © omsipontientis. MEMOIR OE A FRENCH LADY OE FASHION. TYPO ( Devonport).— Wo don't see the joke about the tobacco.— We never heard of the sort you make the sailor enquire for. Bos ( Bristol).— There is no ground for the report you allude to. The papers arrived safe for which we were very much obliged. A RUM UN.— You are quite correct; it was a mistake of the compositor, " inspired" makes sad nonsense of it; the stan should run thus :— From Anna's dear lip, Though nectar I sip, That nectar insipid would prove, If there were no charms To find in her arms, Beyond the sweet kiss of her leve. Your lines " Design of a Kiss" we shall use. T. P. ( Liverpool).— Your complaint referred to the late publioa- tion. We are sorry, however, for the military gentlemen, but don't see how to help their Islington, or the " Californian sand pit" in consequence of the diggings— should be seen to by the police. TOM.— You have ready wit, and write a good hand, but the sub- ject is too broad for " London Life." Try again. A TOWNSMAN ( Leeds).— We are obliged to you for your good opinion. A FRENCHMAN .— Precisely the same. F. CnoziEit.— Received. PICKLES MIXED.— We shall write to you, BUGSEUG ( Bristol).— Send the articles. A WELL- WISHER ( Holborn).— My dear friend you are mis- taken through not being in the secrets of the prison- house. Read the present number. S. T. U. ( Leeds).— In its turn. t. W.— Cantharides— to your second que stion, yes— to your third, bleeding and low diet. F.—" The Agent" most positively in our next. JAMES D. ( News- office, Manchester).— You have received our letter we presume. LYNX- EYE.— You are very much too severe. The Dramatic Institution in Gough- street we consider a highly respectable estab- lishment. ASMODEUS.— See our answer to a Frenchman. Your jokes arc all old. A YORKSIIIREMAN ( Hull).— Must stand over for the present. RAILWAY PEOPLE THE MODEL GOODS BOY. He is a chubby boy, with a head like a cannon ball, and although only fourteen, knows as much as any fourteen moderate- sized boys of the same age, of what he ought not to know. He was introduced to the notice of the company in the politest manner possible, by an elder brother, a clerk in the service, who pot him put on as office boy, at the enormous salary of eight shillings per week, with a prospect of an advance a loug way off in the distance. His official duties chiefly consist of copying and referencing off letters incorrectly, folioing account books anyhow, running of unnecessary errands, and making himself generally useless. He will make an excuse about being detained in the City with the letter he was sent with, declaring he had to wait two hours for an answer, when at the same time he knows very well he was delayed by reading all the play- bills, and patronising the various pictureshops on the way. He will bo sent in time with a score of letters to the post- office, but he will neglect to post them until the succeeding day, and also neglect to mention such fact to the principal clerk ( what a naughty boy). He is very glib with his tongue, and will give you the length of it if you dare to reprove him for taking fifty minutes to deliver a message that might have been done comfortably in five; lie could not do it in less time, and if you could you had better ; he would not for a moment deprive you of the pleasure of trying. He notes and acknowledges the highly moral and intellectual (?) conversation of the porters, machine- men, carters, engino drivers, & c., em- ployed about the establishment, and improves and cultivates his mind, thereby treasuring up such a store of useful knowledge ( oh!) as will render further tuition perfectly needless. His dress is not what would be called strictly fashionable, comprising a suit of clothes apparently made for somebody else, ever so long ago, a couple of sizes smaller than the youthful model, and of a very questionable shape and colour; and his shirt, like his hands and face, would be considerably improved by a violent contact with a yellow substance, and one of the four elements. He prefers the cuff of his jacket to a pocket handkerchief; has a strong objec- tion to blacking his boots, which by the way, are thicker than his head, and seldom luxuriates in Rowland's Macassar. He brings his dinner with him to the office, in the shape of bread and meat, n his cap, and a penny in his pocket, which extravagant sum he nvests in the purchase of apples, oranges, nuts, biscuits, or ginger- beer. He plays with the screw- jacks when he has got a chance, a » d not unfrequently does a little tumbling, by falling over the towing- rope. He has a slight idea what guard is to be repri- manded for leaving some odd goods behind, contrary to the in- structions of the station master; what waggoner is to be punished for looking at too much Barclay and Perkins's Entire, in the company's time; and what clerk is to be dispensed with, to gratify the feelings of some ill- natured dirty- work man. He obtains these notions from the manager's office boy, with whom he is on terms of unalterable friendship, who puts him fly to the different moves 011 the railway board. In some instances the Model Goods Boy possesses a fair share of that sense commonly known as com- mon. He can tell you whether it is a paying line that he is on or not, and if it is likely there will be any dividend this half year. He thinks a Committee ' of Investigation into the company's affairs a decided acquisition to the duped shareholders, and says if he was a chief accountant, be would not wink at the figures in the balance sheets being altered by the chairman, after they had been passed by him as correct! When he reaches homo of a night, he confides to his ma all the occurrences tliut have taken place at the station during the day. What has been, what is, what has to be, and what never will be done to her complete mys- tification, poor soul! for besides not listening to above half of what he has been saying, she has not the slightest knowledge of the subject in hand, and is one of those truly blessed individuals who never saw a railway in her life. The Model Goods Boy is sometimes a wicked one, for he has a knack of frequenting cheap public places of amusement, and making pretence he has been kept at business by the clerks at the office, and when his dada comes to inquire into the truth of the matter, and requests an account of how the superfluous time has been disposed of, he renders one in a " cooked " state, and by no means satisfactory, so that his friends are determined to take him off the line, and place him in a mercantile house, where they can be certain as to the hour he leaves the shop, and adopt such measures'as will effectually put a stop to his galloping. PICKLES MIXED. " What would you ?— I have done all that lay in my power." " Nanine !" cried Marguerite. " light M. the count." We heard the door open and shut. " At length," exclaimed Marguerite re- appearing, " he is gone. That fellow horribly affects my nerves." " My dear child," said Prudence, " you are really too bad with him, he who is so good and so thoughtful of you. Here is another watch on your mantle piece which he has given you, and which cost him at least a thousand crowns, I am sure." And Madame Duvernay, who had approached the chimney piece, played with the jewel, and threw upon it ardent looks of coveteusness. " My dear," said Marguerite, seating herself at her piano, " When I weigh on one hajid what he gives me and on the other what he says to me, I think he purchases his visits cheaply." " The poor fellow is in love with you." " If I were to listen to all those who are in love with me, I should not, really find time to dine." And she again touched the notes of the piano, after which turn- ing to us, " Will you take something ? As for myself I could drink a little punch." " And I could eat part of chicken," said Prudence; " suppose we sup ?" " Precisely; let us go and sup," said Eugene. " No," said Marguerite, " we will have supper here. She rang. Nanine appeared. " Send out for a supper." " What shall I fetch ?" " Just what you like, only directly, directly." Nanine left. " ' Tis just the thing," said Marguerite, capering likea child, we will have a supper. How tiresome that imbecile of a connt is." The more I saw of this woman the more she enchanted me. She was beautiful enough to make an Atheist believe. Even her leanness was a grace. On this evening she was attired in a robe de chambre, of silk, of the time of Louis XV. She had the air of a marchioness of the eighteenth century. I was in a contemplation. What passed in me, I should have some difficulty in explaining. 1 was full of indulgence for her way of life, full of admiration for her beauty. The proof of disinterestedness she had given in not accepting a man young, elegant, and rich, quite prepared to ruin himself for her, excused in my i- yes all her past faults. There was in this woman, something like candour. It was evident she was still in the virginity of vice. Her firm step, her supple waist, her rosy and open nostrils, her fine eyes slightly encircled with blue, denoted one of those ardent natures which spread around them a perfume of voluptuousness, like the flasks of the East which however well closed, permit the liquor they contain to escape. Lastly, whether from nature, or being the consequence of her disease, there passed at times in the eyes of this woman flashes of warm desires whose expression would have bee* a revelation from heaven for the person she had loved. But those who had loved Marguerite were no longer counted, and those whom she had loved were not yet counted. To be brief, one recognised in this girl the virgin whom nothing had made a courtesan, and the courtesan whom a trifle would make the most amorous and the purest virgin. Marguerite had also pride and independence; two sentiments, which, when wounded, are capable of taking the place of modesty. I said nothing, my soul seemed to have passed into my heart, aud my heart into my eyes. " And so," she suddenly resumed, " it was you who came to inquire for me when I was ill ?" " Yes." " Do you know that was very kind ? And what can I do to thank you ?'' " Permit me to come and see you sometimes." " As often as you like, from five to six o'clock, from eleven o'clock to twelve; come Eugene play me the invitation to the waltz." " Why ?" " In the first place to please me, " nd in the next because I cannot succced in playing it alone." " What is it that embarrasses you then ?" " The third part, the passage to the sharp." " Eugene rose, seated himself at the piano, and commenced that delightful melody of Weber's, the music of which was open on the stand. Marguerite, one hand resting on the piano, looked at the music, followed with her eyes every note, which she accompanied softly with her voice, and when Eugene arrived at the passage she indi- cated to him, she hummed it whilst keeping time with her fingers on the back of the piano. " Re, mi, re, do, re, fa, mi, re, this is what I cannot do; begin again." Eugene again commenced, after which Marguerite said to him; " Now let me try." She took his place, and played in her turn, hut her rebellious fingers always deceived themselves on one of the notes we have mentioned. " Is it credible," she said, in the accent of a child, " that I can- not succeed in playing this passage ? Would you believe that I sometimes remain till two oclock in the morning practisingit 1 And when I think that that imbecile of a count plays it admirably and without music, it is this that renders to make me furious against him, I think." And she again commenced, still with the same results. " The devil take Weber, the music, and the piano !" she said throwing the music- book to the other end of the room, " is it con- ..,.;-.. that T /. minot-, pvep. utfi eiffht sharns following ?" " That is the Baron de G— who was very amorous of Mar- guerite ; it is to him she owes her position. It was he who set her afloat. Do you know him ?" " No. And this one I said," pointing to the other miniature. " ' Tis the little Duke of S— ho was forced to leave." " Why ?" " Becausehe was nearly ruined. Here was one who loved Marguerite." " And she loved him in return, no doubt." " She is such a droll girl, I know not what to make of her On the very evening he had departed, she was at the theatre as usual and yet she had wept much at the moment of his leaving." ' Nanine now appeared, announcing to us that supper was served When we entered the dining room, Marguerite was leaiinn- against the wall, and Eugene, holding her hands, was quietly talking to hor and smiling. ° " You are mad," said Marguerite to him, " you well know that I will not have you. It is not after knowing a woman like myself for two years, that you ask to be lier lover. Such as we are we give ourselves at once or not at all. Come, Messieurs, at table." And escaping from the hands of Eugene, Marguerite seated him on her right hand, and myself on her left, she then said to Nanine • " Before sitting down, desire them in the kitchen not to open if any one should ring." This cautious command was given at one o'clock in the morning. We eat, drank, and laughed heartily at this supper. At the end of a few minutes, gaiety had descended to the lowest limits, and words which a certain society find pleasant, and which always soil the mouth that utters them, escapcd from time to time to the loud acclamations of Nanine, of Prudence, and of Marguerite. Eugene amused himself frankly; he was a youth full of° heart" but whose mind had been a little spoiled by early habits. For a moment, I had determined to stupify myself, make my heart and my thoughts indifferent to the spectacle before me, and take my part in this gaiety which seemed oue of the dishes of the repast; but by degrees I had isolated myself from the noise, iny glass had remained full, I had almost become sad, on seeing this charming and beautiful creature of twenty, drink and talk Tike a street porter, and laugh the heartier as the conversation became more scandalous. ( To be continued.) CUTTINGS FOR COUNTRY COUSINS. The following notice was positively affixed by a person who appeared to have but a very limited acquaintance with the school- master, on the church- door of a village, a short distance from Huddersfield, the sexton having recently departed this life :—" A Saxon wanted." A wag wrote underneath, " Won't a Dane do?" A watch cannot be the same all tlit year round, as its main action is in the spring. " This is George IV.,', said an exhibitor of waxwork for the mil- lion, at a penny each, pointing to a very slim figure, with a theatri- cal crown on his head. " I thought he was a very stout man," observed a spectator. " Wery likely," replied the man shortly, not approving of the comment of his visitor ; " but if you'd a been here without wittles half so long as he has, y <)\ i'& twvw V thin," ceivable that I cannot execute eight sharps following ? And she crossed her arms, looking at us, and, stamping her feet, the blood mounted to her cheeks, and a slight cough half opened her lips. " Come, come," said Prudence, who had taken off her bonnet and was arranging her curls before the glass," you are getting into a passion again and injuring yourself, let us go to supper, it is much better, I am dying of hunger." Marguerite again rang, Nanine appeared. Is the supper ready?'' " Yes, Madame, in a moment." " Apropos,' said Prudence to me, " you have not seen the apart- ment, come, I will show it you." You know as well as I do that race of women who live at the expence of those who are younger and handsomer than themselves, and who, to flatter them, exhibit to every one the luxury they turn to their owr. account, with the hope, often realised, that out of the number of things they display for admiration, some long cherished object will be given them, ancl with which the proprietor thiuks himself bound to pay their flattery. As you are aware the saloon was a marvel. Marguerite accom- panied us for a few minutes ; she then called Eugene, passed with him into the dining- room, to see if the supper was ready, and left the door open. " Ah," said Prudence, aloud, looking at a little stage, and taking from it a small porcelain figure, " I did not know you had this little fellow here." " Which?" " A little shepherd boy holding a cage with a bird.! " Take it if it pleases you." " Ah ! but I am afraid I shall deprive you of it." " I intended to give it to my femme de chambre, I think it hideous, but since it pleases you, take it." Prudence only saw the gift and not the manner in which it was made. She placed her little present aside, and led me into the dressing room where, showing me two miniatures making companions, she said to me, A fellow was lately apprehended on a charge of stealing a pig. " What are you ?" said the magistrate. " Please, yanr worship, a pig fancier.'" CRIME.— One great cause of human corruption is the living in crowded towns, where the contagious nature of bad example, and the extreme difficulty of avoiding the seductions of vice by being brought into close and daily proximity with the basest part of the people, forms a constant source of contamination. Whatever we may think of the strength of virtue, experience proves that the higher orders are indebted for their exemption from atrocious crimes or disorderly habits chiefly to their fortunate removal from the scene of temptation ; and tiiat when they are exposed to the seduc- tions which assail their inferiors, they are no wav behind them in yielding to their influence. The number of offenders lessens the disgrace of the crime, for a common reproach is no reproach. Hence, in populous cities, the frequency of adultery, drunkenness, and robbery. LONDON ADROITNESS.— A few days since some London pick- pockets contrived to relieve the officer at one of our police courts of his silk handkerchief and pocket- book, whilst administering the oath to a witness ! CIGARS A PREVENTIVE or SUICIDE.—'" But away with tbeso withering recollections,' continued Fred. 1 We were so poor, so wretched, that we resolved on suicide. My wife and I determined to fling ourselves off Waterloo Bridge, and kissing our nine inno- cent babes as they slumbered, hastened wildly thither from the New Cut, Lambeth, where we were residing ; but we forgot, we had no money to pay the toll— we were forced to come back, to pass our door again : and we were determined to see the dear ones once more and then— away to Westminster! There was a smell— a smell of tobacco issuing from the door of our humble hut as we came up. ' Good Heavens! Mealy,' said I to my beloved one, as we arrived at the door, and the thought flashed across me—' there is still hopo still something left— the cigars I received as a gift on my mar- riage. I had forgotten them— they are admirable ! they will sell for gold !' and I hugged the innocent partner of my sufferings to my bosom. 1 Thou wert thinner then, dearest, than thou art now,' said Fantail, with a glance of ineffable affection towards his lady. ' Well, sir, what do you think those cigars are worth to me ?' continued he. ' I gave forty pounds for them: say you sold them for twenty.' Twenty ! my dear fellow— no ! Those cigars were worth six hun- dred thousand pounds to me ! as you shall hear. I said there was a smell of cigar smoke issuing from our humble cot— and why ? because somebody was smoking cigars. And who was that some- body ? Amelia's father, the burgomaster, Van Slappenbroch. His heart had partially relented towards his only child. He determined to see her. He found out our wretched abode in our absence— saw our unconscious infants sleeping there, huddled on the straw in a desolate chamber. The only article of furniture left was your chest of cigars. Van Slappenbroch opened it— tried one—' twas excel- lent ; a second, delicious ! a third !— his daughter entered— the father and the tobacconist melted at once, and as she fainted in his arms, he was reconciled to us for ever !'" We, in our last impression, promised to tell something more of the tricks of pawnbrokers, the " watch- rig" as it is termed, is, even now, very successfully carried on. A man in the pay of the pawnbro- ker would walk up to astranger atasliop window and after a well- feigned tale of distress, offer to sell the ticket of his watch, adding, you can look at it first if you like. This is the most knowing part of the dodge, for if the flat should ask the pawnbroker if the watch is worth the money, he will, in nine eases out of ten, answor with a sneer, if he thinks they take in rubbish. If the bait is taken and the ticket is bought, the article upon being redeemed is not worth anything like the amount pretended to be lent upon it. Sailors are often had this way. THE PUMP IN GRAY'S- IBN.— In the long vacation the draughts upon this pump by the legal brotherhood are immense, and always honoured. During that period the handle becomes perfectly polished, in the term it gets gradually dim, as the victim- izing system allows the gentlemen wine instead of water. Do WTON DRESSING FOR A WOMAN — D* wton advanced in dress- ing. " There make baste, Marshall,[ make meup,; i shall be an elegant figure. Renounce me! I— I— am beginning to look like Mother Ches- hire, and not much better than Moll Flaggon. Well, well, go on, finish me. What, what, what, am I to have more padding? Damme, don't stick the pins into me so; can't you get on without that ? There now give me the wig. Stop, let me paint my face. I— I— I sup- pose I mus'nt paint my nose. I'm glad I'm to leave Liverpool - to morrow, for I should be ashamed to look anybody in the face. 1— I— I shall be pelted. Wha— wha— what's that, a turoan ? Renounce me! she's not a Turk!— oh, head- dress, eh ! There, that'll do ; damme, I've a great mind to paint the old wretch a beard. Where's the fan, Marshall ? if I hav'nt a fan what the devil shall I do with my hands?— I— I-— I shall be sticking them in my breeches pockets. There, now I'm ready for the sacrifice, like a lamb for the slaughter; here goes, like a precious fool as I am. THE JUDGE AND JURY IN CHATHAM.— The original Solicitor- gencral of the Garrick's Head, Bow- street, gives two sittings of his Judge and Jury Society here on Monday and Tuesday, July 2nd and 3rd, supported by a host of forensic talent— doubtless here will be a great musier. Printed and published I'cr the Proprietors by W. WINN, HotyweU- street, tr. m l, where all communications are to be addressed.