PAUL rnrm* r PR V JL & p " IT IS A VIRTUOUS ACTION TO EXPOSE VICIOUS MEN."— DRIDEN. No. 21. [ PRICE ONE PENNY, MONDAY, APRIL 2, 1849. THE OPERA: DISSIPATION! OR, COURTIERS AND COURTESANS; A TALE OF FASHIONABLE LIFE. Meanwhile Sir JULIUS, whom we've left of late, Was quite contented with liis London fate, He liked the noise and bustle of the town, And all the ( clatoi his wife's renown Sweet LUCY'S ankles, and her taper waist, Bore witness to his own unrivalled taste ; And he was proud, ' mid fashionable host, To read the name of FATHEAD in the Post. Besides, Sir JULIUS, as you'll hear anon, Had lately grown a hero of the ton; For he had formed a fascinating tie— The pedestal to his cclebrity— Of which each week the Sunday papers spoke With many a jest, and smutty equivoque. Would you believo it ? the barbarian fool On LUCY'S charms already had grown cool! He yawned more often in the marriage bed, And snored more loudly with averted bead. Yes; the sweet wife bestowed by heaven— or hell— Before whose beauty thousands wondering fell, Had for some time most lamentably bored'— With all her excellence— her booby lord. ' Tis true his vulgar vanity was pleasod At all the triumphs which his young wife seized— But that was all; the miserable elf Had grown quite weary of the wife herself. Her nature was too delicate, too fine ; And, like the " jewels " cast before the swine, Each bright perfection of licr heart and taste, Thrown before FATHEAD, was a useless waste. He wanted something sensually warm—- A wanton spirit and voluptuous form ; Some meretricious leman, who could raise, By arts coquettish, and lascivious ways, The pristine vigour which began to fail, And fan the flame which daily grew more pale; Some lusty LAIS, who, with tricks and leers, Could rouse his sluggish blood and fifty years. The devil, ever watchful for his prey, Just such a creature threw in FATHEAD'S way, Who, dull as country baronets all are, Rushed blindly into the infernal snare. Sir JULIUS at the Opera one night Chanced to be present—' twas a splendid sight; A certain ballet, to the public new, Displayed a scene of magic to the view. The dancing- girls that night appeared to feel A kind of wild and superhuman zeal, Twirling more wantonly than e'er before; While the short draper-- which those ladies wore, Although, God knows, it never came too low, Did more than ever liberally show. Legs were raised higher than jou can conceive; Your eyes might watch the very bosom's heave. •- SKIPPERINI CAPTIVATES SIR JULIUS FATHEAD. All kinds of pirouettes displayed such charms, You longed to rush into those houris' arms 1 Those glorious nymphs but little left to guess, For fancy's wanderings, of their loveliness. ' Twas a sweet sight 1 so little was concealcd; And what they hid was more than half- revealed. ' Twas a sweet sight! enough to make one stare— The poetry of motion all was there ! Such looks, such sighs, such twinings of the form, Such clustering groups, so amorously warm; ' Twas a sweet sight! a rather strange one, too, For Englaud's matrons aud their girls to view! Had old TIBERIUS at Calypso's isle Watched such a ballet with his satyr smile, Perhaps it would more natural have been, Than sober English gazing on the scene. O glorious education of the town ! O mothers, worthy of your pure renown ! Who take your virgin girls, each Saturday, To witness all this sensual display, And then next morning, solemn and demure, Drive them to church, God's temple, chasto and purr, Think you, that while they fix a languid look On the stern pages of the Holy Book, No thought occurs that bringcth back once more The wantn* picture of the night before ? Think you, that while the words of truth are reaJ, No dream of passion's running in the head ? Nor while the prayer is made to heaven's bright goal No sensual thought is burning in the soul ? Yet, no ! your daughters are too strictly drilled Too much of worldliness you have instilled. Their life is such a heartless, soulless toil To gain rich husbands— not a lover's smile— Tliiy must bo safe, for passion never grows In such enslaved automata as those ! But to return. The ballet of that night Each connoisseur pronounced perfection quite. " What glorious legs?" thus uttered evc. j . on0ue Of routs, old, and middled- aged, and young, While every glass was levelled at the scenc, Though that was quite superfluous, I ween; For eyes, hovve'er short- sighted, well might see Each tempting treasure in its nudity! But in that corps de ballet there was one AVhose charms than all more admiration won; Whether more beauty she in fact possessed, Or showed a little more than all the rest— Though that was hard, where all with equal fire Strove to awaken amorous desire. A bright, fantastic, fascinating girl, Grace in each step, enchantment in each twirl; A wild, voluptuous, Cyprian- looking thing, Fit for a pacha's harem, or a king ; A creature formed by nature and by art T' intoxicate the senses— r. ot the heart. Sir JULIUS saw her, while his eager glance Was fixed attentive 011 the wanton dance. Sir JULIUS saw her, and felt a sudden flame—• Signora SKIPPERINI was her name. That night our hero pressed a sleepless bed, Visions of leys were running ip his head— Legs whose all faultless beauty well might keep E'en from a FATHEAD'S eyes the balm of sleep. He rose next morning, feverish and oppressed, And hurried off, as soon as he was dressed, To one he fancied might assistance lend— Lord ALFRED RODOMONT, his dearest friend. Lord ALFRED, who, as lover of the wife, Courted, of course, the husband— such is life—• Delighted heard the baronet relate The various symptoms of his am'rous state : Confessed that no Signora's nimble feet Could with the SKIPPEKINI'S e'er compete ; That no Signora with her charms could cope; Repressed his fears, and bade the booby hope. Now, it so happened— and you'll laugh to hear Such things do happen in our moral sphere— That FATHEAD'S counsellor, the worthy lord, Though he could ill such luxuries afford, Kept— and of her was weary as the ducc— The SKIPPERINI for his private use. You may conceive, then, with what glee he heard Of FATHEAD'S naughty longings every word. He well forsaw, that, once the husband caught, Perhaps the wife to reason might be brought; Since, once enthralled in SKIPPEIUNI'S arms, FATHEAD would soon forget his LUCY'S charms, And, occupied with bis lascivious dear, Would leave the coast of matrimony clear For any daring pirate who had wit To land his forces and to plunder it! Then,' tis a great assistance to your suit, When married dames are obstinately mute, If you can prove their lords are apt to roam And do a little bus'ness far from home. The sex's jealousy then flies to arms ; Offended pride mock's virtues vain alarms, And the dear creatures yield, determined that Their faithless spouses shall have tit for tat ! Lord ALFRED, then, who was a clever man, Soon made his mind up what should be his plan, He knew a fool is facile to be led, And a fool's pocket easy to be bled ; He fancied, too, that FATHEAD'S wanton whim Might be of sterling benefit to him, And fill once more th' aristocratic purse, Whose empty stale had never yet been worse. There was but little delicacy here, I must confess it, yet I greatly fear A LFRED was no exception to the rule Which holds in London's fashionable school, Where, trained throughout to selfishness and vice, You seldom find a lord that's eery— nice! Lord ALFREO next the SKIPPERINI sought, And for the scheme requested her support; Pointing, in glowing colours, to her eyes All the advantages that wou'd arise To her and him, if she would only graut His prayer, and take that dolt for her gallant. The fair Signora, like her sex— at least Those of her sex whose love is wont to feast, Not as romantic ninnies do, we're are told, On " bread ai) d cheese and kisses," but— on gold, 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. Cared little who might be tho favoured man, And so at once assented to the plan. She liked Lord ALFRED, certainly, but still lie brought but little grist unto her mill; While FATHEAD'S pockets were a mine of ore It well might suit her fingers to explore. A bond was drawn up on that very ( lay, By which Sir JULIUS bound himself to pay Three thousand pounds to SKIPI'ERIN I when Hi should desert her— never trust the m, 1 > While for each month that she continued hi Two hundred pounds were to reward the bliss. Sir JULIUS, like an amorous old dunce, Without objection, signed the bond ot once, And gave Lord ALFRED— honourable gains !— Five hundred guineas douceur for his pains. My lord refused at first; but soon, less rash, Made no more fuss, and pocketed the cash. Sir JCLIUS placed his beauty, frail as fair, In handsome lodgings close to Eaton- square ; Lord ALFRED, still a butt to hazard's spite, At CROCKFORD'S lost his douceur in a night, And round sweet LUCY hovering more and more, More plainly showed bis love than e'er before. Now, then, this second canto which I've penned, Of FATHEAD'S " Life and Deeds," must have an end. We've left, kind readers, as you've doubtless seen, Our pleasant hero and our heroine, Unless some guardian sprite avert the evil, Both fairly on the high road to the Devil. END OF CANTO THE SECOHD. GLASGOW SALOON, SALTMARKET- STREET. It has often been to us a matter of no small surprise, that in a large and populous city like Glasgow, we have so little real national amusement for the masses, tbe saloons being, in point of ' act, after the theatres, the only place of resort for our folk. These places, in general, are dens of infamy to delude the young, and harbour the vagabonds of every class. But we think \ ve need make no comment upon them, but hold them up in their hideous nakedness, which, we think, will be sufficient to warn the unwary to shun such places, as, being dangerous, both to virtue nnd honesty, without which they cau never become useful mem i> ers of society. The above- named saloon, is,, what is called a free- and- easy ; you pay nothing on entering, but pay before you come out for some wretched bad drink, which you are, fortunately, prevented from taking too much of, by the kindly interference of those who ure kept as singers at the establishment. The door of what is called the saloon is to the right when youenter; you push thisup, and enter a large square apartment, with one corner boxed oft'as stage, to the right of which sit the musicians, if such they may be called. The body of the room is fitted up with seats and benches for drinking. To the left, when entering, is the parlours, • where you may sit and behold the horrors of the den. We will now give two or three rough sketches of the frequenters of the place, and notice the entertainment which they find there, then leave our readers to judge for themselves whether such places should be permitted to remain to poison the virtue and honesty of our common country. Here they may he seen, night after ; iiglit, in a fearful state of intoxication, the youth ol 17 or 18, sitting dallying with the courtesan of 30, worn out aud de- bauched; and here even may be found men with their wives, showing them on the path to whoredom and drunkenness. Here the courtesans of every grade find an entrance, from the miserable wretch who crawls shivering in the streets, bareheaded and thinly clothed, to the one that lolls in all the splendour which luxury can give. We think it hardly necessary to state what the conduct of such a company will be, where both prostitutes and pickpockets are so thickly besprinkled. Now turn we to the singers, who are of the lowest talent ( for what respectable singer would go to such a place?), and their songs . are of the most vulgar character, generally having what- is called by the frequenters " a thread of blue;'' these are encored several times, and when the songs are finished, the singers descend to the saloon by the front of the stage, and drink all they can get at the expense of others. Such is one of our saloons, and in time we may give a more lengthened detail of others; but in the interim, i. ve would warn all who would keep themselves unsullied by vice, to shun every saloon in the city, for there is not one that Paul can recommend. THE LATE THOMAS HOOD.— Mr. A. H. Bailey, tbe City publisher— and in those days given to the sport of book- print. ug in right earnest— was publishing the current, and re- publishing ihe past, productions of Hood and the poet used freqently to call upon his temporary Macsenas. It is lair, and we suppose no harm, to say that Bailey was as much given to gossip, as was Hood to fun, and it was some time— pleasant fellow as he was-— before a man could get away from him. Ilood called one day rind had what an Irishman would call an interminable interview. A few days afterwards he called and had no interview at all, for the very excellent reason that Bailey was out. Hood who had tried, and understood the practice of an attorney's office, made out, and left behind him the following bill of costs :— A. H. Bailey, Esq., Dr. to Thomas Hood. To calling upon you once when you were out .. To calling upon you once when you were at home £ 0 6 6 8 8 0 Total £ 6 14 8 Or as Hood wrote it—" Please to remember the last item is cheap !> t the infliction." Thejoke has endured against Bailey up to the present time. POOR LEMAN BLAN CHARD had ever a ready wit— quick scintilating sparks of talent and vivacity, ready to fly out at overy stroke from the hammer of that lively blacksmith, con- versation. He was one of the editors of the True Sun news- paper, at the time that Grant and Bell were the proprietors; and tbe latter, in spite of Serjeant Talfourd's aid, and Bell's own powerful eloquence, were mulcted in the penalty of imprison- ment in the Queen's Bench. This was for political libel; and, ns far as their conduct was concerned, was deemed by the public honour rather an obloquy. A boy of the name of Bull, was em- ployed by Mr. Bell to run backwards and forwards from the prison to the office of the paper. And from the peculiarity of a physiognomy in which an enormously large mouth nearly swallowed all the rest of the countenance, he was called "' Bull and Mouth." One day this boy lingered most provokingly on an errand of importance, and returned to present liis message just at the moment when Mr. Bell was surrounded by a bevy of friendly visitors, of whom Blanchard was one. Bell damn'd him soundly ; and was only stopped in his lingual sweeps of indigna- tion by the laughter which choked his utterance at hearing Blunchard say to the rest of the. company—", I can't stand this monopoly, by gad ! why, here's the junction of the two coach- otfices, Bull and Mouth, and Bell- Sauvage!"— We forget who ap- plied a similar joke to Sir John Cam Hobhouse, eating an ice at Very's—" The junction of the two Universities, Cam and Isis." Why is an omnibus a safe place in a thunder- storm'?— There always is a conductor. When a Bristol girl is kissed, she says she is taking chloroform and remains insensible as long as the operation lasts. PAUL ADVISES Mr. S— p, the saddler, of East street, Lambeth, to alter his course of life, and not allow Mrs. V— e, to ill- treat his own wife's children. If Mr. S— p, Mrs. V— e, and her dreadfully soft hus- band, the pieman ( the social pests of this neighbourhood), do not attend to our admonition, we shall feel ourselves compelled, injustice to the suffering Mrs. S— e, to make such an expose of their actions that will ultimately be far from pleasing to their ears. W. F— g, of Hoxton, not to go after that girl so much. Mrs. W. E—, of tho Bull's Head, Shadwell, not to make such a companion of her potboy's wife. Mr. J. M— y, of Gloucester House, Piccadilly, to attend more to liis business, and less to feeding the puppies. Mr. T— y, surgeon, of Union road, Rotherhithe, to look after his business, and not to the domestic affairs, such as washing. Does ho think the woman eats the soap ? H. A— s, at a carpet shop, Tottenham- court- road, not to go into a cornchandler's opposite, wasting his time. R. S— r, part proprietor of the corncliandler's, not to go over the Bull's Head, on concert nights. Is it the company or the pretty waitress that forms attraction ? Mr. T. A. B— k, the navy swell, at a certain coffee- house in the Hackney road, not to be so fond of the company of two young ladies who come to visit their brother, and not to keep them in a box by themselves until ten o'clock at night. Little Ned, the barman of tbe Feathers, Lambeth walk, not to think any thing about Miss B— r, of King street, for H. P— s, the well- known comic singer, carries the street door key. W. S— d, cowboy, of Hermes street, Pentonville, when he goes dog- catching again, to do it a little cleaner, or else he may be caught. G. M—, of Saville's buildings, Aldgate, to attend more to his business, and less to that young girl at the Rein Deer, not far from the Commercial road. J. R— s, of Hoxton, not to stop up so late at night, but to go home to his blessed ma.' Mr. L— y, of Aldgate, near to Newton's wine vaults, not to cut up what it is said he does, aud call it by the name of fine ox beef, or Mr. P— n, the inspector of Aldgate, will give him a call. Miss L. F— g, at a certain clothier and outfitter's, in Tooley street, Borough, not to think so much of herself, nor be so proud and haughty to every one that speaks to her. T. S— e, of Water street, not to be seen so often coming from the Temple with a little bundle. It may do for a time; but wait a little longer. A. II— s, of Lavender pier, Rotherhithe, to look sharp after the engineer. Miss M. T— 11, of tbe Bell, Wapping, not to be so ill- tempered. Miss W— t, of Nelson street, Long lane, Bermondsey, and her fat aunt, P— e, to look after their own modesty, and not other people's. Mr. E— d D— e, of the East and West India Dock House, Billiter Square, to leave off gan l ling in the Derby Sweeps, at P— r's in the Poultry, and not give way to drinking as he does, for his face already tells a tale. How many more of his brothers, cousins, and friends, does he intend placing in tbe service of tbe Company? It is well known that the directors are unable to get their own friends appointed. D. D— s, of Mr. Grissell's iron works, not to go down Petti- coat lane on Sunday mornings, to give 7s. for brass watch guards. Mr. M— g, the the foreman at the factory, not far from the Bricklayer's Arms, New North Road, Islington, not to keep a man waiting at the corner of the road for 2s. 6d., every niglit. Martha, of the Britannia Coffee House, not far from the City of London Theatre, not to wear so much bustle, and also, not to think so much of the^ locfor. Mr. D— s, of Pell Street School, Commercial Road, to treat his poor wife and daughter's better. Miss A— e M— i, of AHneyard Place, Coppice Row, Clerkon- well, not to be seen so often with Mr. J— t, the blacksmith, of Hatton garden. The stoker at Messrs. L— y R— n and Co.' s printing establish- ment, Fetter Lane, not to give such surly answers to his fellow- workmen, when spoken to, and not to think so much of himself, because he has been there so long. Your hat won't shine for ever, old boy! J— e A— d, at L— s, in Crawford street, not to fancy that every young man is in love with her; nor to be continually larking with young men in Lisson grove, after eleven o'clock. Do you recol- lect being in the box at Marylebone Theatre? Timothy B— m, of Pimlico walk, Hoxton, ginger beer mer- chant, not to get married the second t'me, as the first child is so much like the father, that it is enough to frighten the devil. D—' s, shopman, pawnbroker, High Holborn, not to waste so much of his master's time in standing at the door, nodding at the dress- maker's opposite. It is no go, they know all about it! Mr. J. G— s, the pastry cook, of Brick lane, Spitalfields, not to be such a bully, and to keep up his promises. J. B— t, the boy, alias, puppy of Inner Temple lane, not to wear false collars. Certain young ladies in the Wandsworth road, not to stare so much after the young grocer, otherwise, their papa may hear of it, and tljus their prospect would be spoiled. Mr. B— 11, baker, of Old Gravel lane, not to make such sour bread, and to. be more civil to liis customers when they complain of it. Mr. M— y, grocer, Ratcliffo highway, not to get so drunk, and not to be everlastingly smoking in the shop. Mr. W— t, sofa maker, of New Inn yard, Shoreditch, not to be continually finding fault with other tradesmen's work; we did not like that action of cfelling in Hackney road, for the purpose of injuring one of your own apprentices. Do better in future, and you may yet be respected. Mrs. N— s, the Congreavc maker, of Bell Isle, Islington, to drink less gin, and to look more to her son, and his wife. T. D— n, W. S— r, and C. V— n, not to try imitations of Womb- well's elephant when they leave tho penny gaff, but go direct to their homes. Little S— t, the man- milliner of the ' Change, to treat the poor girls in his employ with a little more humanity. Does lie re- member be began business in a second floor back? W— m C— in, in the employ of Messrs. W— d and H— s, New street, Fetter Line, not to got so fresh while out on his master's business; also not to be so fond of tossing his fellow- shopmates for gin, & c. H— d, at the Horse and Groom, Walworth road, not to think so much of herself. Miss M— p, of the Star, Caledonian road, Islington, to have a little more respect for her customers'jugs, and not to prance about the bar- parlour in tbe arms of R— s— the married man. If George, who plays the violin in the room, is unfortunately blind, lie knows perfectly well what is going on. F— d G— r, Hart'siane, Bethnal Green, not to think so much of himself now he is out of the loom. Miss E— h C— 1, residing near St. Andrew's terracc, Doctor's Commons, to send no more valentines to that private soldier. If Harry hears of it, she might lose a very good friend., Mr. C— s, of Grange court, Carey street, Fleet street, not to interfere with, or scandalize his neighbours, but to look at home; and bring his daughter and infant from the country. Miss E— n, of No. above one hundred, Bishopsgate street, not to lace her stays so tight, ns it is injurious to health; also, not to wear such a large bustle. W. P— h, the eongreve maker of Bell Isle, Islington, to look to his wife, and not to beat the poor little children in her em- ploy. W. O—, baker, of Poplar, not to be so conceited now he has a , new wife. We think it would have looked better if he had waited a little longer. W. M —, of Greenliill's rents, Smithfield, to leave off fretting about not being able to go to work. His shopmates know he is a dutiful and industrious servant. Miss M. B— r, of Albion street, Rotherhithe, not to think of ever getting a husband. She tries hard for one, but— she is too old. Mr. R. H— y, of Cherry Garden street, Bermondsey, not to fool about with M— 1, nearly opposite, and to go to church oftener. Mr. L—, to beware of Miss M. B— r, of Albion street, Rother- hithe, for she says she intends to wear the breeches. W. H— s, of White Horse lane, Stepney, not to take so many fourpenny glasses of rum and water at the Old Globes. Do not live beyond your means, Billy. J— nT— r, of Milton street, alias Jack of Walbrook, not to boast so mucn of his brass watch and gold guard. He had better take his wife home his vvages on Saturday night, and not tell her he works only a few hours every week, when we know he is con- stantly employed. Sir. A— s, the tailor of City terrace, Old street, not to allow so man boys to infest his dwelling ; likewise to maintain a strict re gard for cleanliness. Mr. S— s, of the Flying Horse, Hackney, to look after the in- spector, for the inspector is looking after him, rather. A foppish youth, of thirteen years of age, of B— d— s, who lives not far from the Queen's Elm, Chelsea, not to be seen so often in cigar shops, or smoking cigars. Mrs. P— t, of Old Irish street hill, to mind her own business, and look after her three daughters. They do not go to bed every night so soon as she thinks. Mr. M— n, doctor (?), not to be lounging about the little cigar shop, in B idge court, Westminster, so much. It would be better if he looked after a situation. That young coxcomb, F. W— d, painter, of Tavistock street, Covent garden, to look a little more after his mother's business, and a little less lo the theatres. Miss A— a R— n, of Ann's terrace, Liverpool road, Islington, next time she goes to a party, not to fancy she can sing A young gent, named G— e R— n, of Ann's terrace, Liverpool road, Islington, next time he rides in a cab, not to let his sister put her head out of the window. The penny barber, Mr. G— 11, alias Half- hung J„ ck, of Poplar, to be more civil to his customers when they go for the papers, and to sell better cigars for llie future. The little couceited chemist, by the name of Iv— n, in High street, Poplar, not to insult the ladies he invites into his shop. We know all about the girls over the way. The officer of the City of London gallery, not to be so fast in pulling the little boys oat of their seats. T— s W— s, of the George, St. John street, to pay for the things lie broke next door. How did your head feel next morning, T— s? Master T— s W. T— s, of Wynyatt street, Goswell road, not to sing so much to the ladies, or they may be too fond of him, and be obligated to runaway with him. We all know you have a pretty contralto voice, but beware, Tommy, you may lose it. Take this kind warning. Mrs. L— x, of Stepney, not a hundred yards from the church, when she is at the Eagle, Mile end road, to conduct herself in a more becoming manner, and not allow her Harry to drink at any boy's expense. Mr. W— k, of Bow common, not to be seen so often walking with the fair maid of Stepney, or else Paul will let his wife know all about it. G. H— 11, of Parker street, Westminster, not to make such a fool of himself when he goes into respectable company. Mr. (?) G— y, of Mark lane, City, to be more circumspect in his behaviour, and not think so much of his singing. Paul had his eye on you, Georgy, the other night, and saw what occurred with a Capt. F— th's daughter. Reform, my boy; you have a wife and children. Mr. E. A— s, of Mark lane, City, to smoke and frequent the Casino less. How about a Miss B— r, and the trifle per week for a little responsibility. The cobbler, of Pickles buildings, Lower Homerton, to keep out of the Adam and Eve, and not let his wife go to the wasli- tub to support him. T. M— f, better known as a snob chandler- shop keeper, Essex street, Betbnal green road, to give better weight," and mind bow he serves beer on Sunday mornings; not to brag so much atout being a 4,000/. man. Does he recollect where the children were brought up? Miss T— n, of Bethnal green road, straw bonnet builder, not to think so much of herself. W. C— n, not to make so much noise about his carrots when in Spitalfields market. Mr. Tom B— n, carpenter, of Holloway road, King's cross, to think less of himself and more of his pretty good- tempered little wife ; and the i- ext time he visits Sadler's Wells theatre, not to bo seen in such doubtful company. Why don't he take his wife with liim ? E— h, the housemaid at, a coffeehouse not a hundred miles from Pindar place, to reduce her bustle, and not look after the man with mustachios, of Harrison street. Reform, E— h, there's a good girl. Mr. G. C— r, the barber, of Little Queen street, Lincoln's inn, not to boast so much about his judgment on horse- racing, for be is quite ignorant of the same, and should hold his tongue for the future. Mr. W— e, the seedsman, of High Holborn, not to make such a fool of himself by talking of his great business, and telling every one he has not hands enough to serve the customers. Mr. B— y, the retired perfumer, of High llolborn, not to make such a fool of himself, by following the little dirty girls in the street. Surely, an old goat must be miserable at home, or he would not do such things as these. J. L , the coalheaver, of Milbank street, not to allow his poor wife to go out scrubbing for five days out of tho six. Old M— t, the snob, of John's court, Marylebone lane, to mind his own business, and not trouble his neighbours so much with his forced conversation, respecting his serving tho office of city constable in that den of infamy, Field lane. J— n M— y of Wilton road, Pimlico, to stay at home at night, atrd not to be seen in the chair at the free and easy, Duke of York, Vauxhull road. That little fellow at the F— Journal office, Strand, not to think quite so much of himseif, nor fancy he can use his fists. How about the poor washerwoman over in the New Cut ? Mrs. E. W— t, of Bromley street, Commercial road east, to mind her own business, and not trouble herself with other people's. 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. T_ s M— II, ( alias " Grief arid Glory") of Bnsina; liall street, not to be so fast, to be more civil to customers, and not to be con- tinually burying dead mice in gentlemen's umbrellas. L— s, the Holywell street stag, or Chairman of the Cadger's Society, the next time he takes all the Christmas boxes for him- self to buy a coat, instead of wasting thfi'moneyin drink. Mrs. B— 11, of the G— r Arms, Upper Park place, Dorsetsquare, to be more civil to her customers, and not to bo so fond of con- tradicting people, if she wishes to be considered a lady, which she certainly does. Mrs. S— y, of Bevis Marts, Leadenhall street, not to be so fast in scandalising people. How about the ale after Mr. S— y has gone to his office? G e It— s, of the Auction rooms, Webber street, Blackfiiars road, to attend more to his father's business, and less to the young lady next door. Leave off dancing, and keep better hours. That knight of the cleaver, alias the Skittle Sharp, E. N— o, of Peek place, Kensington, not to fancy that every female admires him. Take care, perhaps you may get another thrashing, as you did in Newgate market. Mr. S— k, not one huudred miles from Bevoir square, Kings- land, grocer and cheesemonger, to keep his promises with Miss C. T— r, " and not go out with every girl be meets. Mrs. B— e, not one hundred yards from L— h's back gate, in Sydney street, Commercial road, to be kinder to the poor girls that she gets her living by, also to her poor servants ; end when she gets a drop too much, not to fall down in the streets. Miss S— K— g, the litt'e dressmaker of Grove place, Camber- well, not to walk out, with F,. O— n, of Grove lane, so late on Sun • day nights, but to go to church. How about the footman, not far off? Have you ceased to watch him down the grove ? A. B— s, of Shoemaker row, Luclgate lull, not to go down Thames street every night; Jaue has got a doctor's boy not far off. Miss C. W— h, of the China Ship, Little Hermitage street, Wap- piog, to attend more to the business in the bar, and not to be looking at her painted face so much in the glass. Is her gown out order, or the immense stomacher out of place? tftXr. C. G— n, alias Red- nose, not to be so sweet upon Miss M. J. S— n, ot Hermitage street, Wapping, nor to fancy himself quite so much. We do not think the lady would like to wed a bear, so shave the hair off your upper lip, as it cannot be very agree- able when kissing in the passage, or the little court close to the back door. Mr. S— n, printer, of Bond street, Chelsea, when he takes ano- ther beer- shop, to fetch his wife out of St. Luke's. We know all the affair of the Cumberland Arms. Miss E. G— y, of Nichols square, Hackney road, not to begone so long for her mother's b.' er, when she meets that young man with the black face or else her father may catch them. G. P. not to be so great with his pretty Mary Anne, of Union street, Borough, and not let her annoy by running aftor him every flight. The conceited beadle of St. George's east, T— m 0— n, not to be so down upon the publicans. What about the landlady of the White Bear? A— w B— e, baker, of Well street, St. George's, east, not to speak so disrespectfully of his customer's wives, or his father may give him the sack. J— h A— t of Green street, Stepney, riot to think so much of himself and his patent leather boots. Don't be so conceited, John. Master R J— s, the son of a respected minister in Bermondsey, not to bring disgrace on his family by attending the notorious sing- song place in Tooley street. Reflect seriously on this warn- ing, young man, and we shall hail with pleasure your reformation. Tlie two girls of Island row, not to be so fond of running to the door or window when the gentlemen of the lead works are pass- ing. They don't like it. II— t H— 1,* of Wellington street, Goswell street, to leave off going to Highbury barn on Sunday evenings, alter having been to church; and to leave off above all, the society of E— a C— d. W. F— d, the stage- struck shop- boy, at the grocer's, in Barns- bury road, Pentonville, not to be so vain of what, he thinks his dramatic abilities. - Peruse Lindley Murray and learn to spell, before coming out a9 a dramatic author. B— y S— n laughs in her sleeve at, you. The policeman, or H. B— g, is cutting you out in that quarter. Mr. H. H— s, jut)., of the Red Lion, Lower Rotlierhithe, not to pay so much attention to the widow at the grocer's shop. She is old enough to be your mother. A little puppy, of the name of K— t, Pauline street, Bermond- sey, not to be seen any more sneaking about the Queen's road; as the next time ho is caught he will get well ducked for his pains. Mrs. C— y, of Princes road, Bermondsey, to attend more to her domestic dulie1, and not go about boasting that her house is better furnished than any body else's in the neighbourhood. How about the extra five pounds a year for ceiling ornaments ? Mr. J— y, of the Folly wall, to keep his two boys more at home, and not let them run about Poplar so much with the two girls of Regent street. C. F— r, of West street, stove maker, not to roam about with Miss L— b, of Whitley street, as it don't become a married man. II A. YES ( MIDDLESEX). G— y, the chandler's shopkeeper and tailor, of Hayes town, to recollect that 16 oz. go to the lb. " My son, John," not to fret because Betsy M— s, of Eton ( late of Hayes), would not have liiin. II— 11, at the brewhottse, to take a little more stingo to cheer up his woful countenance. The schoolmaster, registrar, vestry clerk, parson's clerk, and holder of a score more birtis ( and not one sinecure among them), to take care of himself and look well after his inner man, which must require great support to enable him to perform his various liities. That affected piece of humanity young W— n, the farmer's son. of the main road, who handles lie dung- fork with white gloves on his hands, and white cravat pound his neck, to se'l Rosinnnte, his broken- kneed charter, cut the farming, fill his pockets with tracts, and come the pious dodge. Then some old lady, with a little tin, might take pity on him. HANWELL. Old B— n, of the Hanwell dairy- farm, to use more decent lan- guage to his next door neighbour. How about the rope, old boy ? The sweep's wife, not to talk about her neighbour having a good long stocking left her. The chairmaker, of the Castle, to stick? more to his business, not quarrel with a parcel of boys, and get his eyes bltcked. How tlid you tell, sir, you came by them? HIGIIGATE. Mr. F— s S— r, of Horns lane, not to hold his nose so high as we all know ho has to poke it into very dirty tilings when he undertake> any jobs. Mr. W— in G— s, better known by his youthful appellation of Pinafore Billy, to be quick and lead Miss W— s to the hymeneal altar, or else we fear she will think him ton withered. Mr.. and Miss B— g, of Horns laic, not to stop all the trades- men's boys, and ask what the orders of their different customers are. Rev. T. H. C—- n, to be more kind and affable to his parish- ioners, and not to think himself so great, because he lives in a large house, and has a select dancing academy at his domicile. Mr. H— v C— r, not to think himself better than any one else, even though his father might be a dancing- mttster. The two conceited ticket collectors, at the Stratford stition to attend more to tlftir duty, and keep away from the new railway tavern. Mrs. B— d, of the Nag's Head, Stratford, to be more civil to her customers and look after her small children. J. H— 11, of Waterworks row, Stratford, not to make use ofhis young master's name so often. He had better stay at home, instead of poing to the Shakspere's Head, betting on his youn'' muster's dog. B. P— e, the conceited groom at Wallwood, not to be so haughty: it looks very bad of a stable- boy. Miss H— n, at the corner of Chapel street, Stratford, r. ot to fancy every gentleman who addresses her wishes to marry her, or that a certain baker ( Father long in the legs) intends making her his b'ide. Miss M— h, corner of Chapel street, Stratford, not to look so dreadfully black. Miss E. T— r, not to promenade West Ham lane, so frequcutly, thinking she may get a lover. Grace R— Ie, cook at. Friend G— y's, Upton lane, West Ham, not to be so fond oi boxing, but to live on better terms with her fellow- servants, or else we will split about her coming home so late at night from chapel with two or three young men at one time. Kiss L— d, the conductor's sister, of Woodford, not to be so proud, nor run the streets so much. She looks so much like an errand girl. MIDDLESEX. Mrs. W— s, of the sccond- liand clothes shop, Lower Totten- ham, and the watchmaker's wife of Edmonton, not to be seen going go far as the station- house of a night. It would be better if you would attend to your duties at home. J— nC— n, alias Gipsy Jack, a conceited fool of Tottenham, not to fancy he can dance. A certain Butcher, ot Westbourne Park, Mr. F— g; not to talk and lark quite so much in his shop at night, with the sandy girl from the Villas. Miss A— e G— 11, of Church court, Kennington, not to flirt so. much, for she is a very pretty creature, and may some day be taken in and done for. I hope, Miss, you will take our advice : we do not want to say too much. S. H—•, at the Cross Keys, Edmonton, to look more after her mother's business, instead of running about along with those married men. Miss A. S—, of the same establishment, had better look more after her dying, than after bricks ami mortar. Look, or else you will have Mrs. Heretage, from Staffordshire, up to see you. Mrs. E. E— s, of the Bee Hive, Bromley, to keep more respectable company. It would be much more to her credit. G. G— g, printer, of West Ham Abbey, not to be so often at the bagatelle table. E. L— n, painter, Stratford marsh, not to be seen so often at the bir of the Swan, hanging about till the nursemaid comes down. S— h R— h, tlie carrotty haired girl, of Church street build ings, West Ham, to look a little more after her brother's house, instead of running after the chaps aud gossiping so mutfh. Has your mother sold her mangle yet ? SUSSEX—( BRIGHTON). Mr. J. L— n, of the Regent, Church street, Brighton, not to sing the " Lass of Gowrie" any more, as his friends are tired of it. Mrs. F— r, milliner, of St. James's street, not to go so often into ploughed fields with gentlemen. Also, to cut the Casino. Miss H— s, the portrait- painter's daughter, and a frequent visitor at the Casino, not to shave the hair from her forehead. You are really a pretty girl; so do not be foolish. Mrs. F. T— g, of the Casino, not to fancy she can dance. Mr. R. W— d, of the Casino, not to dress any more in woman's clothes; also, not. to tveitr red moroceo slippers to dance in. Buy a pair of pum ps, Dick. Polka Sal I— do you remember her Dick? Mr. L— in, Devonshire place, not to give any more lectures at the Town Hall. Mr. T. J— s ( not Fielding's " Foundling"), of Edward street, no. o go so olten to the leather- cutter's in High street. Mr. S— s, of the Chinese Saloon, Carlton lull, to shut it up, as it is no go. Turn out those professionals, and you may do a little. Betty B— 1, not to pray so often, and by all means to eat more pickles, or she will get fat. Mr. P— y, the notorious quack, not- to go so often to the above lady's nunnery. PRINCESS S THEATRE PECULIARS. Mr. M., the lessee, to pay the poor ballet and chorus before five o'clock on Saturdays, as many have to wash their stockings who live as far off as Walworth, and to be back at seven at the theatre. The messenger, to be more polite to people in the theatre, and recollect if other people did not write his letters for him, lie would not be able to keep his place, although ho says Mr. M. dare not turn him out. The Bantam mistress of the ladies' wardrobe, to be more obliging to those ladies, and not to forget it was only a few weeks back that she was a dresser. The gent, who wears the moustache in the orchestra, to mind, his business more. IIow about the chorus- girl, Mrs. C— x? Paul is often under the stage. The Clown, to bo more decent with the girls in the business of the pantomime. Certain vegetables are good with salt, beef, but very out of place before a London audience. " Reform tliia. altogether." CLERKENWELL PECULIARS. The following members of T— r's floor- cloth manufactory, St. John street road, and Middleton street, to attend to his request: — J. W— n not to brag of his abilities. W. W— r not to frequent the brer- shop so much. M— n ( or Larry) not to take drops on the sly. R— e not to be so mean. P— r to buy tobacco. C— S— e not to appear so large at B— t's, the Duke of York; and R— not to go so deep into his friend's p- t. The frequenters of Mrs. A— h's, Coppice row :— Mr. D— x— e, not to die with grief, because the widow has given him turnips Old L— e not to drink so many half pints at the bar. Mr. M— ts, not to attempt singing nigger songs. Mr. S— n, not to want so many drinks before he sings; and, W— m, the potman, to be more civil, and not to think so much of liis trouble. Tho fat cook at the jeweller's of Northampton square, Clerken- well, not to have so many young men in the kitchen. How about G— e getting out of the window ? B— y B— n, the great baked- potato monopolist, of Bowling- green lane, Clerkenwell, to do his business in a moro tradesman- like manner, and not brag so much about shutting up his neigh- bours. We think he will have to wait a little longer. We hap- pen to know you, and are certain you ought to be satisfied with your " monster sweeps" a£ the Jerusalem, and your ginger- beer brass- bound carriages. Mr. J. H— tt, of Little Warner street, Clerkenwell, to keep better hours, and not to escort so many ladies home at night. SURREY. E. S— e, the grocer and publican, of Ashford, Surrey, to stop at home with his wife, and beware of a certain policeman. Mrs. C— d, the cobbler's wife, of Ashford, to stop at home and mind her own business, and not ruu about Ashford telling so many untruths. W. P—, the tailor, of Heathen street, Kingston, not to be seen at Hampton court quite so often. C. H— s, at Mr. C— k's, butcher, Market place, Kingston upon Thames, to stay at home a little more, and not go upon the hill to see Miss S— r, of the same place, quite so often. J. K— y, of the Garratt Copper Mills, better known by the name of Old Molly, to go cadging a littl « loss on a Sunday morning. ; iss L. M—, dressmaker, of Garratt, not to wear quite such a disgusting bustle. Mrs. S— r, at the beersliop, Soiner's town, Garratt, not to be quite so jealous of Iter husband. D. U— n, shoemaker, ot Tooting, to stick more to his snobbing and less to the music. ASHFORD.— J. G., the late tinker, to attend to his own busi- ness, and not think himself a professed gardener. How about a garden at a certain house in Ashford. Live, and let live, old boy. HAMPTON.— Whether W. A., at the mess- house, Hampton not broken- hearted about Louisa E. from Kingston. He must mind or he will have a certain young gentleman about his house. How about the window the other night? Miss B— y, the milliner, or would- be lady, of King street new town, Lewisham, not to sport that Geneva so much, nor run after the engraver so much. E. L— g, dressmaker, white house, Croydon common, not to make lier handkerchief into a bustle, when she goes on Sunday to meet H G— s. C. S— g, not to be seen over tho bur at the White Horse, Croydon, with a certain gentleman, two or three times a week. . J. J— y, of While llorse, Croydon common, not to be such a brute to his llorse, by driving it so fast. R. B— r, the baker of Middle row, Croydon, to mind what he is at. Mr. G. O— m, of a certain leather department, situated in High street, Dorking, not to think so much of hirnsell. He is only a leather cutter from a first floor in Hatton garden, London. The Scarlet Runner, of Mitcham common side, to attend more to his business, and not go to the blackguard foot races. BERKSHIRE. Widow S— t, not to frequent the Barracks so much, and use a little less colouring for her face. The gentlemen and tradesmen of Windsor to avoid A. N— d, the farrier of Thames- street, the would- be black- leg and sharp. J. C— r, butcher, of Thames- street, not to get so drunk. Mrs. H— k, of Eton, not to chatter so much. She forgets when she carried a large pocket to the baker's in Thames street. The three Misses W— s, of Windsor, not to go to the officers quite so much. Mr. E. D— n, not to run after Mrs. P— t. quite so often. Mr. G. C— d, of Eton, not to be seen with G. H— s, at a certain house in Sheet- street, quite so much. Mr. H— y W— r, of Eton, not to go up to Slough. quite so much, and not be seen with the little servant girls, going to Frogmore on a Sunday evening. Mr. H. C— k, of Eton, not to shake the dice quite so often ; or else we will tell his father of him. - Mr. W— m T— n, of Eton, not to dress quite so gay. Mr. G— e V— y, of Bridge- street, not to fall in love with every girl he passes. ' BRISTOL. Mr. P— r, of the Great Western Railway station, Bristol, not to attend so much to the policeman's duties, but a little more to his own. J. S— s", apprentice to Mr. Hall, Redcliffe street, not to walk through the different streets of Bristol, decked off in all his earnings. Mr. C— k, of Simm's alley, not to be so independent, especially as his trade is decreasing. Master B— 1, of the Ilorsefair, not to spend so much of his time ill Castle Mill street. Mr. B— r, of Maryport street, not to give a certain, person a shilling a week for pretending to- write tickets, as it is a very poor look out. HAMMERSMITH PECULIARS. W— m J— y., the conceited snob, of Hammersmith, to pay more attention to the mackerel- eyed cook, and less to other girls. Mr. N— n, the swell- broker, njt to be so bouuceable. Leave off those rings; they do not look well on a broker's boy. W— r P— e, the waiter, near the gate, to look more at home, and less after other men's wives. The cads of the Cow, to be a little more particular in their be- haviour, ior we have a rod in pickle for them, and in particular the ostler. J— s W— r, not to fancy he can sing, but to stick to basket- making. Young B— n, the grocer, in the Broadway, to keep to one girl. The omnibus cads, in the Broadway, not to insult every respect- able girl that passes, or we shall be compelled togive their names. Tom, alias M- ESSEX. - y S— n, the butcher's elderly son, in High street, Stratford, to cu' his practical jokes. How aboutj the pretty orange girl ; eh, Tom? Misses D— n's, the oil- shop girls, to alter in their behaviour to customers. Mr. W— e, of the Unicorn, West Ham, not to carry two faces under one hat, and not to backbite his neighbours. Mrs. L— e, of the Three Pigeons, Stratford, not to insult her customers. Do you remember Ill'ord gaol? The wornout postman's son, Jack, of Stratford, to look out more for employment, and not sponge so much upon his poor parents. The long tailor, of Stratford, commonly known as Tippo, to sew some fat on that son ofhis, and not live so much on cabbago. W. B— d, of the Nag's Head, Stratford, to buy a cradle, as wo think tl. e tall cook will soon want to use it. Miss M. A. S— s, at W. C— n's, Esq., not to boast any more ot her friends being well off' in the country, and that she is not obliged to go to service unless she likes. PATJL WISHES TO KNOW Whether J— n T— k, of Rydei's Hotel, Haymarket, goes to see Mrs. L— u now, or E. P— m, of Langley, at Jhe Poor Wife coffee shop, West- street, Soho. Why Mrs. P— e, of Charlton terrace, Woolwich, docs not look better after lier daughter ? We fear she will make a hole in her man tiers before lier husband reiurns. When E. S— n, the coach builder's son, of Lower Tooting, intends ordering the surveyor to widen the paths ? The public are annoyed by his swaggering, finding they are compelled to take the road when fie is on the pavement. What Mr. C. D— s, of Woolwich, is doing in Miss C. Citrr's cigar shop every evening ? Does he intend to cut Mr. A. 13— s out ? Be careful, Cliaries. If it is true that J. R— n, alias the Bra rger, of Brick lane, St. Luke's, lias given twelve guineas for a stained bedstead ? Why Mr. M— f, of tile. Horse and Groom, Church lane, White- chapel, should use his newly married spouse so bad, and blame her for losing his cash- box ? When Mr. G— n, greengrocer, of Whitecross- street, St. Luke's, intends leaving off bullying those poor people that are com- pelled to get their living in the streets ? Do you forget selling potatoes and greens in the streets yourself, old boy ? Why J. B— ii, undertaker, near Greenwich old church, put his shutters up as a mark of respect for his deceased ueice, and took them down again before the child was interred ? Was it because you did not have tho job, Johnny ? How the landlord of the Druid Arms, Straights mouth, Green- wich, gets on with his one pound loan? Have you had any bor- rowers yet? Where G. B— k, of Wear street, Sunderland, picked up a certain curious coat and cap, iu which he appeared the other Sa- turday night ? Why Mr. A— s, a clerk, of H. M. Steam Factory, Wool- wich, did not return to liis old lodgings at the back of the theatre, B— d, rather than aspire to Charlton terrace ? 4 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. PAUL'S PLAY- WRITER'S GUIDE. THE MURDERER POUND! Paul is an old play goer, and Paul has often pondered npon this subject; hear, then, his lucubrations, ye vampers of modern dramatic mysteries ; listen, ye concoctors of Surrey and New Cut tales of terror— listen, and be wise. Paul, in the amplitude of his mighty genius, invigorated by the Thespian air that wafts itself even now from Drury's Frenchified walls into his Russel- lonian study, gives to ye his advice. The general ingredients for a domestic drama are, a tent bed with white hangings ; a servant maid with a check apron, French flowers in her cap, silk stock- ings, kid shoes, sandals, and several valuable rings ; a burly gentleman, her lover, with large calves, sixpenny- worth of curl, " neat as imported," in his hair, a blue silk neckerchief, a large assortment of very peculiarly double- distilled disinterested af- fection, and a thorough contempt for the pecuniary advantages likely to arise from her tea and sugar perquisites, and four pound ten per annum, paid quarterly, salary. It is necessary to intro- duce a gentleman in jack- boo'. s, or to speak more properly, the jack- boots ( they being the features) with a gentleman in them who, as a matter of course, wearing the before named jack- boots which, time out of mind, have been the distinctive marks of dramatic monsters, assails innocence, and walks on tip- toe by the light of bis own dark lantern. An eldorly lady, with a mob- cap, a taste for gin and ill- treatment of ber apprentices, will also work up well. Au underplot may be successfully arranged between a supposed costermonger, who may turn out the - son of an earl, and an itinerant match- lady, the daughter of a defunct Lord Chancellor. In the course of the drama, the check apron and French cap are to be pursued by the remorseless jack- boots and dark lantern, and the large calves and blue neckerchief are to be placed at each wing in succession, from whence they are to rush out and half- strangle the jack- boots and dark lantern, just as the check apron and French cap are in the most imminent peril. The mob- cap and taste for gin and ill- treatment may also be made prominent by a recriminatory encounter with the jack- boots and dark lantern, in the course of which the jack- boots and dark lantern may throw out various hints as to his— the jack- boots and dark lantern's-— knowing something about tha hitherto supposed private affairs of the mob- cap and taste for gin and ill treatment, her former apprentice having mysteriously disappeared from the mob- cap and taste for gin aud ill- treat- ment's establishment on a certain day, when a certain Brobdignag pie, with very uncertain contents, was sent to the bake- house where he, the jack- boots and dark lantern was originally ap- prenticed. This dreadful information throws the mob- cap and taste for gin and ill- treatment into incipient convulsions, which are only stopped by the " Ha, ha, ha" of the exulting jack- boots and dirk lantern, a laugh which is quickly transferred to the other side of the mouth of the jack- boots and dark lantern, when the mob cap and taste for gin and ill- treatment hisses in his ear, " who took the three- halfpence ?" The jack- boo'. s and dark lantern are now the convicted parties, and the curtain falls upon the mob- cap and taste for gin and ill- treatment in the attitude of supreme triumph. The denouement should be, as a matter of course, the union of the lar^ e calves and French cap, murder of the snob, ditto, and taste for gin and illtreatmcnt by the jnck- boots and dark lan- terns, who then closes his career with a wooden property- dagger, or toast- and- water prussic- acid, according to the taste of the author, and stock of weapons and vials in the ( nominal) property- room. We have hitherto been describing a drama of tho domestic class, we now give a romance of thrilling interest. This usually contains a very large pair of whiskers, ferocious moustacliios, lank hair and imperial, a set of ringlets and satin slippers, a blouse and portfolio, a murder with a song, a pre- server of innocence with a red nose, a comic wig, and eight or nine pistols in his waistcoat- pockets, which he always fires when everybody thinks he has left them at home. In the most acknowledged rou'ine, the whiskers, moustachios and imperials, are an ill- used gentleman, formerly brought up to . holy orders, but having been kicked by the bishop of the diocese, the whiskers, moustachios, and imperial, become the leaders of the " black bands, the moment they discard the white ones," and take to the forests and felony for their support. The white satin shoes and ringlets are the daughter of the pug or kicknacioiis bishop, and are found wandering in the precincts of the black band of the moustachios, whiskers, and imperial, by the. murderer, with a song, who instantly claims the white satin shoes and ringlets, despite of their prayers, as his prey, at which the mur- derer with the song sings the song; and just as he is about to fire his carbine at the last cadence, receives from the whiskers, moustachios, and imperial, who rushes on in an excited state, a kick, the very fellow to the one dealt by the bishop, and then about eighteen suppositionary inches of wooden steel through his tin breast- plate ; whereupon the murderer, with the song, not being quite immortal, gives up the ghost. In the end the whiskers, moustacliios, and imperial, discovers the satin shoes and ringlets to be niece of the irascible bishop, who procures a dispensation from the Pope to release them ( the moustachios, whiskers, and imperial) from all former monastic vows, which dispensation is granted, in con- sideration of the head of the murderer and song being forwarded to the Holy City ; the whole, therefore, ends satisfactorily with the marriage of the whiskers, moustachios, and imperial, to the ringlets and satin slippers, at which several minor moustachios, whiskers, and imperials, together with the like number of in- ferior ringlets and satin slippers, are allowed to be present. General Farce Itules.— For Old Men.— White wigs, knec- brceches, coats of a century previous to the costume at the period of the play, and general monopoly of all the d— ns and curses. First Young Man, or Light Comedian..— No money, immense quantity of love, fertile invention, slight disposition to swindle, and great propensity for wearing other people's coats. His Friend.— Generally called Charles, insipidity diluted; in fact, to use the words of Shakspere, a " regular pump." Valet.— White neckerchief, a great assortment of lies, in- vincible impudence, and a taste for bribery on a small scale. Father's ( Heavy).— White hair, red hands, black gaiters, drab coat, and a story beginning—" About fifteen years ago." Ditto ( Good- natured).— Old fools, cheated with their eyes open, and always betrayed by the servant- girl they have kissed, and who threatens to ' peach. Uncles.— Always from India, and never satisfied unless they are scolding their relations, and throwing full purses at the heads of everybody. Old Woman.— Large fan, juvenile reminiscences, and a list of those she might have accepted. Low Comedian.— Red end to nose, ditto wig and pigtail, a cant phrase, and the right of being in everybody's way. N. B. In melodramas this is the best man to shoot the villain, as the mer- riment he creates takes away from the piquant grief of the audience. Principal Young Lady.— Bouquet, the last fashions; a taste for flirting, white handkerchief, and repentance for the last scene. Chambermaid.— Pink ribbons, blond apron, a fancy for read- ing letters, and an old attachment for the low comedian, who generally receives a present from the walking gentleman ; at the same moment that the old man, reminded of the kiss lie had stolen, gives her a dowry. CHAPTER I. HOW MY FATHER DOES NOT DIE IN HIS BED. SERIOUS ROBBERY.— Alf. Rodwell, at Smith's, in Long- acre, we hear, was stopped in St. James's- park, last week, and robbed of a clothes horse, a pair of pattens, two flat irons, a she- shirt, and a pair of stays, all which articles he was carrying to his lady- like friend, Mister Hatch. MELANCHOLY ACCIDENT.— Yesterday a butcher's boy, carry- ing a leg of mutton in his tray, was knocked by a cab, when the wheel passed over his leg— of mutton. The first portion of my history, in itself so eventful, must in- contestibly commence with my birth, which took place under cir- cumstances that must have had an entire effect upon my orga- nisation. My father was a retired usurer, who, while living at his snug villa in the Kingsland- road, still continued to dabble a little in stocks, consols, and the heritages of elder sons, committed what may be termed a suicidal act in marrying my mother, who had been a danseuse at the Opera- house ; and with th( e fervid blood of Italy in her veins, intense, as I imagine, bv its sanguine texture, must have derived some portion of that of the Borgia's, for she was just as chaste as the Lucretia of that hideous family; and my father's amorous complexion having been smitten by lier charms, she, after passing through the hands of sundry lovers, condescended to bless his bed, and to take him for good and all as her husband. But she still retained her lovers. The " Custom of the Country'' becomes a heirloom, and is transmitted from mother to daughter as was proved in this case. Her lover was a tall handsome, sen-' sual, and whiskered Adonis, of about five- and- twenty. She was three years older than he, but her passion for juvenility went in the inverse ratio of her husband's age. With doting fondness, the in fatuaterl old man blended a jealousy that was like fire in his bosom. Perhaps he expiated in these tortures— for his life was one hell to him— some of those stores of anguish he had heaped upon the heads of others; for he hated with all the power of an obdurate, cold and selfish heart all youth or beauty in those of his own sex. He was merciless to every debtor, and no prayers on tbeir parts could move him. My mother's lover was a rake, a gambler, in a word, a thorough- paced, crafty scoundrel, fit for any deed, and unhesitating in all his actions. His visits were constant— so long as he wanted money, with which he was profusely supplied. My venerated mother deriving her supply either from ber husband's uxoriousness, or by means of tears, entreaties, reproaches, or hysterics. When no cash came, the gallant grew offended and distant; nay, he would even reproach her for her neglect of his affections, a piece of assur- ance that so amazingly became him, that my mother could not find a word to say in reply to liim, but she would burst into tears, and cling around his neck, and beg him, for the Virgin's (?) sake, not to forget her— not to be false to her. At this time I was a little inert mass, slumbering within her bosom, that is, 1 was not yet born. My father often saw this adorable young man at his house, when he returned in his little chaise out of the city; and between the jealousy he felt, and the fears he had of rousing up iny mother, he tolerated the man's hated presence, even while lie cursed him in his soul, till his old and wrinkled lips grew white; and his limbs trem- bled with hatred. At last suspecting, or knowing too well that my mother's moral character was not before his marriage irreproach- able, and thinking that the sums of money with which he supplied her, found its way into some other channel than those of household expenses, he ventured to hint these doubts to my mother, begging that at all events, the visits of her innamorato might bo dispensed with, as it was not consistent with liis respect and dignity, to en- courage his presence, the more particularly so, during my mother's delicate situation, as the nods, winks, whisperings, and pointings of neighbours, and others, were beginning to grow more open and undisguised,— my father had better held his tongue. With a fierce and diabolic fervour of language, my mother poured upon his devoted head, reproaches, that changed to curses, and sent the old man with trembling limbs, and a check of ashy whitness, out of the room. What passed at the next interview between my mother and lier gallant may be easily imagined by the reader from subsequent events; but their consultation was whispered, short, and bloody. The check which the old man had evidently placed upon their illicit love could not be endured; and the lover wanted money to pay some gambling debts, in order to prevent his being kicked out of the society of a parcel of robbing rascals, who would stamp him with the infamy of being no " gentleman," unless he cleared off his losses. My mother vowed that he should have gold; and gold he did have ; for she went and broke open the old man's bureau, and brought back a bag of glittering metal, which made the eyes of her paramour glitter with cupidity. As he rapturously embraced her, she whispered in his ear, " At eleven to- night, dear Charles ; be sure and do not fail. He is gone out now; but to- morrow, I expect that he will take some measures that may effectually destroy our felicity." " I will not fail, dearest," replied Charles, caressing lier. " And when all is over, his whole possessions will become mine— ours," she added, pressing a burning kiss upon his lips. " Will you require help ?" " Yes," he answered, while his sallow face became blue, and his lips livid; " and I know the fellow, who is close as the grave, and as determined as the devil." '•' He will do, he will do," cried my mother eagerly; " but do you think you can confide in him ?" " Oh, no doubt of that," replied Charles, confidently, and with another embrace, took liis departure. In about an hour after, he was in London. He called at several places, and chatted and laughed with the greatest glee, with several companions whom he met. i Towards dusk, he started on foot, having wrapped himself up in a large cloak, and crossing the water, began to traverse the Surrey side, calling in at several low public houses, but evidently without finding the person he wanted; when as he was passing along one of the widest thoroughfares he muttered: " To fail will be ruin, but where is he ? Ah 1" He started in a by no means unpleasant surprise, for the face he beheld was that of a hideous young ruffian, of about sixteen years of age, known by the sobriquet of " Bill Blood," or " Bill the butcher." It was the very fellow ho wanted, circumstances of a former time had made the rnffian known to him. Bill the butcher had no face, or anything resembling the common human face divine that you meet with. It was some such thing as a New Zealander would have carved out of a rough red piece of timber, with a stone hatchet— cut, ami incised, and splintered with two hollow places for eyes, a protuberance on one side for a nose, a mouth like a gap, as if formed with two cuts of the axe, the one meeting the other. His hair was red, short and matted, liis eyes blue, a perfectly light blue— even a weak diluted blue ; but they could be scarcely seen from the projecting frontal bones; his nose was thick and short, his mouth large and awry, his teeth good, strong and massive ; but his face was hideously seamed with small- pox and scrofula, which: had dug white and red pits all over his features. His form was stiff and short, he was bow- legged, broad- shouldered and slightly humped ; his strength was immense, his character diabolical; his blasphemy unapproachable ; his impurity a bye word; he was feared by all who knew him, for a wantonness of cruelty, for a vindictiveness of temper which never forgave, and he was remarkably sensitive upon his personal appearance. This piece of hideous amiability was jostling his way through the most crowded part of Blackfriars- road, when he observed a young lad going along, and counting some money in his hand. He was going to the market to purchase some tilings for his parents, who were evidently poor ; but Bill philanthropically thought that lie would direct the current of that small amount in a channel far more agreeable ; so, walking up, with a whistle and a leer, he caught hold of the boy's shoulder, and, with a single effort, spun him com- pletely round. They stood face to face. The boy shuddered at the sight of that horrible face. He knew it even. Charles still watched them. ( To be continued) THEATRICALS. SURREY. Shepherd is " going- a- head" tremendously. The last new drama of " The Old House on the Thames," although highly successful, lias been withdrawn, to make way for the appearance of Mr. Mead, the tragedian, who has appeared in Othello, Sir Giles, and Collona, in " Evaine," with a degree of success un- surpassed in the annals of this theatre. Mr. Framptor., with his pupils, bavo been added to the company, and materially increase the attractions of the establishment. VICTORIA. Mr. Osbaldiston ( noble- minded, generous- hearted individual) permitted the widi w of one of the members of his company— poor Hawkins— to take a benefit; not at his theatre, but at a house in Shoreditch— the Standard— on Wednesday last; show- ing that the great New- Cut showman is worthy the support, not only of the public at large, but the profession generally ; his feel- ings being of such an acute character, that he could not probably bear even the sight of the widow of the man he so much respected in his theatre. We record the circumstance, as the only thing really worthy of notice at this establishment; the pieces, like the elegies in a country churchyard, all being done by the same hand, arc" of the same crambe repetitia character. OLYMPIC. The Davidson dynasty is nearly over, this being the last week of the soason. " Cousin Cherry," however, is still in the bill. The Stirling's certainly must, in common gratitude, present Davidson with some testimonial; will our readers believe it, the kind- he irled creature has actually had Stirling's ragged drama of " The Rag Picker of Paris" for the first piece. Benevolent Spicer, for- tunate Stirling, easy Davidson! Mr. Gardner, the civil aud obliging box- keeper of this Theatre takes his benefit here on Saturday, March 31, when a good bil, of fare will be provided. AVe hope Irs friends and the public will rally round him, and give him a bumper. THE STANDARD. A new drama, entitled " The Exile's Daughter,'' containing some incidents of a very novel and highly interesting character, was produced on Monday, and proved a most decided hit. " The Waits," a piece, which had a deservedly long run some time since, has very properly been revised. " The Whistler," proved so suc- cessful last week, that it has not been withdrawn, being played as the last piece all this week. Considering the near approach of the holiday season, the business is wonderfully great. MODERN ANNUALS. It is never necessary to examine these books and designs one by one. They all bear the same character. A large weak plate, done in what we believe is called the stipple style of engraving, a woman badly drawn, with enormous eyes, a tear, perhaps upon each cheek, and an exceedingly low- cut dress, pats a greyhound, or weeps into a flower pot, or delivers a letter to a bandy- legged, curly- headed page. An immense train of white satin fills up the corner of the plate ; an urn, a stone railing, a fountain, and a bunch of holly- hocks, adorn the other : the picture is signed Sharpe, Parris, Corbould, Corbeaux, Jenkins, Brown, as the case may be, and is entitled " The Pearl," " La Dolaroso," " La Bioilina," " La Gage d'Amour," " The Forsaken one of Florence," " The Waterlily," or some such name. Mrs. Norton, Miss Mitford, or my Lady Blcs- sington, writes a song upon the opposite page, about water- lily, sliilly, stilly; shivering beside a streamlet, plighted, blighted, love- benighted ; falsehood sharper than a gimlet, lost affection, recollec- tion, cut connexion; tears in torrents, true love token, spoken, broken; sighing, dying girl of Florence; and so on. The poetry is worthy of the picturc, and a little sliam sentiment is employed to illustrate a little sham art. CORRESPONDENCE. %* Letters containing more than one advice ( country excepted) cannot possibly be attended to. J. F. ( Hampton.)— Perfectly correct. It shall be attended to; most likely in our next. A TYPO ( Bread- street).— We have not the slightest doubt of it. Concern- ing the two fat men, or great O's, as you term them, send us the particulars, and we will publish them. It is our intention, shortly, to give our parental advice to a whole batch of the members of the " noble art." J. S.— We have a stinging article in preparation touching the notorious house mentioned, in Bow- street, and should have noticed it earlier, but that we have been gleaning full particulars. We care not for all the bullies in London; their threats shall never cause us to swerve from our duty, or the path chalked out by us at the commencement of our journal. TOM.— Paul Pry is on the increase. Our provincial sale, alone, is 20,000 weekly. JANE.— If your lover is obstreperous, have the kindness to send us parti- culars; and if Paul cannot bring him to his senses, he is indeed past all re- demption. JUNO.—- Paul is a married man ; but yet, in his fatherly heart, he has room fur little Juno. SMITH ( Dartford).— If they are not in this week they have not reached u « . Your friend's, no doubt, appeared the week after h » y were sent. DICK TURPI N ( Norwich).— The whole of the numbers are in print, with the exception of No. 2, and may be had to order. G. S. D.— Only that particular part which you wish to appear; likewise, let it be as brief as the subject will allow. MICHAEL MOMUS.— W; shall, from time to time, be glad to receive such communications. RIGS OF THE RACE- COURSE.—( The Nobblers.) The gentleman who so kindly forwarded us the above article, is thanked. We have made some lengthy additions to it, and itshall appear in our next. We feel, however, deeply obliged to him, and hope he will write again, and that speedily. H— RTHE SALMON AND COMPASSES ( Penton- street).— We do not profess to give legal opinions, but we should certainly summons the fellow. There is a person of the name of Tom Roberts, whom doubtless, you are acquainted with, can tell you something of the scoundrel. HUNT'S BEER SHOP ( Stamford stieet).— We will visit the den. R. T. H. ( Gt. Marylebone lane).— We did not receive your letter. Of course, Crouch is mad about our exposing the doings. We will, however, give him another poke. MATTHEW ( Waterloo road).— Who is little Levite? Write plainer. MITCUAM.— An article on the upstart Beadle and Noble Grand here shall appear in our next. Why has not our " Norwich" friend written as he promised? B. M.— We believe Mr. Charles Sloman has, or intends to bring out, in a few days, a new song book for the public. No doubt it will have a great, sale, for we know of no person so competent to edit a work of that character. The following are our appointed Agents:— London: WINN, Holywell- street, Strand; W. COLE, Bedford- street, Oxford- street, Mile End.— Deptford: F. L. LYONS, 8, Broadway.— Greenwich : H. HILL, 9, Market- place.— Bristol: COOK, Sims- place.— Manchester: HEYWOOD, Oldham- street. — Leeds: A. MANN. — Glasgow: W. LOVE: Nelson- street.— Derby : BROOKES, St. Alkmund's- churchyard.— Leicester: BILLSON, Bellgrave- gate.— Beverley; WARD, Butcher- row.— Banbury: BUNTON, Cherwell street. T ERRIFIC RECORD. One Penny Weekly. INTERESTING READING FOR ALL- ALL FACTS. Nos. 1 to 6 now ready, and may be had of any bookseller in the kingdom. This is the largest and best Publication of the kind ; contains Thirty- two closely- printed columns, splendidly Illustrated. CAUTION.— This being larger than any publication of the sort, some few venders or publishers of small, paltry publications have answered it, " Not out," or, " Out of print." This is false ; as every number is kept in print, being stereotyped. Published by W. Winn, 34, Holywell- street, Strand; and all Booksellers. & i) e 3Latscst Cicatrical ® 29otfc cbcr $ Sufcltgrf) cti. Published every WEDNESDAY, in Weekly PENNY Numbers, and may be had in Monthly Parts, price Sixpence, THE STAGE- MANAGER, A Journal of Dramatic Literature and Criticism. : This Periodical will be exclusively devoted to the Theatrical Profes- sion. It will contain Essays on the Drama, past and present; Criticisms, Anec- dotes, Memoirs of the most celebrated Dramatic Writers and Actors of the day, Poetry, Green- room Gossip, and an Original Tale by the EDITOR. Published by R. MACDONALD, 12, Russell- Court, Brydges- street, Strand, where all communications ( post- paid) for the Editor are to be addressed. Printed and published for the proprietors by G. EDWARDS, at the offiee* 12, Russell court, Brydges street, Strand, where all communications to the Editor are to be addressed.