17, 1849. "" 1 [ PRICE ONE PENNY. bo bees, and all add a something to tho general store, ho has always looked upon these may- coloured gentlemen as drones in the hives, and fit only to bo classed with the poodles of the old maid, pr beasts in thc managerie, just to be gazed at, and nothing else. MARONE; or, THE WINE OF LOVE. CHAPTER XV. THE FEAST. C Continued from our last.) Lord Arlendon entered into the splendid ball. roohi and found that the new arrival had caused quite a sensation. There was a crowding t ogethei of the gay group, and while bending their gaze towards the doorway Jan earnest whispering confcrence took place. Tho . dancing cense^, and the music had died away to silence. Those bold and shameless women, who were now almost bending under thc load of jewellery they wore— the titled demireps, many of them in gny and" dazzling dresses— thoso gilded creatures, ministers to all guilty pleasures— beautiful as they appeared, were almost annihilated by tho. heauty of the young girl they now looked upon. Those tall, stately men, gods in form and dovils at heart— those gamblers, seducers, wealthy villains, lost to principle and devoid of shame— those men whe wpre stars upon their breasts, and orders upon their garments, were almost awed by tho noble air, tho simple grace, thc stately form of tho athletic youth they envied, even while admiring. As for Lord Aiicnden himself, he stood a moment or two in the back- ground, drinking in with all tho powers of his heart the beauty of Marone, who was yet at the door- way. Ilcr loveliness was of a cast that drove every sensual senti- ment away, in order that they should rush back with a tre- mondous re- action, and drive the rebellious blood with increased violence through his veins. If admiration had for an instant suspended every other faculty, it soon changed to praise, to gratification, to a sort of diabolic triumph. That woman, so young, so fair, so pure- looking, so innoccntly- girlish, had been his— his' in every sense of the term, if we except the loathing, mingled with dread, and the measuso heaped up with hatred, that always filled her heart towards him. That purity he had sullied— that beauty he had ravaged— that fair form he had bent down to tho dust; she had been but, no. What she had boon to this fearful man, is a secret of that unutterable kind which must be comprehended rather by consequences, than by any direct information— by inference, rather than by detail. It is important, before proceeding, that we should describe what took place previously to Marone's entrance into the grand saloon, accompanied by Passion. As soon as they had entered thc house, and her mantle had been taken away, she was shown into a tiring- ropm, in prder that thoso little adjustments of dress, hair, & c., should bo gone through— a ceremony of no small importance. Passion waited for lier. She soon rejoined him again. The late paleness of her face was succeeded by a sort of hectie flush, which gave an inexpressible charm to her charming face. She smiled as she took Passion's arm. " You do not tremble," said Passion. " No. I have no cause to fear," she answered. " You will not shrink from the trial, then?" " Are you not with me?" The question, so naively asked, intimated the perfect se- curity she felt in her companion, as one who could protect her in every exigency. " Come, then, let us go forward." The attendants opened the vast doors. They mounted some marblo stops, and crossed a, noble gallery. Suddenly Maronc halted. " Listen!" said she. " I hear youthful voices." And so it was; above the din of the music, glad, joyous, youthful voices, in jest and laughter, came like a fresh breath^ after experiencing a suffocating atmosphere. " Marone! Marone!" cried Passion, with a suddenness that reached the ears of the startled servants, " for heaven's sake, what ails you?" and he caught her in his arms as slia was about to fall to the ground. Eor her face had grown so horribly pale, so deadly whit ® so appallingly ghastly, that for the first time in his life, per haps, Passion was realjy afraid. He felt her tremble as i death was clasping her in his icy arms. He felt that'she became rigid as stone. PAUL WISHES TO KNOW Whether it is true that Oliver Twist, tho barber, of South- end, Croydon, and the celebrated catgut scraper, got 5s. for playing at the fair, in a certain booth in Sausago- row, as Paul can hardly believe he got so much in three days. Whether G— e W— n, draper's assistant, Market- place, still goes on with his two- faccd trickery, making game of people behind their backs? Paul wonders very much that such a talented young man as you, would do such a dirty trick, but to walk through the streets in a quiot and peace- able manner, aud not to make game of people in the way you do; remember, Geordy my boy, you are more like a churchyard deserter, than a draper's assistant. If J— n E— r, alias the talented barber, in the Market- place, still continues to shave baboon monkeys and jackasses, which, considering his skill, he does with great success, as- tonishing the credulous barbers of Shields; lie keeps a stock of good razors and brushes, likewise. LAUGHABLE THINGS IN NEWCASTLE. Tho milk lass giving Ned E— tt thc sack, bccauso he got muzzy and spilled the milk. The beautiful and rare specimen of baboons, laughing hyenas, orang outangs, camel leopards, elephants, tigers and ring- tailed monkeys at Bainbridge and Musclnimp's in firkcfc^ strccfc. ifalphy L— e, thc thief- catcher, sponging among the pub- Hcnns for his beer. Tom C— e's swearing he will knock Paul Pry's soul out if he is ever advertized again. „ • Tack C— y, of the Spital Tongues, having the contents of! a night commode emptied on him whilst Waiting under thc window for Miss R— n. Bob S— 11, the snip of Percy- street, shaking his great fat head at the wenches when parading the street. IN EXETER. To see George B— y playing cricket when he is the bowler. Why you are a complete muff at it, George. To hear H. P— e and J. R. L— y, playing an overture on the violin and trombone. To see Tom T— t, South- street, and J. L. Y—, cutting about with their new coloured shirts. To see Alfred B— r, painter, dancing the polka at Miss H— tt's, you turn in your toes so much, my dear Alf. We shall give you another dig soon about the girl. To see George E— s, harness- maker, strutting about and making himself so very forward about everything. To hear W. B— e, St. Thomas's, persuading parties not to purchase P. P., and then, says the fool, there would be no sellers. Admiral D— n's attitude when playing at cards. Long C— e's passing his opinion upon the yacht belenging to II. I'. B— c, Esq. What does such a muff of a fellow know about a yacht. Punchy R— k's marine rig out of seventy pounds per annum. Buffalo S— c, the sailmakcr, saying he thought himself fit for a justice of tho peacc, as lie had such a hond- piece. Tailor S— e, saying if lie had the money, he would not regret giving £ 30, to know who put him in Paul Pry. Dickcy B—' s being called home at thc Longflect church, when he was married. IN READING. Ered K— r, the butcher, of Horn- street, threatening to punch the person's head, that put him iu Paul Pry. Samuel S— y, of Bedford- street, cutting such a swell with his penny cigars. • IN WOOLWICH. Bill H— d, Star and Garter, boing such a fast gent with ladies of a certain character. IN CROYDON. Tho Messrs. S— g, 0— n, B— r, and R— y, some of the flash gentlemen of Croydon's new stylo of dancing. Henry G— s, flashing about the fair with a bear skin coat on. the Misses U— s, of Violet- lane, shewing their legs when they run. NO. 3.— THE HALL PORTER. Behold the Hall Porter so fat, What a snug situation he's got, Yet he frowns when ho hears a rat- tat, Aud thinks his a very hard lot. Poor man! so it is, wo confess, It's a shame to set fat- belly puffing; His labours are great, you may guess, Eor wc know that it's hard to do nothing. THE badge of serfdom is so plainly placed upon tho shoul- ders of these worthies, that we can only look upon them as slaves in the worse degree, so far as their liveried apparel speaks for them. To look, however, at the subject of our present illustration, we should certainly opine tlicir style of slavery is by no means allied to that starving and battling for a crust, which our honest mechanics have to go through. They look slaves, and that is all. Tho majority of footmen and porters attached to the dwellings of the wealthy, have no small idea of their im- portance, and which importance they do not fail to make thc most of, when a master- tradesman, who lias been engaged in some work or other for tho lordly proprietor, may chance to call for payment of a bill which has boon outstanding for a very long time, and which the aristocrat or his steward has not found time to go into. These " well- fed villains " will treat this hard- working credifoiv who, in the scale of society, stands one hundred and fifty per cent, beyond these " trenchcr- scrapers," with the greatest contempt imaginable, and aping their no less worthless masters, tell, in their ignorant and off- hand manner, " My lord has not had time to look at your account, Mr. , you must call again," and these replies are continually made, though, at the same time, they are fully aware this man is suffering more than great inconvenience from these shameful delays. To our certain knowledge, most of those poor creatures arc chosen from their likelihood to fatten and grow big, and, by tlioir immense proportions, give a sort of bestial delight to the eye of their fair proprietors. They are kept, like so many over- fed oxen, merely for show. Those boasts of ser- vitude, clad in their official livery, loll in an easy chair from morn till niglit, their greatest labour being the opening of a door, and, in the most obsequious manner, bowing their keepers in or out, as the case may be. Paul hates laziness— no matter where it's to be found. Having beon accustomed from childhood upward to look upon the world as one great workshop, whereia all should " IT IS A VIRTUOUS ACTION TO EXPOSE VICIOUS MEN."— Dbydbn. 2 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 2 In a few moments she recovered. The attendants were beginning to run to and fro, and causing a confusion, which Passion quietly, but imperiously, calmed. He sternly ordered them away, and they retired. " Marone," said be, " what is this? Shall we return?" " No," was her answer. " No, not for the univrse, not for a million of worlds; this faintness is nothing. Did you never hear of evil spirits suddenly possessing you? " she asked; " for I must have felt something of the sort. No, lot us go in here," pointing to the chamber whence the voices came. " Perhaps they are Lord Arlenden's children. I wish to see them." A slight shudder crawled over Passion's frame; perhaps lie feared the devil he had wakened up; yet, why should he? What'feelings, in fact, had he roused ? With an astonishing self- possession, Marone had recovered her composure and her countenance, and they entered the room together. It appeared, with its books, its globes, its tables covered with writing materials, & e., like a study. In this study were it boy and a girl as we have said, the girl was about fourteen and the boy two years her senior. Two children, for, after all, they were no more; two chil- dren, more beautiful, it would be difficult to find, and yet the boy had some peculiarity upon the lips and eyes, with which you were not perfectly satisfied. They inherited the fine regular features, the bold profile, aud the lofty forehead of the father; but tho large lips, tho languid eyes of the boy, had an expression as repulsive, after being well examined, as jt was possible for them to be. To tlie eye of tho physi- ognomist, they indicated a sort of precocious impurity; their boldness denoted the growth of passions, the unrestrained exercise of which had almost flung his father, like a putrid carcase, into his grave. ( To be continued in our next.) THE FRAIL SISTERHOOD. P1VOINE. CHAPTER XXII. ( Concluded.) " Besides, you will succeed everywhere— there is no doubt of it; but unexpected obstacles will rise in your path! ltivals, habituated before you to the favours of the public, and who will eclipse you on appearing, will never pardon you for thus crushing them, and, like the serpent of old, they will enfold yon to sting you in the heel. These women have friends, protectors, lovers: they will sot in motion every resource of their spirit of intrigue to overwhelm you with disgust, and to stifle the eclat of your success. It would be in vain, I know, but still they would make the attempt— and you would leave patches of your stainless robe on the briars of the roadside. " In making your debut, on the contrary, on a modest stage, nothing of all this is to be feared. You appear— we are astonished, and we admire. The critic is excited— the press resounds with your name. All Paris repeats it, and determines to see the unknown wonder, who, by a strange caprice, has chosen for a spot in which to commence her brilliant career, the most humble and the worst of our theatres. " The directors hasten;— then, from the height of the pe- destal'which enthusiasm has raised for you, it is no longer for you to accept conditions, but to impose them." " You aro queen— you dictate your own laws— you dip with liberal hands in the Partolus of some fabulous engage- ment, gloriously but easily acquired. " Such is tho perspective that presents itself it to you, Pivoine. I exaggerate nothing— I tell you what is, what will be— will you believe me, and try?" Arsene, having thus spoken, stopped and wiped his fore- head. This warm description had brought the perspiration to his face. Pivoine, dazzled and perplexed, let fall these words.— " You are right, perhaps—" The victory was gained; Arsene fully comprehended it, and to deal a last blow at the irresolution of the young girl, he hastened home for the manuscript of Madelinette, re- turned immediately, and read it in a passionate tone, taking carc to bring out all the points, and to display all the striking events of the character which Pivoine would be called upon to perform in this important work. She was enchanted with it. In her turn, sho took the piece and began humming tho songs, the airs of which she knew,— then, lighting all the candles of the saloon, she placed herself before the glass, and went through, to the grout applause of Arsene, the most effective sccnes. She imagined herself charming, and her enthusiasm knew no bounds, when the young author had pompously described to her the toilette she would wear on her entrance en scene. " My God!" sho exclaimed, " my God! how delightful ' twill be!" " I believe you!" said Arsene; " and the ball act, what think you of that?— and your costume of a waterman!" On thinking Of tho waterman's costume,- Pivoine bounded with joy; and, for the first time since she had known Arsene, she threw herself on his neck. Tho author of the " Three who were liung" foresaw that the hour would at length strike, and that the young girl could refuse nothing to him who had unfolded to her de- lighted eyes the perspectives of an Eldorado. The theatre was forgotten for love, aud on this night Arsene did not quit the chamber of the young girl. CHAP. XXIII. A FRAGMENT OF THE PHYSIOLOGY OF LOVE.— AXIOMS, APHORISMS, QUOTATIONS, AND RAMBL1NGS. THE destiny of Pivoine was, at the outset, a singular one. She was scarcely sixteen years of age, and three men had already possessed her; of these three men, one alone, the first, George d'Entragues, had obtained her by violence, and this one she had loved. To the two others she had given herself, and given herself without love. Such facts, however, are frequent, though improbable, and we could prove that the faults of young girls result almost always from a moment of imprudence, or from a concur- rence of fortuitous circumstances, and not from a real passion. A woman, for instance, has long resisted the prayers of a aubmissive and respectful lover, and yet allows herself to be seduced in five minutes by a bold intruder. Thus, the prin- cipal aphorism of a Code of Gallantry, for the use of Don Juan novices, ought to be this:— " With women, temerity is the first of all the virtues." And this is the more true, that, in the majority of cases, for- want of a little audacity, they allow to escape an oppor- tunity that may never occur again. . There is, in the sudden changes of every amorous pursuit, a moment in which besieged virtue only demands to yield itself. This moment, at times, lasts five minutes— at others, a second. It is the result of a passing weakness of the heart, or of a short and rapid blaze of the senses. When it has arrived, and is not seized, the chance is gone. Virtue, put on its guard by experience; knows its weak side— never pardons itself an useless error— and becomes invulnerable. The ancient roues— those gigantic Adonises, who will rest immortal by the remembrance of their liappy amours— know how to profit by the lucky moment— nothing more. There arc exceptions, but they confirm the rule. At all events, Pivoine was not one of these exceptions. Circumstances alone had yielded her, almost without the assent of her will, at first to Virgil, then to Arseno, as our readers are aware. Consequently the day after the conversation we have re- ported in the preceding chapter, she awoke, a little lower than the previous eve, on the steps of the social ladder. As mistress of the student, sho lived with him; a legiti- mate marriage, it is true, had not cemented their union, but still the man of whom she had made herself the companion, sheltered and protected her with his dignity and position. As mistress of Arsene, on tho contrary, isolated, and re- ceiving from him money which she did not earn, Pivoine became a kept woman•—- that is to say, one of those syrens who make a trade of love, a merchandize, which they dispose of at a greater or less price, according to the charms they possess, and, more especially, according to opportunity. For, alas! (' tis sad to write, and, above all, to think of,) when love becomes commercial, it has, like the public funds, unexpected risings and sudden/ a/ fe. Politics play a grand role in tho fluctuations of this gal- lant exchange. Revolutions are fatal to these two kinds of shares, which cannot hold tlieir own under republican regimes. We may be allowed to cite, as evidence to support our assertions, a few lines we wrote last year in a small critico- political pamphlet, of which we were, at the same time, the founder, the director, the shareholder, the editor, and the manager, and which drew upon us the very flattering perse- secution of messieurs the powerful seigneurs and proud feudal barons of the democratic republic. These lines are extracted from a number bearing date the 16th April, 1843, and from an article entitled, The Bank- ruptcies of Love. " Lugeteveneres," we said, " weep, poor, dear, little Cupids, and make a fire with the arrows of your quivers, if you feel the necessity of warming your tiny legs. " Lugete veneres, and you, lorettes, hang to the branches of the willows of Babylon the bands of your under petticoats! " The fatal day has arrived! " The hour of destruction has sounded! " Weep! for Love is a Bankrupt! " It is as we have the honour of telling you. Love de- posed his ledger on tho morning of the 25th February;— a book whose balance in hand was represented by tho unique and doleful figure 0. This requires explanation— we will give it:— " There are, in the great city, an indefinite number of fair and pretty sinners, the ornament of the new quarters, where they dust the walls with a zeal and a conscience above all praise, and sometimes below— many of the rooms. ( To be continued in our next.) " Aha! indeed!" ejaculated Bedster, " but lo! here comes Madame." The lady in question entered the room, and cor- dially saluted Basil " French" fashion, and, during tlie little desultory conversation that ensued, we will throw away few words upon this useful and fascinating woman. She was forty years of ago; her features were fine, but exaggerated; a beautiful nose, and very brilliant eyes, made up for tho defects of a mouth, which was rather larger than ordinary, and of a most decidedly sensual form. The upper lip being large, beardod with a fine dark down, and somewhat prominent. She was ofmiddle stature, and had a peculiar manner of walking. Her dress was elegant, showy, and Frenchified, while her bosom was most bountifully developed and exhi- bited. " Oh! you men are sad rakes, I fear," said she, in answer to something that Basil said, " here is my chere amie; Onina, who has listened to your vows and protestations, and who has evidently lost her heart—" Bedster interrupted her with a dry " hem," " Madame, my soul," said he " in all these things there is compensation; her sorrows will be soothed. Hearken!" Suddenly there arose again the same mellifluous strain of the last evening, which, after the " tick- tick " that indicated the mechanical movements of the instrument were over, filled the ear with a harmony, soft as the breathings of iEolian harp. It stole upon the sense, like a trance arising from the effects of opium, which brings visions of eastern luxuries and delights, which cannot be described in words. Rising and swelling, it grew as befofe more and more vehe- ment, and at last the pipes played with those peculiar move- ments like syncope, till it rose to a pitch of transcendant melody and then died gradually away. Bedster looked per- plexed, and Madame gave one of her peculiar smiles. " Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed Bedster, " can you explain what this means, Madame? for I promise you I am puzzled— in fact, I must sec what it means," and he went towards the door. " Compose yourself." said Madame. " It is only Onina, practising her lesson." " Practising her lesson! " echoed the comedian; " but, Ma- dame, it is necessary that she should have some one to assist her." " Well," said Madame, still smiling, " and supposing that she has some one to assist her, what then?" " Why then," returned the actor, " as it is our friend's busi- ness, I have nothing more to say about it." " You are placing one in a labyrinth of conjecture," said Basil, looking amazed, " and I cannot unravel this riddle; suppose we endeavour to. solve it." " Avec plaisir," returned Madame, with a tender glance upon Bedster, " we will soon clear it all up." " Then, Madame, be kind enough to lead the way," said the comedian, offering his arm. " Follow me, then; we are prepared," and they entered the adjoining chamber, where the mystery was shrined. ( To be continued in our next). THE SELESTEAL SIESTA. AN OVIDIAN RHAPSODY. CHAP. III. THE MEETING AT RUMPTON. THE evening came, and the expectant Basil, devoutly hoping that no one would call upon him, was preparing to depart for Rumpton— his glowing imagination being full of the splendid Onina, whose warm embraces he still could easily fancy that he yet enjoyed. The voluptuous strife which had taken place in the dressing- room of the theatre, was still vividly depicted before his mind's eye, and the remembrance \ of past enjoyment gave additional zest to his anticipations for the future, but especially to the scene which was to be enacted at Rumpton—" Madame," herself being the mistress of the Cytherean mysteries. Tho conquest of Onina was no small thing to Bracey. Beautiful and wanton, she had every charm which could delight tho senses of the most voluptuous man; and as Basil was a voluptuary in the fullest sense of the term— gay, witty, licentious, and above all, rich— he could give tho reins loose to every impulse that might happen to prompt him. Under the tuition of " Madame," who was inordinately at- tached to the company of men, and delighted in making others happy, he had made considerable progress; add to which, the comedian happily was destitute of jealousy. lie had only barely mentioned to Onina on parting with her, which, by the way, did not take place, ( from her lodgings to which they had adjourned) till morning, the possibility of seeing her the next evening at Rumpton— to which Onina replied, that doubtless she would hear from Madame, and would be there, as she was at liberty on that evening. To be brief, Basil started, and just as the dusk was setting in— knocked at Bedster's door. It was opened by a plump, rosy- cheeked serving- lass, and he was ushered in. Very soon he and Bedster were seated together in a snug, warm drawing- room; the fire was burning brightly, and the curtains were drawn; lamps were on tho table, and every- thing indicated that something beyond comfort was sought for. " Well," said Bedster with a laugh, " and how did you get on last night ?" " Capitally, I must say, most— but bah!" he added check- ing himself, " he who kisses and tells, is unworthy a woman's favours." " True, my boy," returned Bedster, " as far as that goes its well enough, but a woman that makes fovors marketable— you comprehend me!" and he laid his finger very signifi- cantly along his nose. Basil changed the conversation. " How is Madame, said he, " I am dying to see her." " Or Onina, which?" interrogated the lively comedian; " but make yourself easy, you will see Madame presently. She has kept her promise with regard to the danseuse, and, " added he, " I will keep mine to you." " I am as anxious to be in the secret of those sweet and mysterious sounds, as if the fate of the Derby was being decided," said Basil. " So that I shall no doubt experince a corresponding amount of pleasurable satisfaction, when my curiosity is gratified." " As to the ' pleasurable' sensations, and their gratification,'' returned Bedster, sedately," I can answer for them, the second will be as the event turns out." " Good! but, my friend," said Basil, " suppose Onina should not come." " It is unnecessary to suppose any such thing," replied the actor, " because that lovely creature is here already." " You overjoy me," cried Basil ardently, " it is the only fear that has haunted me the whole day; that, and remem- brances still more gratifying." THE HACKNEY LETTER CARRIERS. We were passing through Hackney last week, when whom should we fall in with, but our old friend Miles's Boy, and he thanked us for the good we had done, for wo had caused a reformation amongst all the men except one, and that was Scaly Tom, who still refused to pay his share for the gas light in the office, and Miles's Boy said he had taken Paul's advice, and left off peeping into the letters, and that he was going to leave Hackney after being there 17 years. He told us he was going to Stoke Newington, he had got a better walk; we wished him luck. He then told us that wo had done good with our advice to McLaren, alias the Elephant, who came with his mug clean scraped often; that red- faced Jemmy had left off gathering charity nettles and like tricks j that Grant had paid his tailor and baker; that Cockey Daws did not annoy him so much in the office; that Healy had given up all idea of selling rock- my- jock; that the sailor postman of the Lea Bridge walk did not act so dirty with his quids of tobacco, as he and Miles had abandoned its use chewingly. Miles said they had got a raw Greek in the office come from Turner's Island, and who was a great trouble to thom, and he did not think he should make anything of him. After thanking us again for the good wo had dono to the Hackney letter carriers, he bid us farewell, when we hurried homewards, highly pleased with our good works. PAUL IN GLASGOW. A SCENE IN A GAMING HOUSE. " Horror, horror! oh, can ft be that men, For a paltry sum of gold, will headlong l'luuge iu misery and despair?— THE RIGHTFUL IIEIB. THOSE who are unacquainted with the extent and popula- tion of Glasgow, can have no knowledge of the outs and ins about it; but thousands that have been born and brought up in it, are not even acquainted with all the localities. I remember one night, a few years back, curiosity led me to pay some of the Wy nds a visit. On the night in question, I was in one of the houses in the Old Wynd. It was past midnight, and a great many characters dropped in, that I should not like to have met in a long road after night- fall. I was disguised, and of course was taken for one of themselves, although I was known to be » stranger. At length I got into conversation, and they proposed that we should retire to the next room, and havo a hand at cards. I had no ob- jections, wishing to see something more of their character We were shown into a small square room, without any windows, being lighted up night and day with gas. There were a few rude benches placed around. The play went on here night and day— Sunday and Saturday, all the same. They played for some time, the players getting more and more excited; till it was fearful to behold the poor, pale, debauched- looking beings, who were gazing so intently over their cards, and the stakes of a few shillings, as if it was their souls' salvation that was at stake. Who could look at the hard visage, wiinkled forehead, and compressed lips, with the deep working of passion on the features, but not forswear the handling of cards, for fear of being drawn into tho hellish fascination, which has been the destruction of so many thousands ? The betting grew higher and higher, and of course, the excitement more and more; till at length, one of the party lost all his money, and he bore it with such an ill grace, that they all began to laugh at him. He grew enraged, rose to his feet, and struck one who was sitting beside him with a pot- measure, and felled him senseless to the floor. The fight became general, for he was not there without his friends. At length the police came, when the lights were extinguished, and it was with great difficulty I escaped from the house; at length I did so, and arrived safe at home. Next day, when going through the streets, I heard speeches crying of a murder that had been committed the night before in the Old Wynd, with an account of the apprehension of the murderer. It was a complete stopper to my curiosity in that line, and I was thankful in haying escaped as I did, PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 3 PAUL ADVISES The widow H— n, Ivingsland- road, not to keep Mr. F— from his wife so late at night after the shop is closed. Miss C. M—, of Britannia- street, Gray's Inn- road, to stay at home with her mother, instead of running after J. II—, when she is on the eve of marriage with J. E—, of Bruns- wick- square, Brighton. That would- be captivating gentleman, Mr. W— r, at Mr. C— d's, grocer, of High- street, Hoxton, to use becoming language to females who use his employer's shop. p— d F— tt, of Arundel- stairs, late Jack- in- the- water of the above named place, not to come out such a swell of a Sunday, in somebody's left- off hat, with a bit of cap ribbon round it. Richard Ii— n, of New- street, Kennington- road, not to be such a conceited snob, but to stop at home, as his no- wise handsome feet would look a great deal better upon the lathe, than sporting them at the different dancing and singing rooms that he is in the habit of frequenting; and givo up the company of that stupid- looking fool he is so thick with, as he is no account. James N— h, of Booth's Distillery, Cow- cross, to marry the emaciated lump of mortality, in the form of a Jewess giantess; old brick, it really is not respectable; and we further advise certain soi disant respectable persons, not to visit the house of the said Jewess until Jim leads her deli- cate form to the altar. Mr. G— d, alias tho Swell, at N— w's, the grocer, Marlbro'- road, Chelsea, not to make such a snob of himself with the baker's daughter, wc can assure him she only laughs at him; above all things, to smoke loss, to talk less, and to learn to wald straight. L. T— t, the black girl, at the ironmonger's in Broad- street, Lambeth, not to he seen so often in the Queen's Head; I am sure if she was brought up at boarding school, as she says, she would know better. Miss F. A— e, baker's daughter, Marlbro'- road, Chelsea, to play less on the piano, as any child of nine years old can equal her performances; to mind her own business more, and not traduce her neighbours quite so much. A Shew- up for ihe Sons of the Phoenix, at David W—' s Temperance Hotel, Royal Mint- street, Whitechapel:— Mr. David W— s, not to boast of being worth £ 300 or £ 400; better to pay Alexander J— n the shilling. Mr. G— n, not to ape the gentleman, but to recollect he is only a costermonger. Did your mother set you up by selling her mangle, alias piano? Mr. Robert M— m, alias He with the Hump, alias Shadow, to be more civil. Mr. M— 1, alias Growena, to be less authoritative, he is not on tho committee yet. Larry D— e, to try to talk English, and not bounce so much over a certain poor teetotaller R. Sally W— n, alias the Drummer boy, not to be so fond of John B— n, he is a married man. Reform, we will pay you another visit. F. W. It— y, late of the Strand, not to trifle with a weak- minded girl of the same place, but keep to one, and not go to Camden Town so often. We shall watch him very nar- rowly, and give him another poke with our umbrella, if he doe not look sharp. Sergeant P— e, of the Fleet- street division of police, not to be fond of taking unfortunate girls in custody on false charges, and not to think quite so much of himself. Mr. C— r, grocer ofHackncy- road, not to be so independent, nor imagine for one moment that ho could do without the assistance of his customers. Mr. H. M— d, butcher, of Hackney- road, to treat his father's customers with more civility, and tho mother of the above to look with suspicion upon the bottle. Mr. C. F— r, of the City of Carlisle, Shoreditch, not to allow a parcel of boys and girls to assemble in his bouse and remain until midnight. Mr. M— n, of the Irish public house, Kingsland- road, not to allow a parcel of girls and boys to danco in his house till daylight begins to peep. Mr. G— n, the draper, of Lambs- Conduit- street, to bo liberal at his table to tho young men, and more especially to the young females. Miss A—, tho green- grocer's daughter of South- street, Manchester- square, not to encourage gossippiug- in her father's shop, but attend to tho business, and also mend her brother's clothes. The servant at the Toa- pot, next door, not to run into the shop of the above for a little gossip every minute she has to spare. H. B— n. ( the did you ever see tho boar) of Star- street, Paddington, not to tell so many lies when he visits the Harrow- road; telling the out patients that ho intends putting all Paddington iu Paul Pry. Paul thinks if he were to attend n little more to his father's shop, it would be more to his credit. E. B— n, the sister of the above, to be more circumspect in her dress and actions. B— i, not to use so much paint on his face the next time he dines at the Bank of England tavern; for Paul assures him that he is a beauty without paint. W— d, of the tripe shop, Edgeware- road, to let his wife have a little money to buy a pair of breeches, as it looks bad for her to be seen wearing her husband's. The landlady of the Grand Junction public- house, Praed- street, Paddington, not to mix so much sugar and water with her beer, and also, to fill the pints and quarts; and when a respectable female enquires for her husband, to answer them civilly, not as Paul heard you the other night snapping like a dog. Mrs. E— n, of Crown- street, Little Russell- street, not to be so busy with her neighbours' affairs, but to attend more to her own; the next time ( old lady) I'aul catches you at it, you will hear of something to your advantage, which may cause your pretty- like nose to tremble. Mr. B— i, the conceited little spooney of CrownCourt, Little Russell- street, not to be so fond of being out at night; but to pay more attention to his charming second wife, who is much too good for him. Take care, young man, or Paul may, as he next goes through Covent Garden Market, upset your stall for you. H. P— t, the printer, not many miles from Corporation- lane, Clerkenwcll, to pay more attention to his wife, instead of the servant girl. Paul thinks, Harry, you had quite enough to pay for without longing for any more, you know what. G. II—, one of the Royal footmen, in Park- lane, not to write so much to Mrs. M—, in Derbyshire; or else Paul must inform that dark young fellow that is in Hertford- shire. Do as you would be done by, old fellow. Paul hopes you will take his kind advice, if not, we really must give you another poke. PROVINCIAL. NEWCASTLE.— Miss J. D— y, the butcher's daughter, of Stamfordham- place, not to go strutting about with that vinegar merchant. Paul would advise her to sack him as soon as possible. Frank G— t, alias " Little Barnard Castle Ginger- bread puppy," not to be seen with Howe's confectioners, Cloth Market, at the " White Hart" public house, at all hours of the night, threatening to put people into Paul Pry. Re- member, Paul has his eye upon your conference, held every night, and he will give you all a poke with his stunning um- brella, if you do not reform. That great stupid ass, J. T— n, of Dean- street, not to brag so much to Paul of his fine tenor voice, for Paul thinks Billy K— n, can sing much better then he can. How about the young girl's thixig- a- merry and petticoats. Have you sent them home yet. Mr. William A— 3, clerk in the District Bank, to keep better hours and not to run from the green doors. Pilgrim- street, without, ja copper in his pocket. Is that massive watch chain gold or brass, William? Paul thinks the 1 atter; guess he's right too. Jim II— d, the general- useful lad to the surgeon, in Hood- street, not to stand scratching a certain place in the public streets, as it does not look well. How is Scotch Kate, old boy? Tom C— s, the grocer's- assistant, in Pilgrim- street, to wash his face when he comes out, as it does not look well to have the grease running down his chops. Jack M— o, the nobby painter's boy, of Gallowgate, not to cut it so fat with his masl er's housemaid, so as to pass his old acquaintances, without speaking; remember the time you wore the livery, Jack? That bubbly looking customer, R— k, hardware- shop boy, of Dean- street, not to have quite so much extra lip to set up to every body, but try and pay the poor old woman that 17 bob for black puddings and tripe. Paul knows all about it. Frank C— e, the would- be auctioneer, Market- street, to stick a little better to the " knocking down system," and not go guzzling and tippling to Ben F— k's so often, or Paul will drop on your smeller with his screener. J— h II— t, to mind the yeast trade better, and try to keep off the town, or beware of Mr. Pry. Miss T— n, Nelson- street, not to sit up at nights with Mr. II— h, ' tis dangerous. How about the little kiddy ? J— s H— h, the fat landlord, of Cowgate, to take care, as Paul has his eye on him. Mr. T. M— 1, flour- dealer, not to wink at the ladies as they pass, because he has got 2s. 6d. a week to pay, and will soon have 5s., as Paul thinks he had better keep a little within doors. Total Jack's daughter, of Buckingham- street, not to wear that cabish hat of her, as Paul thinks it is not becoming, it would look a little better on his side if ho was to give the horses one feed more of corn in the course of the day. J. B— n, grocer, not to be so fopisli and think so much of himself, and not to go with so many girls or else Paul will tell Miss X. L. and Miss Somebody else. SOUTH SHIELDS.— R— h R— d, alias " Dick Turpin," barber's clerk, of Barrington- street, not to brag so much of going to sea, because, have you forgot Hull and the Pawn shops, where H. B—' s clothes were pawned? A. W— t, glass cutter, better known by the " Talented Darkey," not to go about telling people you can play the accordion. You can't play the " darkey," let alone the ac- cordion, old boy; and what reasons have you to annoy the whole town when it is a d d lie? You say you can ance the Highland Fling on your head, which Paul believes to be the only thing true, therefore say no more about your play- ing on the accordion, and dancing the Highland Fling on your head, my man. W. L— e, plate glass cutter, better not go so often to a cer- tain hotel, near the ferry, but to get married as soon as pos- sible, before you are liable to 2s. 6d. a week. H. T— n, crown glass cutter, not to go to G. D— n, to play at billiards and checkers, but to keep a little sober, as Paul saw him the other morning going home cracked. Take care, or Paul will have another squiz at you. Ralph R— d, alias " Nosey," not to frequent a certain house in North Shields, or he will be liable to 2s. 6d. per week. How about the boy's clothes and the Hull touch. David II— s, alias " Daffy Swab," not to be seen sponging on the little apprentice boys about the place, and when beastly drunk, telling them he can thrash their fathers. Edward W— n, alias the " Darkie Squint," and his cousin J. G— Us, not to be seen at a certain house at North Shields, trying to sing the Englishman, and other songs. Paul thinks their voices would suit better in crying coals in penny- worths. Hance D— m, glass maker, alias tho " Ragged Swell," not to be seen in such a dirty condition at Snowdon's corner, as Paul thinks soap is cheap, and with little trouble, and his father's done up hat, he might look a little bettor. J. T— e, glass maker, alias " Pug," not to be so conceited about his tambourine playing, as he knows as much about keeping time as Paul's pig. Miss S— k A— n, Clay Path- lane, to mind what she is after with J. G— y, the grocer, and not to lose him as she did Mr. B— n, as there is a certain wealthy widow has her eye upon him. R. A— n, of Black Bull Bank, not to sneak after Miss M. A— n, bonnet maker, Market- place, or Paul will wipe his nose with you, when he comes to Shields. Miss S. D—, alias the " Hottentot," of Nile- street, not to imagine she looks well with her fourpence- lialfpenny visite, twopence- halfpenny strawbonnet, and learn to look over sixpenny worth of copper, before she runs after N— g. Mrs. S. D—, better mend her holey stockings than go about tho Black Bull Bank talking about her neighbours, and not to watch so much through her broken window. R. R— n, alias the " Straight- liair'd boy," glass cutter, not to be seen running after Miss H— r, of Green- street, or he will very soon be liable to 2s. 6d. per week. DORSETSHIRE— Putty It— 11, of Wareham, to leave off wearing napkins. Tom A— h, not to pay Rushey Bottom in bad coins, again. Lord Byron H— t, alias Levi the younger, of Wareham, not to walk with " leather" again, or else, Paul will tell Miss W- lls. Charley C— 11, in South- street, Wareham, not to be jealous of the deformed girl, at Dorchester, for there is no need if he continues his payments of 2s. 6d. per week. Snippy C— h II— 11 & Co., of Warcham, not to get beastly drunk in the morning, and set the barbers fighting. Carrotty- haired, squintey B— t, the draper's boy, to behave himself decently when he goes to Wool with the shopwoman. Those hobbly- hoys that visit tho Crown Inn, of Poole, not to be grieved so much because they cannot come out in such tub as they term it. As B— e's yacht, " the little duck," he had better be at home and attending to his poor helpless wife. NORTH SHIELDS— Those conceited girls, A. S- d, M. S— d, F. G— n, and M. P— s, not to encourage the visits of the South Shields pilots, to Milburn- place, as it causes great jealousy in the bosoms of the printer's devils, W—< 1, and D— s, we would further advise the pilots to beware for the above P. D— s have applied to a certain duelist in this town for the loan of his dagger. II. M— Is, Tyne- street, not to make so free with three g'rls that we know, or he will have 7s. 6d. a week to pay. We would advise Jack F— r, the dyer, not to attempt to kick his poor old mother out of her house. Dick and Jim D— y, not to visit Pearson- street so much for fear of stiff mutton. W— m H— t, and R— d D— y, two druggist's apprentices, of Clive- street, not to frequent a certain house in Pearson- street so much. KENT.— Mrs. H— s, of the Horseferry- road, Greenwich, to look after her husband more closely than she has of late, and not suffer him to be so fond of other women. Mr. H. W— t, carpenter, of Lewisham, not to ill use his wife so much, but look more to home, instead of going after the maid servant in Berkeley- square, Piccadilly. ESSEX.— W. H — e, the wheeler, of Epping, to look more at home and not be seen so much with the pork- butcher's daughter. BERKSHIRE.— Mr. C— r's son, at the top of Caversham- road, builder, not to wear his best clothes every night, in the week, or else he will soon have to buy some more for Sundays, and not let him visit bad houses. SURREY.— F. G— y, the flash baker's boy, opposite the Market- house, Chertsey, to shave off that floury substance from his upper lip, or people might take him for a deserter from the regiment of Noodles. H. T— bs, the flash cooper, of Chertsey, not to think he can talk French. Paul thinks him not fit to run alone. Mr. Bill D— n, at the cake- shop, of Egham, to put a bridle on his wife's tongue, and not allow her to bully the maid to the annoyanco of the quiet parish clerk next door. Mr. II— s, the new cobbler, of Egham, to learn to cobble to support his dandy wife, and not to impose so much on his father- in- law. Mr. W— d, alias Nosey, of High- street, Croydon, to pay more attention to his wife, and not to a certain person of the town of Croydon, it would have been more to his credit to have stopped at home with his wife, if you did not like to take her to the fair. Miss Jane C— n, of Violet- lane, Croydon, when she goes to the fair again to get a better partner and not such a clodhopper. Mr. David S— e, of Church- street, Croydon, to pay more attention to business, and not to drink quite so much." Jane saw you on Wendesday evening, in a very intoxicated state. Reform, young man, before it is too late. Mr. R— e, alias Juniper Rudge, of Bell- hill, Croydon, not to sing quite so much through the street, aud not to think so much of himself, as Paul thinks he is more like a stuffed turkey than anything else. Miss Lucy G— n, of Croydon, not to think that she can dance, as Paul thinks but very little of her. A certain baker, of Church- street, Croydon, not to let his daughter run about the streets quite so much, as Paul thinks it will do her no good. James L— d, of Dark- hill, Croydon, not to shew his set of grinders quite so much when lie laughs, as Paul knows he can peck people's eyes out when hungry. The groom at Mr. R— s, Duppas. hill- lano, Croydon, not to be so conceited. EXETER.— Eyre K— n, to pay for the image he broke at G—' s, and not waste his time, nor be so bumptious to think he can find out who put him in Paul Pry, ' tis no go, my buck. Eliz. K—, and Eliz. G—, those flash girls, not to parade the streets every evening, and pass remarks on every one they meet. The masters S— d, F— t, and W— n, those dirty swells, to walk thro' the streets quietly, and not appear to be so fast, as we know their governors can't afford it. Those would- be gents, not to stand at a certain tobac- conist- shop passing remarks, and puffing in the girls face3 as they pass, or Paul will tell your papas. The black giants, Misses E—, aud T. T— s, Paul- street, not to select, or take so much notice of that company that is so much above their station, it is far from respectable. Keep your eyes from Pye's menagerie, Paul is in the habit of taking a cigar there. Miss E. T— s, don't be seen any more with Eyre K— n again, nor dress so much like a mag- pie. Mary A— g, at the washhouse, N. B— terrace, David's- hill, and her companion, Miss R— d, in tho Island, not to profess so much modesty when in some company. W. R— y, of the K. A—, St. Sidwell's, is requested to clip the wings of those two ignorant young fools, Charley R— c, and Harry D:— r, who patronise his establishment under the auspices of the discarded ' bus- driver, Jem St— ns. Fatty R— n, alias " Penny Trumpet," to stay more at home, and teach his wife housekeeping. Charley T— n, alias " Nummer," not to be so often with loose girls in Lion's Holt, it must cost a good deal of money, some of which the barber in High- street, would be glad to place to his small account. W. T— 11, the blustering lawyer's boy, not to talk so much about sporting, nor think every girl he sees is in love with him; the language he is in the habit of using is disgusting. The slander loving family, ; of tho B— ms, alias " Ban- trum," not a 100 miles from the lower market, Milk- street. Bella B— m, that pevish old maid, if she cannot enjoy herself, not to mar the pleasure of others. How about that cliap you thought to hook, matrimonially ? John B— m, that swearing blustering fellow, to attend more to liis business and less to a certain class of girls. Has Fanny given you the slip, old hoy? The well known Susan B— m, to mind her own business, and leave other persons alone; never set strife among mar- ried people, as you did between a ccrtain cheese- dealer and his wife. I know you are badly in want of a husband. Should I come across a fool I will recommend him to you. Marian B— m, not to affect the lady, and backbite her neighbours. If she does not leave off her common dresses, made up so showily, she may be mistaken for a nymph of the pave. Emma B— m, when she next attends the Athenaeum, not to pretend to faint. It is a stale game, my lass, and will do you no credit. W. T— 1, not far from Park- place, not to invite young ladies to take a glass of wine and only three- halfpence to pay for it— not to walk so much with that Alphington girl, or else the governor will have 2s. 6d. a week to pay. C. B. I'— 1, not far from Little Stile, South- street, not to admire his legs so much, for they are not so handsome— nor to spend so much time at that public house in Paris- street. G. P—, brother of the above, that conceited puppy that curls his hair every morning, to carry a looking glass in his pocket to view himself at the office. How about the gar- dener's daughter on the Heavitree- road? She had better mind what she is about, and not speak 10 such a cove. J. B. L— y, not 100 miles from the Cathedral Yard, not to fancy himself so extensive, because Eyre K— n and Com- pany patronised him to do the dirty work of the late fancy ball. Miss A. E. L—, at Mr. L—' s, Magdalen- street, to quit Miss S. R—- l's company, and not to be seen again with those 4 PAUL PRY ; THE REFORMER OF THE AGE. 4 broadway swells, T. W— n and the boy. Mrs. H. 1 « '— t, take warning by this. Miss E—, it will provo more credit to you in the end. G. E— s, with the auburn curled hair, near the London- inn, not to visit that profligate house so constantly, not far from his own dwelling. How about the girl at Elden- place? Don't be so fond of dark walks, G—, as mischief will termi- nate— walk where you may be seen. W. B— c, the cricketers think that 2s. 6d. is too much for merely sewing their ball. t . Tos T— 11, alias " tho Barbor's Pole," the conceited swell who generally carries a very heavy load on his back, to pay his friend the tin he borrowed some months since, and bo a little less pompous in his manner. If you do not comply with this friendly advice, we shall give you another slap very soon. Eyre K— n, not to make so much to do about being put in P. P., and tolling parties he would give twenty pounds if he could find wha it was, as Paul thinks it would be better for him to pay the poor fisherman he had in his employ a short time ago. How about the silver plate and Inters, old fellow? J. R. L— g, to pay the porson for the loan of the dress he borrowed to attend a fancy ball. J. L— y, North- street, to discontinue spending so much of his time on Sunday evenings with the daughter of a certain linen- draper, in the High- street. How about going to Trinity church with her, and also at Miss II— tt's party? Richard S— r, tailor, not to be seen again in Georges- lane, with that very loose girl. Paul has had occasion to give you some some advice for a long time past, but you seem to take no notice of it. Beware, young Bamly ? Harry S— d, Walter R— e, and W. It— d, not to quarrel when " they next play at skittles, at; the Grayhonnd. Who don't you each pay Mr. H— e, the 2s. you had of him. You better join the Literary Society. W. P. W— y, opposite St. Sidwell's church, had better leave of clipping the Queen's English, and not be so fond of attending Miss H— t's. sixpenny hop. Paul also wishes him not to sssume so much consequence at Mr. B— ys in the Bontray. If he doos not take Paul's advice, he will be at him again. > The notorious Richard A— e, alias Oliver Twist, alias Assefetida;, and the intended ; husband of E. B., not to fancy himself an out and out gentleman with his everlasting paletot. Paul thinks^ him an out and out ass. Who pays for your kids, old dunderhead? I— d, we mean him that is green, to leave off promena- ding that part of High- street opposite to the West of England Eire Office, waiting for his chcr amie, M. B. We think he has a soft placc in his head, or he would not make such a fool of himself, boys like him should go home when they leave work. W. E— s, Tinman, aliaB Lord Byron, talking about the enormous business he has got. How about, the castle? and death- like hue. He leaves the theatre tired, both mentally and bodily, enters the public house used by the company, takes a pull at the heavy man's heavy, passes the compliments of the night to tho company there happens to be present, buttons his threadbare coat close up to his chin ( closer, if possible, than usual), presses his faded tile further on his head, and rushes out to meet the inclemcncy of a wet November night. He dashes along the dark deserted streets, until he arrives at a narrow and deplorable looking court, which he goes down at a marvellous rate, makes a full stop at the front of a crazy and dilapidated looking old house, thrusts his hand into his pocket, and after ' much fumbling, produces the door key— applies it to the lock— turns it, and lie is " at home." After having climbed up three flights of creaking stairs next ( not without making many false steps, and terrifying an assembly of dissolute cats), he enters his own mysterious cabin, lights a match, conveys the blue and sputtering flame to a very dirty and yellow- looking candle, which throws its sickly gleam on the naked walls, and scanty furniture ( if it may be so termed); thus revealing the mise- rable abode and cheerlcss home of the poor and neglected " Super." LETTER- BAG. SKETCHES BY " MASCUS." No. I.— THE SUPERNUMERARY. SHAKESPEAR very justly remarks that " All the world's a stage, and that we arc the actors." Alas! we are, and very difficult and perplexing parts the majority of us have to perform. Some basking, as it were, in the warm lap of luxury aud affluence, and others chilled and hardened by the cold hands of crime and starvation. Therefore, to use the theatrical phrase, we may designate the former as doing the light comedy and walking business, and the latter the heavy work. Now the hero of our present sketch is not, as the greater part of our readers are doubtless aware, confined to anything in particular, but to everything in general, for neither play, burlesque, farce, nor in fact anything, can proceed without his valuable assistance; for would any of our present day performers disgrace the profession or them- selves, by lugging an ugly and, tremendous- sized table covered with all the dainties of a theatrical banquet, or to be tripped up by that horrid and wicked- disposed clown, or—, but the idea is a glaring absurdity, therefore we conclude that he ( the super) is a more useful auxiliary to the theatre than is generally supposed. But come, say you, " give us the promised sketch." Dear reader, 1 obey, and now to " fire away." The Supernumerary, or to use the familiar theatrical appellation, the " Super" is a gentleman of a peculiar con- struction, and differs iu a great many respects from an ordinary individual. He may very often be seen lounging about the stage doors of any of our London theatres, or sometimes in the public houses in their immediate vicinity. You are at once struck with his somewhat singular appear- ance, his long lank hair, without the shadow of a curl, and his dark snnken eyes strongly contrasting with the deadly pallor of his lean and care- worn countenance. His rusty aud napless hat, and seedy and threadbare coat bidding defiance to his constant but useless endeavours of appearing gentlemanlike in his external deportment, and in couscquence of the awful state of his trowsers and boots ( Oh!) the attempt proves a miserable failure. He will persist in strap- ping his trowsers, which are generally extremely short, con- sidering the length of his legs, tightly down to his boots, and buttoning his coat almost up to his chin, and walking with a noiseless aud swaggering step ( the noiseless step is occa- sioned by tho indifferent state of his boots). When he is fulfilling an engagement his life is a very trying, as well as an exceedingly tiring one. He experiences many difficulties, but receives very little recompense, lie possesses a warm and good natured- heart, but pecuniary pressure causes him to appear penurious. He is commonly the representative of the following distinguished characters, 9nd and 3rd citizen in the historical business; Ist policeman of divisions un- armed; head waiter at unkmwn taverns; 1st grinning yokel in melo- dramas; sheriffs officers; trustworthy flunkies; and pantomime demons innumerable. He is never, upon any consideration whatever, entrusted upon the stage with more than one line of an easy part, his power of eloquence being limited. It is wonderful to behold his onacting the diligent " bobby," and likewise to see how naturally lie grasps the formidable staff, and how seeming unmercifully he belabours the supposed offenders. The well- known shorn of " move on," is so beautifully delivered by his vocal organs, that it is known on some occasions to elicit one round from the gods. Nor is his dramatic genius confined to this line alone, for his enters and exits as the active waiter, and his carrying a mul- titude of chairs and tables at one grasp, is quite prodigious. Again comes talent in the shape of third countryman; although this is a mute performance, yet it is a very creditable one, for lie can give that silent chuckle— a peculiar charac- teristic in the rustic tribe— in a manner so delightful, that it is quite refreshing to behold him. And equally as deserv- ing ot praise is the delineation of every character— such as it is— allotted to him. The Super has to brook with many taunts and insults from his superiors (?) in the company, without being able to retaliate with even as much as a murmur, lost he get instantly dismissed. The Super having finished his evening's toil, inflicts a sanitary operation upon himself with very strong yellow soap, which effaces the red daub of paint from hi? " phiz" and imparts tp it a gbastl/ DEAR PAUL— I beg, through the medium of your valuable and widely- circulated journal, to inform your readers of some disgraceful proceedings, which occurred at the Albert Saloon on Tuesday last. The night being set apart for the benefit of Sam Atkyns, the performances commenced with the Black Doctor, in which Mr. and Mrs. Hicks sustained the principal charactcrs. This passed off pretty well, after which, along with a variety of singing and dancing, a Mr. Taylor was announced to give imitations of London performers. The curtain rose for A Day after the Wedding, without the said gentleman appear- ing, and when the piece commenced ( although Sam himself — the veritable Sam— played in it) all was noise, confusion, and uproar, to the annoyance of all peaceably disposed per- sons and the respectable portion or the audience. Finding he could not proceed with the piece, Sam came forward and informed the " gods," " that Mr. Taylor had not yet arrived; that he had not the slightest doubt, as the evening was not yet far advanced, Mr. Taylor would be there and oblige them with what they required." This piece hardly got a hearing, although it was the only one he appeared in during the evening, for it was interrupted by the most foul sayings and allusions. The last piece was The Bear Hunters, announced to be performed by an amateur club. The curtain rose for this piece without Mr. Taylor and a Mr. Rowcll, who was to have sung The Ship on Fire, having appeared. The noise which now followed was tremendous. Wo have never wit- nessed such a sccne; howlings, hissings, whistlings, foul oaths, and screechings, were now the order of the night. You would have thought Pandemonium had broken loose. All this the amateur club bore patiently for some time, no doubt thinking it would shortly subside. But, no; louder and louder still grew the groans, hisses, foul sayings, and oaths, uttered by this congregation of sweeps, costermongers, and pickpockets, until, very properly, the amateurs who had paid Sam in hard cash for their characters, walked off the stage and left him and his blackguard supporters to them selves. Immediately the curtain fell, on rushed Sam, hat in hand, and flushed with apparent indignation ( but we think it was with " Hodge's best") and addressed his filthy admirers nearly in the following terms:— Ladies and gentlemen (?)! ( the howling audience was quiet on the appeal of this Moroic) " since I have been a candidate for public favour and a mem- ber of the theatrical profession, I have never mot with such disgraceful conduct; two of the gentlemen have undressed themselves and left the theatre; but it serves me right for having anything to do with amateurs." Now, we would ask Mr. Atkyns— in the name of every thing that is fair— why he had not considered beforehand, having had anything to do with amateurs? He handled their money and pronounced it good— he pocketted it and felt very comfortable— he found himself in a mess through the non- appearance of two of his friends, and made the ama- teurs his scape- goat; he forgot, in his final appeal, that he had not performed all that he had promised in his bills, and was, therefore, glad to shift the blame off his own shoulders. We would have Mr. Atkyns consider, when next he reviles novices in the histrionic art, what he himself is: if he does not know, we beg leave to tell him, for his information, that he is a ranting muff: we go on the principle laid down by Burns:— " Oh! that some power the gift would gie us, To see ourselves as others see us." We have only to say, in conclusion, that if Mr. Atkyns has no intention of behaving properly for the future, we will read him another lecture. Your sincere well- wisher, DELTA. GLASGOW. Uth October, 1849. MY DEAR UNCLE,— Your nameless Glasgow correspon- dent, of the 24th of September, must be a queer cove, at least if he resembles his letter. He waits ( not patiently) till Saturday, when lie might en- liven his Friday afternoons with your jeux d'esprit. lie says he takes the bit out of my mouth about the saloons: where I, am at a loss to conceive, for he has not described either one or other of the saloons, so I suppose I have to do it yet. I will try to fulfil it next week. We had Sontag, Thalberg, and Lablache, in the City Ilall, last night, and are to havo Alboni and others next week. " We're coming it strong"—" slightly, rayther." Promising a longer letter, with some advice, soon, I remain, dear Uncle, Your obedient Nephew, ADAM PRY THE YOUNGER. NEWCASTLE. DEAR PAUL,— I send you the following particulars of a great pedestrian fete which was announced to come off here a few days ago, but one of the parties declined. The par- ties are Sandy B— s, a confectioner with a wooden leg, aud Tom S— t, alias KNEE- bucliad nezzar, a pieman in Newgate- street, whose legs very much resemble the letter X, The match was made at S— t's house, and a forfeit paid down, and everything ready for the race, the men put into train- ing, & c., & c. When the appointed day arrived, everything was put into order. A cab waited at B—' s door for him; but B— s declined rinning, as lie said he thocht he was nae motch for S— t, the distance being no farther than from Harry W— r's, in Clayton- street, to W— d's, in Drury lane. This race causcd such a row by B— s no rinning, that he is obliged to keep the house, and not be seen in the street, or he may expect a regular pummelling by his backers, viz., Bill D— n, Geordy E— e, Jack S— t, Jim S— n, and two or thfe? others of the spieey tribe. Yours, & c., CORRESPONDENCE. J. C. ( Exeter.)— Not the slightest objection. SNOOKS.— We have several correspondents in your locality, or wc should be most happy to receive your contributions. However, you may send us one now and then, and we will insert them. LYNX EYES ( Chertiey.)—" The Farrier's Guide," published, wo believe, by Longman, is as good a book upon the sub- ject, as you can obtain anywhere. W. G.— We have no recollection of leaving any of your correspondence out; but, if we did so, you may depend upon it we had a very good reason for so doing. PROCRASTINATION.— Wo make no doubt wc could obtain the numbers for you. A. B.— The articles, of which you complain, were inserted in the following week's publication, after receipt thereof. JANE.— Most distinctly, no. If you only knew how sorry we were when we found you were the one chosen, and yet so glad to think wo had sufficient discernment to pick out the golden casket, you would, most certainly, pity our hard case; inasmuch, as we are corresponding with the shadow, the substance never within our reach. If there was a possibility of finding so sweet an incognito, you may depend upon it, Paul has sufficient gallantry to travel far and near in search of the same. We are highly flattered by our choice. PHILLIS.— Write again. We are never tired of hearing from the ladies. JONATHAN.— We really cannot inform you. Though we do know almost everything, your question is a complete puzzler. RPAKE CARE OF YOUR TEETH! If your Teeth are discoloured from neglect, aud there is an accu- mulation of Tarter upon them, it is offensive to tho sight, imparts a foulness to the breath, and destroys the Teeth and Gums, producing Scurvy, & c., have it instantly removed, and your Teeth beautifully burnished, for Is, 6d., by MR. ALEXANDER, Dentist, 74, St. Martin's Lane. Jf your Teeth are Decayed, have them immediately Stopped with a pure and harmless substance, invented by Mr. Alexander, preventing Tooth Ache and further decay, for Is. The Teeth will then be rendered sound and useful as ever, and the disease prevented from affecting the adjoining Teeth. If, however, from inattention to those rules, you have lost your Teeth, have them immediately replaced by the successful and scientific methods used by Mr. Alexander, by which the extraction of roots, or any painful operation is rendered unnecessary, for 2s. 6d per Tooth, or you will entail upon yourself the numerous diseases which indigestion gives rise to, from insufficient mastication of the food, besides the great disfigurement of the faoe, which loss of Teeth occasions. In cases of Extraction of the Teeth, they are generally wrenched out with brute force, regardless of the various directions of the fangs of each, producing incalculableinjury, great and unnecessary pain, and frequent loss of portions of the jaw. Have your's extracted by Mr. Alexander's newly- iuvented instruments, causing the least possible pain, for 6d. MR. ALEXANDER, DENTIST, 74, St. Martin's Lane, near Long Acre. ( From Mr. Gavin's 23, Southampton Street, Strand.) ' PRIVATE HINTS on all SECRET DISEASES, Generative Weakness, and Nervous Debility, & c., with Halh Directions for Cure, price Sixpcnoe, post- free Eiglitpence. BYDR WALTON, M. R. C. S., & c , who may be confidentially consulted ( without a fee) from 8 a. m. to 10 p. m., daily, at his residence, No. 55, Gt. Queen Street, Liucoln's- Inn- Fields. Established Twenty Years. Gonorrhoea and ordinary cases of Syphilis perfectly eradi- cated wltliln a week. Persons labouring under Seminal Weakness or Nervous Debility, restored to vigorous health in one month. Country patients fully describing their complaints, ago, habits, and sex, can have a Case of Medicine forwarded with the greatest se- cresy, sufficient to effect a complete cure. N. B.— Medicine with advice forwarded, sub rosa, immediately on the reccipt of one pound. All letters promptly answered. YOU MAY BE CURED YET. HOLLO WAY'S OINTMENT. CUBE or RitEUMATtSH AND RHEUMATIC GOUT.— Extract of a Letter from Mr. Thomas Brunton, Land lord of the Waterloo Tavern Coatham, Yorkshire, late of the Life G uards, dated Septembcr28th, 1848 To PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY - SIR,— For a long time 1 was a Martyr to Rheumatism and Rheumatic Gout, and for ten weeks previous to using your medicines, I was so bad as not to be able to walk 1 had tried doctoring and medicines of every kind, but all to no avail indeed I daily got worse, aud felt that I must shortly die. From see- ing your remedies advertised in the paper I take in, I thought I would give them a trial. I did so. 1 rubbed the Ointment in as directed, and kept cabbage leaves to the part thickly spread with it and took the Pills night and morning. In three weeks I was enabled to walk about for an hour or two in the day with a stick, and in seven weeks 1 could go any where without one. I am now, by the blessing of God and your medicines, quite well, and have been attending to my business for more than seven months, without any symptoms of the return of my old complaint, Besides my case of Rheumatic Gout, I have lately had proof that your Pills and Ointment will heal any old wound or ulcer as amarried woman, living near me, had had a bad leg for four years, which no one could cure, and I gave her som- of your Pills and Ointment which soundly healed it when nothing else would do it, For your information I had the honor to serve my counlryf or twenty- five years in the first regiment of Life Guards, and was eighteen years a Corporal. I was two years in the Peninsula War, and was at the Battle of Waterloo. 1 was discharged with a pension on the 2nd September, 1833. The Commanding Officer at the time, was Colonel Lygon, who isjnow a General. I belonged to the troop of Captain the Honourable Henry Baring. ( Signed) THOMAS BRUNTON CURE OF A BAD LEO OF TWENTY ONE VEARS' STANDING — Ex" tract of a Letter from Mr. Andrew Brack, Blacksmith, Eyemouth near Berwick, dated the 10th of August, 1848. To PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY.— SIN, - With pleasure and gratitude have to inform you that after suffering lor twenty- one years with a bad leg, which yielded to no kind of treatment, although 1 consulted at different times, every medical man of eminence in this part of the Country, but all to no purpose. I was frequently unable to work- and the pain and agony I often endured no one can tell. My leg is now as sound as ever it was in my life by means of your Pills and Ointment, which I purchased from Mr. I. Davidson, Druggist, Ber- wick upon- Twecd, who knows my case well, and will, I am sure be happy to certify with me, if necessary, as to the truth of this wonder- ful curc. ( Signed) ANDREW BRACK. AMPUTATION OF Two IPES PREVENTEP.— Extract of a Letter from Mr. Oliver Smith Jenkins, dated Falkirk, August 13tli, 1848. ' To PROFESSOR HOLLOWAY.— SIR,— I was superintending about six months ago, the erection of one of our Railway Bridges, and by the all of a large stone my right foot was seriously bruised, which ulti- mately got so bad, that I was advised to go to Edinburgh to consult some of the eminent Surgeons, which I did, and was told that in order to save my foot, two of my toes must be taken off. In despair I returned home to impart the melancholy news to my wife, intending jto submit to the operation, it was then a thought struck me to try your valuable Ointment and Tills, which I did, and was by their means in three weeks enabled to resume my usual occupation, and at this time my toes are perfectly cured. ( Signed) OLIVER SMITH JENKINS. AN EXTRAORDINARY CURE OF A DESPERATE SKI. V DISEASE.- On the 21st. 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