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The Town


Printer / Publisher: W. Winn 
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 54
No Pages: 4
The Town page 1
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The Town

Date of Article: 01/01/1850
Printer / Publisher: W. Winn 
Address: 34, Holywell street, Strand
Volume Number:     Issue Number: 54
No Pages: 4
Sourced from Dealer? No
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No. 54 ] rMSSI PUBLISHED WEEKLY. Price Id.— per post 2( 1. ( the Office, for Eighteen Stamps- j por remote parts, Single Copies may be sent direct from the Office, for 2 Postage Stamps, or 26 Stamps per Quarter. May be had complete in One Part, Price Two Shillings. [ BY H. G. BROOKS,] Sent, per Post, by adding Six Postage Stamps. ' NO DOOR- MAT TO- NIGHT.' BY AMBROSE HUDSON. Mrs. Bamaby White was a magnificent woman. There could not be a question about her beauty. True she was inclined to the large and majestic; but then, there was such a soft sleepiness in her lazy swimming blue eyes, and such a delicate unctuousness about the chiselling of her under- lip, that you could not look at her once, without regarding her a second time, and the proba- bility was, that at the first glance you thought her a very desirable oreature, aud at the second you were over head and ears in love with her. Now this was clearly no fault of Mrs. Barnaby White's. So thought Charley HoBkins one night near twelve o'clock, when he sat in the lady's dining- room, drinking champagne out of tumblers, while his right arm encircled the springy waist of the fair char- mer. Rat- tat- to- ratat- tat- i AX ! ' Good gracious! Charley,' cried the lady, • it is my little wretch of a Barnaby. What's to be done ? ' Knock him down with the bootjack!' replied the lover. ' No, sir,' exclaimed Mrs. B. W. with a pout and a smile, ' it is very wrong of him to come home when I expected him to stop out, but he must not be injured, at least by force. Again went the knocker— rat- tat- to- ra- tat, and after much per- suasiun, as there was no chance of escape, Charley ' tucked iu his " Why, Hannah Maria, how stout you get ?" " Lor' aunt, I CANT CONCEIVE what you mean." two- penny' and crept under the sofa, the damask covering of which sufficiently concealed him. Mrs. Barnaby White extracting a comb and a hair- pin, allowed her ringlets to fall over her shoulders, and extinguishing the wax lights, and kicking her satin slippers under the sofa to console Charles in her absense, flat candlestick in hand, crossed the hall. ' Who is it V cried the lady, through the key- hole of the hall- door. ' All right. That you, my dear ? It is your precious Barnaby come back to comfort you.' The ripe beauty had no one to witness her pretty acting, but she made a face at the knocker, and hissed through the key- hole. ' Go away, my good man, whoever you are, your're an improper character. Barnaby White is far away from this, and you want to get admittance where you have no business, sir, but you have mistaken the house, there are only virtuous women here, and the lady you mean, I'm sure would rather die, than let you in.' ' Mary Anne, my love, I know you would; but pray open the door, for it is blowing very fresh round the corner, I'm shivering all over, and its only me.' Mrs. B. W. pretended to be convinced, and Mr. B, W. was ad- mitted. He was a little pale- faced man with a sharp nose, and eyes like those of a white rabbit. In fact, he struck you imme- diately you saw him, as being somewhat animal, though, it might be difficult to say which preponderated in his composition, the rat, the monkey, or the water spaniel. He was evidently hen- pecked, and when he offered to embrace his wiie, for her heroic virtue, she repulsed him with— ( See Page 2). ' You had better go to bed, sir, it is quite enough to call me to the door to let you in at all hours of the night; without any more of your tipsy nonsense.' ' Tipsy, Mrs. White I I'm as sober as a judge.' Andjto do him justice so the little man was, though, as she willed it otherwise, he dared not contradict her. When Barnaby walked into his dining room, his astonishment was great at the remains of the banquet, but his wife explained the matter, by saying her physician had been to see her as she was unwell, and kindly stayed supper. ' I hope, ducky,' suggested the husbaud, ' he don't take guinea fees as well as champagne.' ' Barnaby White, you're a fool. Go to bed, sir.' Barnaby took up a flat candlestick and was already on his way, when Charley popped his head from under the sofa. ' Ulloa! Mary Anne,' cried he, ' what is to be done now ?' I can't find the way out. Here's a fix.' ' You found the way in, Charley, and ought to be able to do the reverse, but be quiet, and I will be with you again soon.' Kisses were blown, and those highly improper lovers parted. Mr. and Mrs. B. White had been some time in bed when a noise was heard as though somebody had upset a chair. ' There are thieves in the house,' exclaimed the plump lady sitting up, ' and to think that girl is gone to see her mo- ther.' ' Why goodness me! my dear,' exclaimed her white and shiver- ing spouse,' what could one of her sex have done?' ' There, don't say another word, you will drive me mad! What' » T H E TOWN. 3 the us « of a man I should like to know— oertaiuly not such as you, Mr. White!' ' My duck!' ' Don't duck me, sir, take your duck in the water.' ' Why, Mary Anne, you're not going down stairs; it frightens me to death to think of such a thing.' Rut the 1- idy had relumed her candle, and with that in one baud and a little bright poker under her arm, looked resolute. ' I tell you, there are thieves in the house. At all events I shall go and see. As I'm a little uervous— though, thank Heaven 1 I have more courage than you, sir— and it will be a good plan to frighten the robbers— keep on pulling that bell till I come up again. Now, never leave off, fur your life; there's the bell- rope ju.- t at jour head. I'll lock you in, in case anybody Bhould hurt you, before I get back. She dirt ns she said, and proceeded down- stairs, while poor little, quivering, shaking, Buruaby White, swayed his body baek- wa. ds ami forwards in the bed, as with both arms raised above his little knowledge- box, ho never ceased to pull tho bell most lustily. All the tiu. e, the moonlight came smilingly in at the win- dow, aud a rakish, fantastic beam danced on the oscillating tassel of Barnaby's wfiite cotton nightcap. But Mrs. Barnaby White had been a long time rinding the thieves.— Well, that was her business. Where was she then? On the door mat. She was bidding Charley adieu, and undoing the fastenings, when a more violent jerk at the bell than usual be- trayed the impaiience or alarm of the gentleman upstairs. ' Why, how you start,' whispered Charley. ' Is that surprising, don't 6eM( e) « always jump at a ring, but perhaps you think, oeing married, the joke is lost.' ' I am thinking only when 1 am to see you again.' ' The evening after to- morrow, unless anything happens to the contrary, nud then—' ' Then what?' ' I will put au advertisement in the Times which you alone shall comprehend—' • And that will be—' ' No DOOR- MAT TO- NIGHT.' But one kiss, and half a squeeze, aud then the door was softly opened, and as softly shut again, and all was still save the bell pulled by Barnaby. Alas! he had been unconsciously ringing the knell of his own honor. Whether it was, that he became sharper after the occurrences of that evening, a id that liis suspicions were awakened, we know not, but it is quite certain that on more than one occasion after- wards, tho world wus startled, worried and perplexed, by a brief, mysterious advertisement, heading the second column of the first page of the Times, ' No DOOR- MAT TO- NIGHT.' Reader! at least we know what it meant. MISS AND HER AUNT. ( See Engraving.) THE TRICKS OF OUR TIMES. THEATRICAL HUMBUG. In looking at our first illustration this week, we are struck by the developement of beauties in the person of the younger lady, and the attire in which she is clothed. Her skipping- rope, and trowsers, and holiday- air, proclaim the school girl, but the exqui- site roundness of those shoulders, and the budding contour of that swelling neck, proclaim the woman in ber first maturity. There can be no doubt that the entire system of education, of both sexes, and in all e asses, throughout the country, is consti- tuted, and at. present conducted on entirely erroneous principles — in happy England— where the nigger slave sets his foot and be- comes a free man, and the native wretch, who is only a white woman, literally dies of starvation— as was instanced the other day at Southampton— those who have money, fool it away, teaching their children that which is needless or frivolous and they must necessarily forget, while those who have not, must be content for their children to scramble through life as best they may. Perhaps, the system persued in English Ladies' Schools generally, is most obnoxious to good order and morality. Dr Ryan in his celebrated work, ' The Statistics of Prostitution,' states that more works of au obscene and immoral character are introduced surreptitiously through the agency of servants into girl's boarding schools, and sold in consequence, than by any other means. The ill results may be guessed, and though we believe there is more fun than evil in our youthful, bouncing, bounding heroine of the front page, yet we are fearful that on the great majority of accomplised boarding- school misses we could not pass the same lenient sentence. ROMANCE AND REALITY. An anecdote is floating about whioh may serve as a sort of pen- dant to the famous story of the man— and by the way he was not such a fool, perhaps, as he was generally reckoned— who preferred dumplings to metaphysics. A friend of the celebrated Dr. Layard, who is now prosecuting his researches after the antique— was expatiating to a gentleman of the Stock Exchange, in rather a high- flown panegyric upon the historic grandeur and significance ul the discoveries made at the Mount of Nimroud. ' Was there not something,' demanded the enthusiast, ' some- thing awfully sublime, in thus, as it were, laying bare and open the relics of an earlier world— in culling up before one's eyes the mouldering tokens of those past empires, which have faded while the world was vet young, in identifying as it were those terrible shadows stalking dimly, amid the brooding, while ' but the reader will perceive the inflated style, and have had enough of it. Nevertheless, the gentleman from Stugg's Alley, bore it in silence for a moment or two, and then suddenly broke the flow of eloquence by enquiring in the most natural tone in the world, ' But I say, old fellow, now, if a chap were to go out there, and see the what- d'ye- calls- ems, how would he manage? Would there be any way of getting your beer there, mild, now, for supper ?' MATRIMONIAL DIALOGUE. Young Wife.— Mr. Jones, do you know what the world says ? Old Husband.— No, my dear, nor I don't care, it is nothing to me Young Wife.— That you ought not to have married at all at your are, for ymr strength and everything else is fast failing you. Old Husband.— Well, my dear, that is nothing to us. Young Wife.— Nothing to us, Mr. Jones! I don't know what you mean I'm sure, it never was anything to me, siuce I've been your wife. I can tell you that, aud I'm very sorry to say so. A CAUTION TO SPIRIT DRINKERS. A case of animal combustion occurred a short time since in a wine- shop at the Barriere de l'Etoile. A journeyman painter long noted as a hard drinker, betted with some companions with whom he was drinking that he would eat a lighted candle. He put the flame to his mouth, and immediately uttered a cry. At the same moment a blue flame was seen to play about bis lips, and shortly afterwards he fell. When his friends raised him they were horrified at finding that he was burning in the interior; and in half an hour his head aud breast were carbonised. Two phy- sicians weie sent lor, but they could do nothing. Why did not Ljrd Denman sooner resign office ? Because he was too good a JuJyu. We last week chose for our heading, under the general title, Tricks of our Times,' ' The Advertising System.' We did not then exhaust ourselves on the topic, though we exposed a very large variety of frauds, and we should return to it this week, as indeed we intend doing at a future day— but we are anxious to afford our readers as great variety as possible, and in our present paper we choose an opposite theme. ' Theatrical Humbug' is a phrase admitting of awide and many varied definition. We of THE TOWN shall not be accused of nar- row- minded prejudices on the score of cant, but we unhesitatingly assert as one of the sweeping premises with which we are obliged to commence the unfolding of our argument, the fact, that with all men, women, children, and subjects, theatrical, there is as a consequence more or less humbug. ' All !' but says some wiseacre who knows no more of the Dramatic world than paying bis half- price to the Pit when he goes by himself, or taking his friend to the Upper Boxes, when fie gets orders from Higgins the reporter, and so thinks he supports the British Drama. ' Is'nt it just the same in any other profession, and are not all men more or less humbugs V Granted wiseacre; but humbug is not so much a part and par- cel of other professions; neither does it almost necessarily enter the composition of other practitioners HS with actors. Deception is one great pillar of the Drama. We say this with- out taking objection to things Dramatic ; on the contrary we have, for them, great affection, > « id of them, very intimate know- ledge; but, undoubtedly our affection would be the greater, were our knowledge the less. THE THEATRICAL MANAGER is a humbug. In the majority of cases both, in London and the Provinces, he embarks in specu- lations which he has not the means of carrying out; unless a dupe be desired, who for the sake of producing on the stage the rubbish lie writes— the rubbishing style in which he acts, or dwelling in a preconceived fairy land of fluttering gauze and pink silk fleshings, will be content for a certain time to stand the racket. The bub- ble, however, bursts at length; it is known eventually who is the real proprietor, by the latter gentleman taking the benefit of the act, or robbing the till, as the case may be. The mauager starts for soire new sphere of action with another victim for a new pro- prietor, and the poor aetors and actresses of the old concern are left the principal sufferers, as will assuredly in its turn be tho dramatic corps in the new spec. Managers do not attempt to lead opinion, they run servilely after it; th-: y are led and swayed by no ideas arising from themselves, or any one else, till they passed through a diluted source. One of our most eminent London managers has said openly, that he will never ' make' a man, though he might get him for an old song ; but the ready- made article he has no objection to take. This is only saying in other words,' You may be as clever as you please;— I think nothing of talent— don't care a d about it in fact; but if anybody els > finds you out it will probaby be to my interest to buy that which is in the market; though if the public don't di- cover at once the difference between fresh and tainted meat, I shan't trouble myself to point it out, and they may e'en poison themselves, or go to the devil together.' This same gentleman was offered the tragedy of Gisippus, one of the most beautiful in the language, which was afterwards pro- duced with grea' success at Drury Lane, but he declined it, and when with surprise it was enquired whether he had read it, lie re- plied, that ' he had looked it over on the top of a bus.' This was, however startling, a great deal for the gentleman in question, who, when an author sends him a five- act comedy, and after two years suspense in unnoticed applications, & c., says, when caught at last by the indignant author— ' Oh! Mr. Snodgrass, I cin't find your five- act comedy, but there is a whole pile of M. S. S. perhaps a three- act inelo- drama, or a musical farce will do as well, aud you're quite welcome to any one or two, you like to take,' Th; purely Theatrical Man— by which is generally meant, the actor, dwells in— and is suriouuded by— au atmosphere of bum- bug. He cringes to the manager, takes liberties with the public, looks upon men as rogues, and women as wantons, while he sees the matters ofevery- dny life, only through clouds of saw- dust and orauge- peel. He acknowledges 110 merit in a superior, or a con- temporary, but he very often pieks out a third robber as a neg- lected Hamlet. He will listen by the hour to his own praises, drink with any man, but pay for no mail's drink— unless hoping to sell a benefit'ticket thereby, he reads nothing but play- bills, and only thinks theatrically. We do not say all actors are necessarily like our sketch, but we are describing the rule, and not the exception. If you would not be gulled by theatrical humbug, never believe when a lady is unduly thrust before the public, it is the conviction of the manager that her position is warranted by her talent, for she is either the chere amie of the lessee, or her many admirers command private boxes and orchestra stalls. Never trust to the truth of a play- bill, or the originality of a new piece, till you have tested both. Never credit the gossip of theatres, which is mostly actuated by petty spite aud disappointment; and lastly Never believe theatrical critiques which you read iii the columns of a newspaper, for they are, without a single exception, by thea- trical authors, who do ttiem on the dailies, and nearly the same may be said of the weeklies, who do not furnish notices through the agency of' paste aud scissors.' ( To be continued). RECOLLECTIONS OIF A RAKE; OB, MY ADVENTURES BETWEEN FIFTEEN AND TWENTY ( Continued.) Hitherto I had seen but the bright side of the picture of life and in all my amours received my full of the pleasures arising therefrom, without encountering the usual attendant evils. But now the tables were doomed to be turned, and being no more than mortal I could not expect to pass through the ordeal of the ' Life of a Rake ' unscathed. For some months Fred and myself were the acknowledged pro- tectors of Kate and Jane, but these young ladies being of a ' fast turn,' much wished us to show them what life was to be seen in the Town. Nothing loth we did so, and introduced them to the various places we honoured with our company. For some time the damsels were in the habit of sallying out night after night when their master retired to rest, and spending the time in our company, till ' the two domestics ' as they were called, became as well known at all the night houses as the most noted of the ' reglars.' Secresy, however, could not always be preserved, and their midnight doings reached their roaster's ears ; the maids, notwithstanding their previous heroic conduct, were dismissed with disgrace. I felt that I and my friend were the main cause of this, and conscience smote me severely, as our means were ins ifficient to support them. Character gone, without money, without friends, there was but one alternative, and that ' the Town.' Kate's beauty required but to be seen to gain admirers, and a very short time elapsed before she was in comparative afluence. She did not theu forsake her friend Jane, and they both lived in coin- fort, Fred and myself continuing to visit them, when another com- panion of Kate and her friend also left her situation, and became one of the surne class to which they now unfortunately be- longed. Now Kate loved me, and looked upon me rather as a guardian angel than one who had been the means of leading her trom the paths of virtue. Should I not have been a villain to betray such devotion ?— but I did— and in a cruel, cruel way ! Between Kate and Anne ( the latter I have before introduced to the reader as Kate's bosom friend,) there had existed a friendship from childhood. I no sooner set eyes on Anne than I wished to become her lover;— I' wooed and won ber.' For a long lime she believed that my friend Jack, upon whom Anne bestowed her affections was an admirer of Kate. I be- haved so badly in this affair, that I cannot find, reader, one re- deeming excuse, unless my fickleness of mind aud youth, prove some poor one, lor I was barely eighteen, though steeped in immo- rality. ' Henry,' exclaimed Kate one day,' I loved you once, bat now I hate you. You have been false to your love, false to your friend, I disdain to talk longer with you— go— I leave you to your conscience.' I hurried from the house with feelings better imagin& d than de- scribed, and appearing despicable in my own eyes I could have killed myself with shame and rage. I went home, retired to my chamber, and threw myself on my bed, a prey to remorse and anguish. How bitterly did I then repent of my conduct. Themorning came and I was compelled to appear before my father: he saw my con- dition. I was putting, however, a different front on the story, when the servant announced a lady waiting to speak to my father. ' Admit her,' said he— she entered ; it was Kate ! She contemplated me for a moment, then said, pointing to me, ' Your son, sir.' ' Yes,' replied my astonished father. - Then I pitv you,' aud a heightened recital of all my doings was given, and what redeeming points there might have been, were excluded. ' Henry,' exclaimed my almost broken- hearted parent, when she had- concluried,' I believed you a wild youth, but not a villain.' ' Nor am I,' oried I,' ' Tis a tissue of exaggeration, believe her not, father, I am not the mail she paints me !' In revenge, seeking to blast my character, she accused me of theft, and that foul lie she followed up, by falling on her knees, and vowing it a truth, t tried to convince my father that what he heard was false, that I was not so utterly bad. My arguments alas! were of little avail. This was the fruit of my own folly; aud now, where is the man who, with humanity will dare to turn a woman's love to hate ? When she had thus injured me, I did not remain in the house many minutes, but I endeavouted to drown my thoughts in brandy. The drink inflamed me, and I determined to search her out and revenge myself for the lies uttered, forgetting how greatly I was myself to blame. It was about ten o'clock in the evening, and I resolved to go to the ' Shades ' to see if I could tint! ber. I eutered, she was there, and with forced laughter, relating the whole account to my friends, the frequenters of the place. The moment she saw me she taunted me with what she had done. My blood already inflamed by drink now boiled with pas- sion, and almost forgetful of her sex I was about to rush at her, when I fouud myself held back by two friends. A littie fellow, known as ' dark Charley,' now attempted to turn me out, but he quiokly measured what little length he had on the ground. The ' row' became general, some siding with Kate, and some with me, till at last the police eutered. I was th « only one who re- sisted, by reason of which on awaking next morning, I found my- self contincd in a cell, awaiting my appearance before the magis- trates on a charge of' Drunkenness, and assaulting the Officers, while in the execution of their duty.' WILLIAM AND POLLY. William thus to Polly said, ' As they sat beneath the shade; Now is the time when none can see, Won't you let me'—' what' says she ? ' Wreath a garland for your hair, Of violets blue aud lilies fair ; Then won't you, love, so faithful be, Aud let me show you'—' what' says she? ' The passion that distracts iny breast, And robs me of my nightly rest; Then won't you, love, be kind to me, Now pray do let me'—' what' says she ? ' In your bosom place this flower, Fair emblem of love's passing hour ' BOB WILKINS' ADVENTURE. A SLIGHT DROP. Matter- of- fact Customer to facetious Coal Merchant.— Good montia Mr. l> imond*. Pray what are coals now ? Facetious Merchant.— Couls, sir ? well, sir, you would hardly belo ve the tact f daresay— but coals are still coals. Matter- of- fact Customer.— Oh ! indeed, I am glad to hear it, because tho last you sent me were SLATES. ALBERT SMITH'S LAST. What is the difference between a postage stamp and a donkey You stick the one with a lick, and you lick the other with a stick. There are those who are rich in their poverty, because they are content, and use generously what they have: there ate others, who in the midst of their riches, are rea. ly poor, from their in- satiable covetousness or profunion. Bob Wilkins was a medical student, and lived in a second floor front, in one of the principal streets in the metropolis. Bob wai a fast man, smoked cigars, weut to the theatres, aud afterward* went— beyond other men. One night, Bob happened to be rather tipsy, ( as indeed we regret to 6ay was often the ease with him), and going up stairs in the dark, very unsteadily to his lodgings, suddenly knocked against some person. ' Who the devil's there ?' roared Rob, and as he made a grasp at nothing in particular, his band encountered a naked arm, re- markably soft and round. Nearer approach assured him that it. was a woman— a young woman, aud what's more, in a state of nudity. Bob was fain to know who his charmer was, anl as she would not speak, but seemed to be in a strange state, he carried her into his own room where a lamp was burning. What was his astonishment when he beheld his mother's cham- ber- maid in Ins arms, whom be thought far uway iu the country with his dearly beloved maternal relative. She appeared over- whelmed with shame and confusion, and strove to bide her naked ness as well as she could— iu Bob's coat. At his solicitation she proceeded to explain bow she came where she then was. She hud left his mother'* employment, and coming up to town to her mother, who happened to be Bob's landlady; stopped the day, and retired at night to bed, but being subject to somnambulism, or walking in sleep, she got up all uu- conscious in the middle of the night, and divesting herself of her drapery— proceeded down stairs when she met Bob. After this explanation, the poor girl appeared suddenly faint and sank back on the sofa, when Bob like a gentleman did what he could to revive her. In the morning the dear charmer retired to her own bud again, from which she had been absent so long, and Thus ends, says deponent, the adventure of Bob Wilkius. T H E T O W N . 3 THE CHARMED LIFE; OR, THE REVELATIONS OF A POLICEMAN. BY AMBROSE HUDSON. It was a calm summer's evening when Marian Holdfast was sit- ting at the lattice- window of her father's house in Westminster that over- looked the river. The Thames was not in those days the black and foetid stream which now poisons the atmosphere and the people of the metropolis, neither were there the same number of vessels on its bosom, or like wealth on its banks. It was, however, far pleasanter to look upon, and dwell near. The gardens of the mansions belonging to the nobles and gentry ran down to the water's edge. Greei wieh Palace was a residence of the Queen's, and the river was enlivened by parties constantly passing Irom tbe city and the court, in boats with gay streamers, and knights and ladies, and wealthy burghers, with their families and servants, all in brave array. The highway of the water, was the common thoroughfare from Westminster to the city, and from Whitehall to Greenwich. Marian looked upon it ever and anon as she continued to ply her broidery, and sometime tried to find amid the faces of those who were pulled by, countenances in which she had some interest. Many were the caps raised to Marian, for the usurer's daughter, was known for her beauty and reputed wealth both far and near, and not only the speculative merchants of the city, but the gallants of the court alike came to Matthew Holdfast for accommodation. He was wealthy, then, and his child lovely, and the advantages of wealth and beauty were deemed as great in the reign of Elizabeth as now in that of Victoria. No wonder that Marian had hosts of suitors. Most of them were merely selfish wooers. There were only two for whom she felt at all interested, and one of them she really loved. It was Gilbert Clayton, her father's clerk. The other was a nobleman high in repute, young, and of foreign ex- traction, the Lord Malvolio. With all his heart he loved Marian Holdfast— loved her for her beauty, her intellect, and even for her caprices— he had no thought for her gold. Had bis position in life been an inferior one, such sordid view would not have entered his head. It was his palpable devotion— the earnestness and fer- vour of his love that interested Marian;— alas ! she could feel for him no tender sentiment ! She was said to be a coquette, but she did not deserve the character, and it was given to her only by the envious of one sex, or the disappointed of the other. She was fond of conversing with the. persons of different character who visited her father's house, and deprived of nearly all society of her own age and sphere, it was but natural, in a young girl of active mind and acute sensibilities, to seek all reasonable opportunities for inter- change of thought. Mariau had, while yet a child, lost her mother, and her education had been a scrambling one, though, considering the days in which she liv- ed, she had, from the numerous books in possession of her father, acquired no inconsiderable stock of rare knowledge. In aoconl^ shments the veriest parlour- miss of 1850 would prove infinitely riore advanced, but if placed in a sit- uation similar to that of my little heroine, I much question whether, in spite of the progress of civilization, the more modern lady would in the average bear comparison with the usurer's daughter. ' Go ahead, Ned. Don't be prosy, aud let the girls alone,' said one of our policeman's two listeners. ' If you interrupt me again,' replied Dawson, ' I have done. How can you understand the story unless I describe the characters?' The disturber was silenced, and Ned Dawson proceeded. Marian Holdfast was not, perhaps, what everybody would call a good temper, but there were great excuses to be made for her quick and impassioned manner, together with ber obedience to impulse;— she had never known control, the agency of mv protector, she working at the window which over- looked tbe Thames. She was not long alone, for her father shortly afterwards entered the apart- ment. He was a little old man, upon every feature of whose coun- tenance was written grinding avarice, yet he had one good trait in ' What said . the last?' ' He said, like a man and a nobleman, the aspersion was a foul one, and he did not credit it.' ' Father, he has proved his words.' ' How so?' ' Within this hour, and therefore since that converse, he has sought me here, and offered me his band and heart.' ' And you—' ' Refused him, for I— I love another !' The maidens eyes sought the ground, there was trepidation in her voice, and her father forbore to question her further. Suddenly she raised her head as a new thought seemed to strike her and she inquired eagerly, was there no one else present ? ' No one— no one at all, unless, indeed, Gilbert Clayton, and he was writing at the desk.' ' Art thou sure he was by— that he could hear?' ' Sure, for be was copying the parchment deeds, and as to hearing, there could be no doubt of that, for he was within three feet of the A COLUMN FOR EVERYBODY; ( ORIGINAL AND SELECT). And what said be ? ' He? Marian, not a word.' The bright blood rushed to the cheek of the lovely Marian, and her bosom heaved, as she started to her feet and paced the room violently. ' He never spoke, the traitor! What ? not a word— not one ?' ' Not one.' Marian paused, and tightly clenched her forehead, and resumed her seat. ' Let us speak of other matters, this has vexed me sorely.' ' I knew it would— I was fearful so ; but they made me angry and I thought it right to tell thee. Of other matters? aye. Naming Gilbert Clayton, reminds me of his irregularities— they are dread- ful! positively dreadful! I must discharge him!' 1 You must!' ' Why, Marian, you were his advocate, or I had not kept him so long.' ' He must be dismissed.' ' He shall— this very night.' ' No— not to- night, to- morrow.' ' To- morrow, then,' replied the old man, and kissing his child, and begging her to think no more of that which had so much crossed them both, left the apartment. Marian was alone. ' And this man— this lord I have refused, and set my heart on one I deemed more worthy of it— more worthy, spite of all his follies and extravagancies. Yet hold ! have I not been the means of encouraging him in his vicious career— if vicious it hath proved? gay, 1 know it is. But for me he had not the gold to sport, the— bah! this is contemptible. Not one word, although he, in a moment might— I will tear his image from my heart, pluck him out of my bosom, and give him to the winds! To- night all shall be dis- covered, to- night— no, my word is pledged. My honor is redeemed, where I have myself impawned it, though I lost it wholly, elsewhere, and for ever!' The moon was high in Heaven and the stars were out when next I looked upon Marian Holdfast. Some hours had elapsed, it was past midnight now, yet the lamp was burning in her bed chamber, and there sat the usurer's daughter anxiously counting the hours. She was waiting the coming of some loved object. Was it true then, the report whispered by the neighbours and her enemies 1 Could Marian be other than pure— pure as she was lovely ? Let us pause. What is she doing in that little chamber ? In one corner stands the bed, which to- night has been unpressed; on a small table op- posite is an oval mirror in a filigree silver frame, and behind it on some shelves, rest a few books. They are Marian's favorite author's — and one of a set is now resting on her knee, and she holds the uru i n i v , book between her fingers and thumbs, but sbe reads it not. Facing When I first saw her, then through ^ , g ^ ^ her motherLthe mother whom the child was seated, as I have said before, j canscar'oe reIJmber, and yet Marian tllink8 hari she not been told that portrait was her mother's, she must have recognized it amongst a thousand others. She sometimes turns to it now, and seems to ask from it help and counsel. There are flowers on the window which was concentrated all " the kindly sympathies of his nature. To i * eat' a" d a Z ™ * ^ t^ T bef° r0 ^ rffc'Si J^ the world without, like the Trapbois of Sir Walter Scott, he afforded ? amP, s npo- n lt~ Manan 18 81ttmS ? here' on. one. of t. hos. e na ™ W nothing, but for a con- si- de- ra- tion. To render bis child more happy, respected, and beloved, he would have parted almost anything ' Marian, my pretty one,' said he,' you cannot guess what I have beard. It has so vexed me, so fired the blood that tingles in my veins I can scarce contain my choler— the villains!' ' What now, father ?' replied the girl. Is it one from the eity who sues for longer time, or a court gallant that has broken faith. In either case you can afford them patience. We are rich enough,' ' Hush! Marian! You are wrong. We are poor. We shall bo robbed if you talk of riches. No, no. It is no credit with pay- ments over- due that now crosses me, though, Heaven knows ! I have enough such to keep me always back, but, but— I hardly know how to tell thee, ' twill flout thee so !' ' Nay, tell me, I pray. I cannot bear suspense.' ' ' Tis slander, Marian, foul slander, and of thee!' ' Of me, father !' and the brow of the maiden grew flushed. ' There— there. Heed it not. The knaves! I do not believe a word of it. There's no one in all Westminster or the city either, who knows us, will for an instant credit it, my girl; distress not thyself.' ' Why fling the brand and then cry, burn out ? Speak my father; of what do they accuse me ?' ' Ai cuse thee! no, not accuse thee, poppet. They would not dare do that before thy father. Though the old man be but weak, be would avenge an insult to his child.' ' Go on. Tell me everything.' The father and daughter sat down side by side, and Matthew Holdfast tried to appease Marian's rising anger, and took her hand upon his knee, and played with it, aud tossed it betwen his own thin palms, as he went on to talk. ' Thou knowest, Marian, that on the joint securities of Lord Malvolio, and Sir Jaspar Snap, I have advanced to Master Thorn- hill a good round sum— not my own, mind ye, hut borrowed, raised by me at usurious interest I can tell you, and much I fear how far I am justified—' ' Thou art talking to thy daughter, sir, not to a client; I am most impatient to hear the— slander.' The beauty stamped her little foot as she spoke, and there was deep scorn in the tone of ber voice. ' I am coming to it, Marian, I am coming to it. Well, not an hour since, the papers were signed below. Sir Jasper and Master Thornhill both affect thee much; they have each told me so, though neither know it of the other, but I refused them for I had heard thee say thou didst never like either, and thy happiness, child, is my greatest consideration.' ' I know it, father; go on.' ' These two men have said tbe world speaks slightingly of tbee; that thou art fond of too gay company, dressest above thy station, and— no! the last I dare not tell thee.' ' Proceed— I can bear it,' said Marian, contemptuously. ' That thou hast been seen to converse at a late hour of the night from thy chamber- window with different gallants, and admit them to the'house when the inmates were at rest.' Marian for a moment turned pale as ashes and ' looked as though about to fall upon the floor. Her father was alarmed and caught her in his arms, but she recovered herself almost directly, and assured him it was nothing— not to heed her— she was quite we 1 now! '. Who was present, my father, when this— this slander was ut- tered?' * Repeated, Marian, repeated, not originated, but repeated as the • words of others. Present ?— Sir Jasper Snap, and Thornhill, and Lord Malvolio—' high- backed confessional chairs, and book before her, she is rocking ; with impatience. How charming she looks as her dark eyes flash again, and she pouts her little mouth, and her black hair falls on her rounded shoulders, and the stray curls kiss her dainty bosom in modest shadows, to prevent the ripe beauties which her unlaced corsage would too freely reveal, from struggling into light! Hark! there was a sound as of tapping against the window. No, it was a pinch of sand thrown against the glass. Marian started to her feet, and covering her neck from the night air, cau- tiously opened the lattice. ' Are thou there dearest?' said a voice below. Hush! it is very late,' replied the fair one. ' Make no noise and I will let you in directly.' I should tell you that Marian's window looked upon the garden, therefore it was thence the voice came. When she opened the door, holding the light high above her to look into the night- air, a young gallant in a blue cloak strode forward and was about to enter the house, when with drawn swords rushed forward two men, and one, who was Sir Jasper Snap, cried out— ' Now, Master Thornhill, now then spit the villain! kill him, I pray !' It is more than probable that he of the blue cloak, would have fallen before the attack, had it not been for the presence of a fourth party, who boldly drawing his rapier, flung himself be- tween his opponents, shouting— ' Craven hearts ! two gallants, one an unarmed youth— put up ! gentlemen, we know each other.' He doffed his plumed hat as he spoke, and the belligerents exclaimed— ' The Lord Malvolio.' I looked upon his features as the moon shone full upon his clear brow and lustrous eyes and olive cheeks. There stood my pro- tector, Count Belluonimi— Baron Fradenheim— Lord Malvolio— the Undying One. ( To be continued.) THE BOLTON BALLET MASTER. When Phelps some fifteen years ago was acting at Bolton, in Lancashire, there was in the company a dancing or ballet master, as he termed himself, who occasionally was called upon to enact little speaking parts. Richard the Third was tho play one of these nights, and it was the duty of our light- heeled friend to de- liver the message ' my liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken,' which elicits from the crooked- backed tyrant the celebrated re- ply, ' Off with his head;— so much for Buckingham.' Now the ballet master, who was over- anxious, rushed on the stage to Phelps and delivered himself of his news before the proper time ; the consequence was, that the tragedian muttered in an angry suppressed tone, but still loud enough to be heard all over the house—' Not yet— you d— d fool, not yet ,' whereupon the dancer took off his hat, saying,' Is'nt he my lord, I beg your pardon, but I thought he was,' and skipped up tue stage nothing discom- posed at the laughter of the audience. When the proper time arrived, the prompter came on and delivered the news, and Phelps made his point in good style, but was somewhat surprised when turning round, the dancer tapped him on the shoulder, and exclaimed evidently in allusion to the capture of Buckingham,' I ask your Majesty's pardon, I told you so before, and you wouldn't believe me.' TENDER CONSCIENCE MONEY. The Chancellor of the Exchequer has received from ' X.' three halfpence,' computed to be the value of a rose picked ten years ago in Kensington Gardens.' He has handed the money over to the Commissioners of Woods and Forests. The Chancellor of the Exchequer has also to acknowledge the receipt from ' Z.' of five hundred pounds, being ' the amount, with interest, of penalties incurred at various times by carrying notes from one friend to another, instead of sendin. them by post.' The sum of fifty pounds has been sent to the Chancellor of the Exchequer by ' J. B.'' for having defrauded the Excise, by mak- ing a private still out of a tea- kettle, and therewith distilling an ounce of spirit from a pot of ale.' A down east editor says there is a girl in his section with a breath so sweet, that they talk of boiling it down for molasses. CAPITAL PUNISHMENT.—' A kiss for a blow.' THE THOUGHTFUL BARBER. There are boys who think themselves men, and who go to bar- ber's shops to be, as they say,' bared.' We heard of a juvenile who went to be scraped, aud the barber having adjusted tne cloth and soaped his smooth skin, left him, aud went lounging about bis door. As soon as the young ' geut' saw him sauntering, he impatiently screamed out, ' Well, what are you leaving me all this time here for ?' The witty barber replied,' I'm waiting until your beard grows!' DOMESTIC DrALOGUES. A Dun having knocked at the door, it is opened by a servant and the following dialogue ensue5;— Dun. Is your master in ? Servant. No, Sir. Dun. Is your mistress in? Servant. No, Sir. Dun. Is your young master in? Servant. No, Sir. Dun. Any of the family in ? Servant. No, Sir. Dun. Then there's nobody in ? Servant Oh, yes, Sir; the execution's in— you can walk up and see that, if you like. POPULAR BALLADS. ' I have a silent sorrow here,' as the dustman remarked when his bell lost its clapper. ' I boast not of gems, but my heart's in the glass,' as tbe pretty bonne said when she looked at the mirror. ' Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,' as the giant's pro- boscis observed when it snored. ' As it fell upon a day,' as Saiut Bridget remarked when she waltzed off her bustle. ' Oh, come to me when daylight sets,' as the doors of the play- house observed to the public. ' Off! off!' said the stranger, as he saw Mrs. Haller approach- ing to kiss liim. A REFORMED CONVICT. Has forwarded a farthing to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, ' for reparation of damage done to Government property, while in jail, by cutting out the name of' Snooks' on the wall.' Why should Sarah if virtuous be like king David ? Because she would be a Sal- Modest ( Psalmodist). We hear that a statue— an embodiment of the perfection of a woman— is about to be erected on the heights of Foikstone— a statue that shall carry with it a great moral lesson. It is no other than the Statue of a Woman ( about to travel)— with only one portmanteau ! THE SINGING MAN AND THE DEAN. Mace tells a story, to which he says he was both ear and eye witness of a' singing- man,' a kind of pot- wit, very little skilled in music, who had undertaken in his choir to sing a solo anthem, but was not able to go through with it. As the dean was going out, and the clerk was putting off his surplice, the deau rebuked him sharply for his inability : upon which, with a most steru, angry countenance, and a vehement rattling noise, such as made the church ring, shaking his bead at him, lie answered : 1 Sir, I'd have you know that I sing after the rate of so much a year, ( na- ming his wages), and except ye mend my wages, I am resolved never to sing better whilst I live.' SOME ' WHY'S' FOR ' BECAUSES.' Why is a soldier like a vine? Because first he's listed, then trained, then has ten- drills, and then shoots. Why is a horse the most miserable creature in existence ? Be- cause his mind is always on the rack, and his greatest comfort is woe ( woh)- oh! Why does a man require butter who is going to be hanged ? Because he is going to have an artichoke. THE NOVICE AND THE MANAGER'S DAUGHTER. ' Here,' said a country manager, in one of the Midland Coun- ties, not a hundred years ago,' Mary Anne, my dear," take this young fellow with yon, into the summer- house, and see what he knows of Romeo, he is almost a novice, but wants Romeo and Juliet for his benefit, I am afraid it is too much for him. Teach him what you can, and don't let anybody interrupt you.' ' Yes, papa,' and away went the novice and the theatrical maiden. Half- an- hour elapsed, and the old gentleman tapped at tbe sum- mer- house door. ' How does he get on, my dear ?' enquired the manager of his daughter. ' Oh! capitally, papa,' replied the maiden. ' I do assure you he is well up in the part, and it is not at all too much for him ' The old gentleman returned perfectly satisfied, and the young lady and the novice speeddy followed him The gentleman did play Romeo on his beuefit night, upon which occasion the manager's daughter sustained the character of Juliet. In the every- day domestic drama of ' Married Life,' the hero and heroine of our anecdote ate playing the principal parts to- gether with much success. At a rehearsal of the ' Beggar's Of, era,' when T. Dibdin was manager of the Hay market, Mrs. Wood intimated her wish to sing the air,' A Miser thus a shilling sees,' a note higher. Dib- din told her to sing ' The Miser thus a Guinea sees,' as one pound notes were then current. ' Pray, Mrs. Zabriska, why do you whip your children so often ?' ' La, Mr. Worthy, I does it for their enlightenment; I never whipped one of tliem in my life, that they did not acknowledge it made them ' smart.'' TIME. ' Time is the stuff that life is made of,' says Young. ' Begone about your business,' says the dial in the Temple ; a good admonition to a loiterer on the pavement below. The great French Chancellor, D'Aguesseau, employed all his time. Observing that Madame D'Aguasseau always delayed ten or twelve minutes before she came down to dinner, he composed a work entirely iu this time, in order not to lose an instant; the result was, at the end of fifteen years, a book in three large vo- lumes quarto, which went through several editions. We have seen an undertaker's bill for a very plain, shabby fu- neral at San Fraucisco, amounting to 865 dollars 50 cents. Mr. J. Stickney, of Boston, arrived at his home in Philadelphia from San Francisco, with a large fortune; and almost immediately committed suicide. The excitement of adventure and prosperity had tumbled reason from her throne. The throne must have been a well, never mind.— PRINTER'S DEVIL. The chance of living till the re- What is a bare possibility ? peal of the income tax. T H E TOWN. HERR FORMES AGATHA.—" Art thou here at last, ER FREISCHUTZ AT THE ROYAL ITALIAN OPERA. ( See Engraving). Our Artist has chosen, as one of the subjects for his able pencil in the present number of THE TOWN, a scene from the Italian version of Weber's opera oi ' Der Freischiltz,' with which the Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden, was opened lor the first time this season, on Saturday week, in the presence of Her Ma- jesty, Prince Albert, and the Royal Children. Some of the fault- finding members of the Press, have sneered at the attendance of the Prince of Wales and Princess Royal, because they could not be sufficiently advanced in Italian to comprehend the opera. This is, however, nonsense, as, though they might not understand the words, they could just as well appreciate the music— and even as far as the former are concerned, the Royal Children no doubt, knew quite as much of their literal meaning as the majority of persons present. The opera of1 Der Freischiitz' is a magnificent piece of Ger- man romanticism, and was originally produced in Berlin, 1821, with extraordinary success. It has since become popular in every musical city in the world, though when an English version of this great work was first offered in 1823, at Covent Garden and Drury Lane, it was refused. A mangled version was brought out at the Lyceum in 1824, and from that time ' Der Freiscbiitz' became a raue. ' We were not present the first night this season, and it is not our province to enter at any extent into musical criticism. We may mention, however, that on the evening we attended ( Thurs- day), the overture which was very finely executed, was raptu- rously encored; so was the chorus of Huntsmen. Heir Formes in Caspar, appeared to be somewhat hampered by the Italian re- citatives, but his delineation was powerfully dramatic, though his singing generally, and the celebrated ' Drinking Song' in particu- lar, was inferior to Staudigl. The effect of the grand scene in the second act was marred by Madame Castellan's introduction ot roulades and other interpolations, foreign to the intention of the composer. The entire mounting of the opera, did high credit to the management, and we cannot close this sketch without noti- cing the clever way in which a sunset effect was produced in the first scene. ' An inn on the skirts of a forest.' A blue mist was seen to gather about the stems of the trees, and as it gradually rose, the flicker of the sun's beams amongst tlie foliage, receded until all was gloom. We never saw anything yet, so true to na- ture on the stage, unless indeed the beuutiful sea- scene in ' Acis and Galatea,' produced at Drury Lane under the management of Mucready. THE GOSSIP CLUB. SCENE.— Parlor of a Tavern. Several highly respectable men— the majority, of whom, well- to- do in the world— are already as- sembled, and with pipes, grog, & c., wait the arrival of the Chair- man. He is rather later than usual and expectation is on tip- toe, when the door is opened, and a sallow young man— not the Chairman— enters, and makes direct for a seat by the fire- place. It is in the corncr, has two mahogany arms, and is the snuggest in the room. The company are aghast, but the sallow young man is wholly unconscious of anything wrong, and ring- ing the bell, orders a pint of ale and a screw of tobacco. Mr. Sharp whispers his friend: Sharp. Don't you say a word ; now don't pop in any of your nonsense. I'll settle him. Hern! Sir! Sallow young man. Did you speak to me, sir ? Sharp. Yes, sir, 1 did speak to you. Do you know what you are doing, sir, at this moment ? Sallow young man. Lighting my pipe. Do you want a splint? Sharp ( rather angrily). No, I don't, sir. I mean what you are about— Sallow young man. At least your weight, my friend. ( A slight laugh, in which Mr. Sharp does not join.) Sharp. Now, no nonsense. What I mean is this. There is a Gossip Club held here every week, this is our meeting night, we expect Mr. Waggles, the Chairman, every minute, that is his seat; nobody- else ever sits in it, and yet you are there. Sallow young man. Then you're wrong in saying nobody ever sits in it but Mr. Wiggles— Sharp ( correcting him). Waggles. Sallow young man. Well, Wiggles Waggles, if you like that better. 1 never could understand yet by what right any individual monopolizes a particular seat in a publio parlour; however, I'm not one of the disagreeables, and shall resign it to the gentleman the moment he arrives. IN THE PART OF CASPER. The celebrated drinhing song. jPloticwi to fflowcaponiifntB. COMMUNICATIONS should be addressed to the Editor of The Town, care of the publisher. We invite correspondence from all quarters, and the benefit of our experience and advice, is at the service of cur subscribers. Articles intended for insertion must contain wit, point, and spirit — we will excuse a pardonable warmth, but we will not tolerate indecency. Incidents of interest, illustrating THE WORLD AS IT IS, and told in a sparkling style, will always meet with immediate attention, and when the communication is of superior merit, and it is required of him, the Proprietor will be happy to remunerate the author. As a rule, manuscripts should be written legibly, with full space between the lines, and on one side of the paper only. The Editor reserves to himself the right, in all cases, of revising, cutting down, and altering articles, the leading ideas in which, he deems worthy of publicity. In K. BOTTLE ( Ipswich).— Vol. I. will be completed in about three more num- bers, on the conclusion of the tales of THE CHARMED LIFE, and MODEST MARTHA. Send us the matter of which you speak, without delay, and, if we can, we will use it. J. C. ( a weekly purchaser)— It is a strange question to answer; but send a description of age, temperament, personal appearance, mode of living, cha- lacter, and feebngs. C. H. C. ( Bristol)— Worthy, but benighted youth 1 enquire of thy mother if she brought thee not into the world before thy time. Yes 1 hadst thou not b cn a seventh month's child with a somewhat impoverished brain, thou couldst never have sent the letter we append:—' Sir, I forward you the following than which happened at a village nr Bristol. When the Kolernt was about, it was said that a shoemaker of the abote village had a child dead and his wife very ill in it— he comc home one night, took up the dead child, and through it at his wile, and she departed this life soon after. Sir, I beg fief to hope you wdl insert this in next publication of THE TOWN.— C. It. C. Bristol. P S. Sir, could you insert the Liverpool Weekly Ship News.— C. H. C.' R. P.— Try again. You may produce something better next time. IIOFE.— Such replies come not within our province ; we are neither mcdical men nor quacks ; and cannot advise you further, than recommending you to Professor Chambers. Up TO SNUFF.— 1. Nothing at all. 2. Not to be had. 3. We could mako use of the bills. BROADWAY ( Westminster).— Declined with thanks. R. L. U.— We have not an idea of the span of Madame Vestris's knee. Send up a polite note to Charles Mathews from the stage- door of the Lyceum, and say you are waiting for an answer. We hope, and indeed have no doubt, that he will give it you. THE ORIGIN OF THE ORDER OF TIIE GARTER.— Of course we know it, at least, the received Btory. Henry VIII., at a court ball, picked up a garter that had fallen from the leg of a beautiful lady. The lady stood before the king, and as the latter stooped to take up the fallen article, he exclaimed:— ' Let me replace it, madam,' and made as though he would ihen and there raise her petticoat for the purpose; but the lady confident in his honor, moved not. Henry had no such intention, for clasping the garter round the fair one's arm, >> e turned to his astonished courtiers, saymg with pe- culiar meaning. * Honi soit que mal y pense;' or in English, ' Evil be, to him that evil thinks.' Perhaps your order is a more modern institution. ( Several communications stand over until next week.) TO COUNTRY BOOKSELLERS & NEWS- AGENTS. THE TRADE are requested, should they find any difficulty in obtaining THE TOWN from their regular agent, to send their orders direct. W. W. begs to inform the trade, that he can serve them at the lowest price with all the weekly and monthly periodicals, magazines, and newspapers, ho making it his endeavour to deserve their support by his promptness and dispatch in collecting and forwarding their orders entire, even to the smallest articles. Cash in advance for the first two months. W. WINN, 34, Holywell- street, Strand, London. PROFESSOR CHAMBERS'S THREE SECRETS.— SECRETS OF MARRIED HAPPINESS; addressed to the Barren, the Potent, and the Impotent. A Medico- Philosophical work. Post free, Is.— • The youthful and the aged, the married and the single, should alike consult it.'— The Argus. SECRETS FOR YOUNG MEN, MARRIED MEN, AND SINGLE MEN ; giving them a description, by which certain diseases may be cured without medical aid. Post free, 8d. " This is a uselul little work, and should be read by every Englishman." ' Old Bell's Weekly Messenger." SECRETS OF HEALTH IN MEN, WOMEN, AND CHILDREN; ad- dressed to all who would escape the diseases and epidemics peculiar to Great Britain, and attain robust maturity aud hale old age. Post free, 8d.— ' This is certainly a work of first- rate talent; the best on the subject,— Penny Punch. Stamps taken as Cash. Catalogues sent per post, on i eceipt of two stamps. T. Hicks, 34, Holywell- street, Strand. T. H. will not be responsible for any Works directed to be sent to Post Office Printed and published by W. WiNN, 34, Hoi, well- street, Strand, where all communications are to be addressed Sold at all Booksellers, Railway Stations, and Steam Boat Piers. [ ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL.] Sharp. Thankye, sir, that is all we want. The fact was, when you came in, I was inclined to take you for a/ ool— Sallow young man. And I to take you for a wit. Let us each acknowledge his mistake, and shake hands upon the same. ( Laughter, in the midst of which, Sharp whispers his friend) — I think I had him there, old chap, eh 1 ( Mr. Waggles, the portly grocer and Chairman, enters, makes direct for his seat, and not seeing or expecting anybody in it, is approaching to squash the sallow man, when, with a bow to the Chairman's coat- tails, he slides elsewhere.) Waggles ( orders a pint of old ale, and a pipe). Good evening, gentlemen. What is up 1 Gent in a corner. Have you read that case of Ashby's divorce, in the House of Lords ? Chairman. Old, sir, old. Listen to this, the latest on the sub- ject. Here is a letter in ' The Weekly Times.' I have the paper in my pocket, and before I light up, I'll read it to you. The let- ter is from the wife, Mrs. Ashby, to her paramour, Mr. Scudamore Stanhope, and was picked up by her husband, and the handwrit- ing sworn to by the lady's brother. It was the first intimation that the husband, who is a clergyman, received of his wife's un- faithfulness. What do you think of it ?' ' My Berth, Sunday Morning. ' My own, own, own, for ever doated on, idolized, treasured treasure treasured Henry. I am in a fright, love, and conse- quently have not had one wink of sleep all the weary night through, and feel very queer, and more excited. ' I have been all but obliged, my own precious doated- on dar- ling to have a regular open row with that brute this morning, as he is now putting on a sort of quizzing triumphant air with me, as if he thought now that you, my own idolized love, were tiring of me, and shaking me off, and as if his turn for paying me off was oomiug. ' Darling, darling, darling Henry, my blessing and treasure, tell me what 1 shall do. I do give it him in every possible way, and stick up to him well; but, darling one, if I tell him, as I long to do, that I am yours, darling, and yours only, now aud lor ever, in all and every way, he will be locking me up, my own blessing, at Cadiz and Seville, to keep me from you; or dearest, dearest love, using some brute force or other, which will undo my daily increasing queer feelings and suspicions. Heiirv, love ot loves, best and most precious of treasures, I could have murdered him last night and this morning ; and, as it is, I do not believe, my own precious love, I can bear his present horrid taunting way.' Sharp. Now, Mr. Chairman, do you think there are many such ladies in the world ? Chairman. No, sir, I am happy to say, for the honor of the sex, I do not. Sallow man ( slapping tho Chairman on the back). Bravo! I'm glad to hear you say so, old boy. Chairman ( rubbing his shoulders). Are you? then the next time you wish to express your gladness, don't do it on my back. Nervous little man ( hitherto unheard). That gentleman, Mr. Chairman, has rather a habit— I may say, in a measure— Sallow man Don't measure me, sir j are you a tailor. Habit indeed! Chairman. Order, gentlemen, order! No quarrelling. To the next topic if you please—' A speoial messenger— vulgarly termed a devil— at these words slid into the room, and approaching us, whispered over our mag- num of brandy—• ' Please, sir, the printers are waiting for copy.' ' What was left for us to do? nothing, but having made our notes, make next our exit, and supply the cormorants, promising to ourselves next week a longer stay at THE GOSSIP CLUB. A COMFORTABLE QUANTITY OF WHISKEY PUNCH. It is difficult to form a correct estimate of the quantity of whisky punch, which some can COMFORTABLY discuss at a sitting. In the case of a gentleman whose life had been insured for a large sum of money, the payment, at his death, was resisted by the In- surance Company, upon the plea that he had caused his death by excessive drinking. The matter came to a legal trial; and among other witnesses examined, was one who swore that, for tbe last eighteen years of his life, he had been in the habit of taking every night four- and- twenty tumblers of whisky punch. ' Recollect yourself, sir,' said the examining counsel,' Four- and- twenty ! you swear to that. Did you ever drink five- and- twenty ?' ' 1 am on my oath,' replied the witness,' and I will swear no farther; for I never keep count beyond the two dozen, though there's no saying how many beyond it I might drink, to MAKE MYSELF COM- FORTABLE ; but that's my stint.' AN UNFEELING BOY. ' My son,' said an anxious mama to her grinning hopeful, ' how thin you get.' ' Perhaps I do,' replied the boy,' iu fact I should not be surprised next time I see you, if I showed you my rib.' Max!" MAX.—" My AgathaT' Extract from German copy of the Opera.
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