mm May be had complete in One Part, Price Two Shillings. TBY H. G. BROOKS,] Sent, per Post, by adding Six Postage Stamps. - vt c Q t Parts 1, 2, 3, and 4, now ready. Specimen Copies, Half- price— Half- penny 1NO. O o < Each Part may be sent, per Post, by attaching Six Stamps; or sent, direct from I the Office, for Eighteen Stamps' „} PUBLISHED WEEKLY. Price Id.— per post 2d. 1 For remote parts, Single Copies may be sent direct from the Office, for 2 Postage Stamps, or 26 Stamps per Quarter. WE ARE CAUGHT, SIR. A SMALL MISTAKE ( See Engraving). IN the wilds of Finebury lived Tommy Trotmarsh. Tommy was a lawyer's elerk, and business led him occasionally— to what he called— the west- end of the Town. Now as all things are comparative, so was ' 1 ommy's west- end. The Hottentot sees the perfection of beauty in a black face, a squab form, and a volup- tuous breadth of development to tit down upon ; the Chinese affects a miniature specimen of feminine humanity, with queer eye- brows, pigs orbs, flat bust, and deformed feet, while the Eu- ropean worships an idol of a very different mould. We are not about to question the rectitude of either judgment. Whilst a friend of ours, who is looking over our shoulder, says ' commend me to the maid without an ounce of superfluous flesh,' the opinion of George the Fourth is stereotyped in the world's mind, in favour of ' fair, fat, and forty,' and without coinciding in full with the illustrious departed, we are Fomewhat inclined to prefer the charmer of beauty and years sufficiently ripe, to the inexperienced and bone- protruding ' miss in her teens,' To return— for we have got away from our starting point, but when woman is the theme, who will not forgive us, if we leave all else to discourse of her marvellous attractions? Tommy Trot- marsh's west- end seldom went beyond Lincoln's Inn Fields, whither business of his masters— of legal import, occasionally brought him. It was a pleasant autumn morning when the lawyer's clerk— with a bundle of papers, tied up with red tape in his hand— found himself resting against a post, near the College of Surgeons, con- templating tbe dirty little sparrows that were grubbing in the road, and envying them their wings. ' Ah !' Baid Tommy, 1 happy liitle buffers, you can go where you like, and do what you like ! you havn't a governor, to keep you quill- driving and mewed up in smoky London, when every- body else is out of Town. You can love too where you please, for there's no expense attached to your wooing, and as long as horses are to be found, and corn is their staple commodity, you're safe for a dinner. Happy sparrows 1' Tommy was not a bad- looking chap of the genus ' gent,' and really made eighteen shillings a week go a long way, when his personal appearancc was taken into consideration ; but he was of a somewhat grumbling temperament as we have seen; that he was an aniourous youth we shall see, and he was particularly un- fortunate in tumbling into all kinds of mishaps, and meeting with the most disagreeable rencontres. He was in this mood then when one of the prettiest imaginable figures glided before him. As the lady passed him, her cloak, or the silk fringe attached to it, caught against one of his buttons, and for a second the fair one might have paused before she re- sumed her onward way. Trotmarsh did not get a glance at her face, but her figure was un- deniable, and excited— his curiosity. In a moment he followed her, and as he did so— hearing him on her track— she, either very naturally, or very coquetti9hly— turned round to look at him. By Jove ! she was devilish pretty. Such a pair of lustrous hazel eyes, and such a mouth— a very cushion for kisses. The brilliancy of her complexion too was a thing to wonder at, tho pure red and white that mingled in her cheek,' a blending in beauty, with which her wanton ringlets moved by the wind, played voluptuously. Tommy Trotmarsh thought the dear creature smiled, and tl: at in the smile was an invitation. In a moment his visions of the country had departed— he forgot his governor— he thrust his pa- pers into his pocket— he no longer envied the sparrows. In the narrowest court in Drury Lane— in a three- pair back, he would have been content to dwell for ever, with the sweet maid of the straw bonnet and pink ribbons. He was happy, and he overtook her. ' I think miss— I beg your pardon for saying miss, but I don't know your other name— I think I have had the pleasure of meeting you before.' Tommy did not think anything of the kind, but he fancied it would do for an introduction. Doubtless you have seen a pretty girl, reader, when you have turned over the leaves of a new song for her as she ho* - tat at the. piano— cast up her eyes to you with all the apparen soul- gush- ing sentiment that seemed to say how muoh she loved you alone, and sang expressly for you and no one else, of some dear object memory mourned— well, just such a glance— at least so Tommy thought— gave the pink ribbons, our hero. She might not have meant anything by it, for she said nothing, but Tommy was en- raptured. 114 THE TOWN. Oil went the maiden, and on went Trotmarsh, and Red Lion Street was gained, and the lawyer's clerk continued to heg- uile the way, with pleasing discourse, growing more eloquent as he ad. vanced— still the bashful beauty as yet, said not a word. ' It is all right,' thought Tommy,' and she is too modest to be mercenary.' At length she stopped before a quiet- looking house, and for the first time spoke. ' I live here,' she said, and calmly putting her hand into a little basket she had on her arm, drew out a latch- key. ' Better and better,' thought Tommy,' her own lodgings, and as snug as a bug in a rug.' What reply he actually made does not matter, but as the lady passed into the house, so did Tom pass after her, taking especial care to shut the door behind him gently. Pink ribbons led the way up stairs to the second floor, and they both stood on the landing, which being Saturday, was undergoing a scrub at the hands of a mysterious- looking woman, half a char- woman, and half super- annuated maid of all work. The door of the lady's room was locked, and while she searched again in the basket, but now for another key, she calmly said to the elderly scourer,' Oh! Mrs. Phjttbbs, will you be kind enough to fetch Mr. Dasher. I thought he would have been home to his dinner ?' ' What is Mr. Dasher, duck ?' enquired Tommy. ' Five feet, eleven ar. d a half, I think,' replied pink ribbons, ' and foreman at the builder's round the corner.' ' No, I don't mean that, but who is he, popsy wopsy ?' ' My husband,' answered the lady, ' and I hope he won't be many minutes for your sake.' To paint the combined expression of astonishment, fear, and horror, on the pale countenance of little Tommy Trotmarsh, we feel to be wholly beyond our descriptive powers. At one bound he cleared the old woman on her knees, stepped knee- deep into a pail of dirty water which he sent clattering down the stairs, and rushed out of the house as fast as his legs would carry him— ever and anon as he again sought Lincoln's Inn Fields, turning to see if the builder's foreman— five feet, eleven and a half, pursued him. MORAL. When you accost a woman in the street, calculate the chances and don't be led into danger by a pretty face, a fancied smile, or a straw bonnet with pink ribbons. JANE LLOYD; AN O'EB TRUE STORY. THE TRICKS OF OUR TIMES. THE ADVERTISING SYSTEM. LINESt FOR THE SEASON. BY AMBROSE HUDSON. The pleasantest time in all the year Is the pleasant time of spring ; When nature dons her holiday gear, And young birds on the wing Are carolling. The blushing spring, then with laughing eyes, Trippeth lightly o'er the scene, And e'en as the frost of winter flies When the maiden's smile is seen— Flies care, I ween. What heart so cold but must fain rejoice When the world without is gay, The simple world wherein nature's voice Singeth blythely thro' the day In its sweet way? Oh! where is the man in all the land, Whose pulse does not quicker beat— A moment hold!— take we our stand At the window by the street Who're these we meet? Two gents advance— they're of worldly creed, And they welcome not the spring, For shunshine shows, in a state of seed. Their unseemly togs like anything! THEY love not spring! tQuery. Clothes Lines. ED. T. ABSURDITIES OF EVERY DAY LIFE. ADDRESSING a man as ' Dear Sir' whom you rather dislike than otherwise; signing yourself ' yours truly' to a number of small fictions; and giving the title of ' esquire' to a man who lives anyhow, and owns no more land than that in the flower- pots outside the window of his four- shilling- a- week three- pair- back bed- room. INFORMING your friends, patients and customers, of the very apparent state of the weather;— a question on which they must necessarily possess tbe same amount of knowledge that you do. Two ACQUAINTANCES shaking hands, greeting each other with ' How do you do?' anu neither of them giving or expecting a reply, but plunging into something else or passing on immediately. ASKING a man home to take pot- luck without telling your wife, and expecting if she is good- natured during his stay, that you wo'nt have a curtain- lecture when he is gone. PLACING the slightest reliance on the word of a tailor or boot- maker when he promises to send home an article at a certain time, or thinking for a moment, he expects you to believe in reality his pleasant story about wanting cash to ' make up a little bill.' EXAMINING an article in a tradesman's shop and asking him ' if he can recommend it" BELIEVING, if you live in a lodging- house, that there are not two keys to your caddy and cupboards and drawers; that your laadlady does not read all your letters when she can find any; that the cat ever eats half a loin of cold roast pork for her tea, and that you are not robbed right and left. WOMEN saying ' ha' done now,' when they mean ' do, there's a duok,' and men, women and children in general, saying 1 no' when they mean' yes.' IT was in the autumn of last year that I was telling the follow- i ng simple tale in the presence of a poor creature, who be- came deeply interested as I proceeded, in each word I uttered. I began it in reply to some general remark, and as near as I can recollect in these words. Jane Lloyd was a tall, thin, fair, girl, with celestial blue eyes. Her wan cheek and pale lips told a sad history of misery and sickness, a misery little known, and less cared for; yet like the rest of her class, Jane uniformly preserved those artificial spirits so marvelled at by the uninitiated. Consumption was making vast inroads on her already sapped constitution, yet at night poor Jane looked brilliant and happy, for her laugh was the merriest, and her smile the most joyous, but I give you her description only from hearsay. One fine day, Mr. Jack Morton, a lawyer's articled clerk, strolling down the Strand, stopped to speak to a pretty nur- sery- maid, who was tending a small collection of little respon- sibilities. The result was— for he had seen her before— the fair damsel promised to meet him the following day on the banks of the Serpentine. This meeting led to several others, till at last the poor girl was enveloped in the web that Jack had spun round her. She madly loved him, but dreamed of nought on his part but honourable courtship. One day, Jack asked her to accompany him in the evening to the Adelphi Theatre, and after witnessing the performance, took the girl to one of those houses, with which the metropolis abounds. He informed her, however, that they were in the residence of a relative, and she believing him, calmed her fears. After partaking of supper, he plied her with spirits and water, and smothered with caresses the almost stupefied girl. Jack's manner became more free, he cared not to restrain his passion, and the pretty Jane became his victim. Jack completed her ruin, and left her while she slept. This is all I know of the tale, I never heard what became of the girl, for before the next week, Jack was olf to New York, where his governor sent him on some peculiar business. This is two years since, and I believe he is ex- pected home now every day. ' But heavens what's the matter?' exclaimed I, seeing my companion was weeping, and deadly pale, in spite of the paint with which her visage was bedaubed—' You have been relating my own history,' she cried, ' my sad story I thought no one knew.' ' Tell me the sequel I beg, if what you say be true.' ' After the deceiver left me, I dressed myself and went down stairs, and en- quired for him; the people professed to know nothing of him, and with feelings not to be expressed, I left the den in' which I had lost all that was dear to me, and sought the street. I wandered all day long, and at evening finding myself weary and faint, I felt in my pocket for some half- pence to procure me food, I there found a purse containing two sovereigns and some loose silver. Hungry as I was, I could scarcely use this money, this paltry sum, the only recompense for my virtue, but I remembered I must sleep somewhere. To return either to my friends or my place I felt I could not do— and for a time I contemplated sui- cide. I went into a coffee- house in Holborn, and after resting there I turned over in my mind as calmly as my reason would allow me, every jplan. As I thought, an elderly good- natured looking gentleman came in and sat opposite. After a little while he addressed himself to me, asking me my occupation in life, and I, feeling as though he were a father, and would pity me, related to him my sad tale. But I was mistaken in him, instead of help- ing me to discover my seducer, he proposed that I should accom- pany him to a lodging that he would take for me, and that I should consider myself his mistress. I indignantly refused, but alas ! he possessed more power and eloquence than I did, he per- suaded me that I was a lost creature, and that no one would take pity on me, aud at last, half itnhecile— abhorring him, myself, and all the world, I reluctantly acquiesced. We proceeded to a quiet looking house in White Conduit Street, Islington, and after a conference with the landlady, with whom he seemed to be well acquainted, I was introduced to very comfortable apartments. I Mr. — his name, matters not— told me he would pay the rent, and allow me 30s. per week, as long as I kept true faith with him. I lived thus as his mistress for fifteen months ; but I never, fool that I was, sought to find out Mr. ' s residence; and one morning the landlady came into my room, and told me that my friend had left London, and I was at liberty to depart that day. Heart- broken I left, and took a lodging in Wych Street, where I now reside, and nine months— nine weary months— a wretched fallen outcast, have I walked the streets for my bread. I was interested in the poor girl's recital, and I determined to see some mercy— if not justice shown her, and thus I set about it. On the day after the evening of which I have been writing, I went to White Conduit Street, and saw the landlady, and slip- ping half a sovereign into her hand, I enquired Mr. ' s address. She informed me he was a barrister, having chambers in No. —, Inner Temple, and that bis practice was to pick up young females in the street, and bring them to her house to stay till tired of them, and then they were replaced by others. It seems he had quarrelled with this woman about some little pecuniary transac- tion, and she to be revenged, thus turned against him. I went to the hoary libertine, and rather startled him with my application, which was to this effect: that he should find Jane a situation, as some recompense for his heartless desertion of her. This he did, and at this moment she is living as nurse- maid in B Square. She still looks consumptive, but I hope ere long, she will conquer the fell disease. Jack Morton has re- turned, and by a certain intended marriage in a month from this date, proposes to wipe out the deep injury he did to Jane Lloyd. H OW TO MAKE THINGS PLEASANT. REMARKABLY THE fact that there is no true censor of the public morals emanating from the public press, has led us to the consideration of questions, into discussion of which , we might not otherwise have entered. We do not propese, however, only to lash immorality, or in the garb of hypocrisy to entice to vice, by a mere description of it, pander ing to a depraved taste, but to paint the world as we find it, and warn the inexperienced and the unwary of the temptations that surround them. But our mission is not then accomplished. It is surprising how many there are, who have not hitherto dwelt in seclusion but daily and hourly for long years, rubbed shoulders with the bat- tling stream, who with the vices, the follies, and The Tricks of society,— beyond perhaps their immediate circle, yet, still about them on every side— are wholly and lamentably ignorant. Perhaps the most glaring, and the most successful, therefore the least understood of these ' Tricks of our Times' stand foremost the frauds of the Advertising System. It is no idle assertion that the many columns of the diurnal and weekly press of this country, are the very hotbeds flourishing with impunity, whence spring all kinds of roguery, vice, and de- bauchery. We do not entirely blame the proprietors or editors of the papers themselves, because it would be a matter of impos- sibility, to sift the motives of all men who bring advertisements, but we are bound to state, that in too many instances so great is the avidity with which they are taken, aud even run after, that the nature and character of such advertisements becomes a secondary consideration, to the will and capability of payment. In ordinary cases, when a newspaper or periodical is started, it is deemed a flourishing sign to present a goodly show of such an- nouncements, and men, whose business it is, tout for them on commission. These are called advertising agents, and though there are, of course, respectable men to be found amongst them, they are as a class, as great a set of scamps as any in the metropolis. They keep books in which a certain space is allotted to each lo- cality, and in each such space, are registered the names of the advertisers, with occasional notes of their satety, number of in- sertions they are in the habit of giving orders for, and the credit they require. A new publication is announced, the advertising agent obtains an interview with the proprietor, and is authorised to procure advertisements. The work is puffed up as certain to command an enormous sale, and an order is obtained. Generally the agent is responsible to the proprietor of the publication for payment, but not in all cases. Tbe majority of literary speculations fail after the first few numbers. An order is sometimes given by a tradesman for thirteen insertions, and the advertiser will per- haps pay the agent iu advance; the agent puts the cash in his pocket, and hands the proprietor the order. If the publication stands the thirteen weeks— supposing it to be a weekly one— the agent will probably pay the proprietor, after having the use of the money for three months, but if the publication stops at the fifth or sixth number, the proprietor in nine cases out of ten, will not get a half- penny, neither will the advertiser get any return and the only man who is benefitted is the agent, while perhaps some poor devil who has lent his name as publisher remains, to be sued for the duty by Somerset House, and if unable to pay, is quietly accommodated with lodgings gratis in one of Her Majes- ty's goals. So great is the desire very often to obtain advertise- ments for a new publication, that many are taken, which it is known will never be paid for,— hence often the queer and sus- picious nature of some of them. But it is not to such works as these we would alone call at- tention. Look at the established papers— what lures do they not hold out— what living lies do they not promulgate! Here a ' fashionable milliner' at the west- end advertizes for a pupil— a young lady, of easy and elegant manners, but ' from the country,' would be preferred. That milliner is a procuress— that house is an aristocratic brothel— the virtue of that pupil will be sold to some hoary lecher at a heavy price, and she will become a wanton, and end an outcast 1 Yet how seldom does the law lay hold of such matters— how seldom has the public cognizance of them. There a young widow, lately bereaved, well- educated, accom- plished, of pleasing address, and cheerful disposition, is anxious to superintend the ' domestic concerns' of a widower or gentle- man of property. You sympathise with this young creature, and you picture her, sad and lonely in her bereavement, but the contra- dictory promise of a ' pleasing address and cheerful disposition' tempts you to enqnire, and the young widow probably receives you with a cigar in her mouth, and it turns out to be Polly May- dew, cast off by Colonel Groginhole, because caught in too great familiarity with his orderly, now seeking through the medium of the press for a new protector 1 Less vicious, but not less gross impositions, meet us at every glance. Piano- fortes advertized as the ' property of ladies going abroad,' whereas, they belong to brokers who have had them tinkered up of old materials, that will get out of tune in a week, double the original cost in repairs iu a month and drop to pieces in a year:— Carriages and horses, broughams and bay mares, lately belonging to a ' gentleman deceased,'— tbe vehicles cracked and rotten, ingeniously puttied and painted and varnished; the horses clipped, and patched, polished and gingered: —' Gcod opportunities for sm^ ll capalists,' speculations that would ruin a Rothschild :—' Snug businesses' that require 3002. to ' come in,' but never induce a customer to ' come near':—' Money to bor- row' for which ample security will be deposited for three times the value, and you are not only trapped out of your cash if you receive the goods, but threatened with a criminal prosecution for infringing the pawnbroker's act, unless you immediately give them up, and & douceur to boot:—' Money to lend'— which means sixty per cent when the transaction is square, and bill- stealing when it is not. Then— but we could go on in this way, and fill our sheet. The columns of the public papers are filled with hundreds of similar swindles. PAINFUL PECOCITY. Papa, ( who pays the expenses) seated vith charming mama on one knee, and dear Itttle boy on the other.— Well, Georgy, my man, don't you love me? Georgy.— No! I want to go away. Mania.— For shame, Georgy, to say you don't love your Pa 1 Georgy.— Well, I don't then— he's such a cross old chap! I love my other Pa best! Papa ( sternly),— Your other, Pa, sir, what do you mean ? Georgy.— Why him as oomes when you aint here, and gives me sweet stuff to go and play with, and lies down on the sofa and Two bnxom lasses, of our acquaintance, lately had new dresses simultaneously, and on the same Sunday the girls took a walk to- gether. The one was habited in a green and white striped cash- mere with the stripes running from the waist to the foot, whilst the other had one of a similar stuff with the stripes going round the skirt. An argument arose as to the merits of the patterns, and words ran high, until Susan stopped farther parley by saying ' Why, thou soft wench, dost not know that the horizontal is better any day than the perpendicular!' To A TRADESMAN.— Ask him to weigh you any articles you may want from the samples in his shop window. To A BOX- KEEPER.— Rattle your loose silver when you ask for a front seat, but when obtained, still keep your hand in your pocket, civilly thanking him for his politeness. Let him also see that you have provided yourself with a bill of the play. To A TAILOR.— If it is inconvenient to settle his bill return the suit as a misfit. The coat and trowsers may be subsequently pur- chased at a very reduced charge, in some instances at a reduction of 50 per cent. To AN ACTOR.— Give a loud and palpable hiss during the pauses of a beautiful soliloquy, or shout in true stentorian style, ' No, no,' when an attempt is made to encore the last new ballad. To A MONEY LENDER.— If he holds a policy of insurance upon the life of your friend Jack Dawkins, he the first to commu- nicate the agreeable news that Jack has committed suicide. To A GENTLEMAN IN DIFFICULTIES.— Suddenly tap him on the shoulder. To A LADY IN THE STREET.— Tell her that she has drop- ped her bustle. To A POLICEMAN.— Ask him if his name is ' Bobby,' or if he could oblige you, in confidence, with the name of the gentleman who stole the mutton. The Bubble Company, concocted over a pot of porter in a public- house parlor, is there; the Mining Association invented by two rogues in a garret, there; the Professor of Elocution there asks five guineas for a course of lessons, though he knocks about the h's, and doubles the v's.; there the man of straw wants a clerk and collector at a guinea a week, who must be prepared to de- posit a ten- pound note, never to be seen any more by the late un- happy possessor; there the Bookseller puff's his works and quotes from friendly journals reviews written by the author himself, there Jew doctors thrust their foul indecency before the public eyes, aud Jew Slopsellers insult reason and mercy, in appeals for custom, and details of the splendour of their Israelite palaces which have been reared upon the bones, and cemeuted with the blood of Christian Englishwomen. ( To be continued.) PADDY'S PROPRIETY. What makes a similar but greater noise, than a cat on the tiles at midnight ?— Two cats. In our youthful days we were in tbe habit of hearing some capital things from the mouth of. the ' Dublin boys", who attended the gallery of the Theatre Royal. One evening a handsome actress with a very full and lovely bust rather voluptuously exposed, was proceeding in her part, when a voice was heard from above in a very palpable whisper. ' Whist! Molly darling!' The lady took no notice, but went on acting. Again the voice was heard. ' Arrah! now Molly, darling, its whispering I am.' The audience looked up and the lady paused. ' Don't ye think ye'd better put the kiver on them dumplins, Molly, my jewel?' T H E TOWN. 3 THE CHARMED LIFE; OK, THE REVELATIONS OF A POLICEMAN. BY AMBROSE HUDSON. The brains of the admiral were plastered on the gilded walls, and the blood was bubbling over the white bosom of Mary Franklin. The ball from her father's pistol had passed through the clothes of the count, and leaving him unscathed, entered the breast of his beautiful victim, who rose on the discharge of the weapons to meet her death. There was a violent knocking at the door, but I was too frightened to move. ' Open, monsieur, open instantly in the name of the law, or we must break down the door!' The count made no reply, but with a small poniard which he drew from underneath his vest, cut open the dress and stays of poor Mary; and now the blood flowed faster, and I thought I should have fainted. He placed his hand upon her heart but there was no responsive beating, and I fancied there was a tear glistening in his eye, as he looked down upon what was late so lovely. The knocking grew louder, and he hastily cut off one of her golden ringlets, and kissed her parted lips, and snatching me by the hand whispered hoarsely, though Dot with unkindness:— ' Twice have you been witness to the cruel acts of that destiny which pursues me. Boy, you must be my friend!' I looked in his face, and there was something so calm, so placid— so suddenly suffering in the expression, and so opposite to the char- acteristics of blood and cruelty, that I resigned myself at once to his direction, and almost pitied him. ' They will take you,' I said. ' You will be hanged.' The suppressed laugh with which he answered me, had something in the sound of it inexpressibly painful and mocking. ' This way,' he said, and he led me into the bedroom— that chamber which he had so lately shared with the, confiding Mary. Her trunks were open, and dresses were strewed about the floor, while on the toilette- table and the drawers, were a hundred evidences that it had been the apartment of woman. On the bed was a very elegant lady's night- cap of Valenciennes' lace. The count stopped and kissed it, then thrust it into his bosom, and so retreated, with a fond and lingering gaze upon the great couch, where locked in each others arms they had partaken of their unholy rest. Alas! she slept now the sleep of death beside that white- haired old man who had come to avenge the stain upon his name,— the seduction of his child. They were still shouting and beating at the outer door when, we passed into a small room that led by a private staircase to the garden. We saw them break into the saloon as we hurried through the dark shrubberies, for the blinds were not drawn down, and the windows looked upon the walks. We were secure in the darkness of the night, aud we soon made our way to one of the further points of the town. It was iu a quiet street that Belluonimi stop ped, and rapped at the door of a small houBe. He was answered- by a man with a large red head and very long mouBtachios; the latter especially riveted my attention for they looked like snakes dyed in blood. ' Bertrand.' ' My lord.' ' Order the caleche. Let it be ready in ten minutes at the furthest, and bring it to me on the right hand road. You will overtake us at the crest of trees at the foot of the hill. We are for home.' ' To Germany, my lord ?' ' Yes, Bertrand, to the castle. I can trust you.' ' Your lordship has often proved it.' ' I have, good fellow. Be silent.' We passed on, and I heard the count mutter to himself—' What a pity to lose such a fellow as that, but of course I cannot expect him to live more than forty or lifty years longer at the most, and then he will be worn out. I wish he would marry, it is a good breed to keep up— I must speak to him about it.' Had he already forgotten Mary Franklin, and the tragedy of that night? We shall see. At the appointed minute we were overtaken by the carriage, and the second night from that, we slept in the castle of Fradenheim. It was a gloomy old dwelling of the fifteenth century, and here the count was called by the title of Baron, and the name of his estate. A large establishment was kept up, there seemed to he unlimited wealth, and the retainers and the entire neighbourhood looked upon * me as the adopted son of my lord. He was most kind to me, af- forded me every opportunity of self- education, and all healthful recreation. Six months after we went there, he informed me of the death of my aunt, and then I thought, that besides him, I had no friend in the world. I cannot say, that I did not like him, for he possessed a certain power of fascination over me, which it was beyond me to control. And yet about his character and his conduct there hung such an air of mystery, that I wished to ask him the history of his life, did I dare to do so. Sometimes he was absent for months together, and then I used to range through every cham- ber in that old castle, and weave for myself a hundred fantastic stories, of its strange corners in long galleries hung round with gloomy portraits, and its vast halls dotted with rusty armour and blood- stained banners. When the Baron was at home he never by any accident alluded to those two chapters in my eventful life which I have narrated Once, though it might have been in bad taste, but, indeed, I did it to try him, when there was no third person present, I showed him a portrait from a book of prints, and asked him was it not like poor Miss Franklin. He made me no answer, but he turned whiter than I had ever seen him, rose instantly, and dragged, rather than led me into the apartment, which he called hiB study, fitted up not only with books but all sorts of scientific apparatus. No one was ever allowed to enter except Red Bertrand, as he was called, and it looked more like the laboratory of an astrologer of the middle ages than the study of a gentleman in the nineteenth century. He locked the door, and returning to where I stood, motioned me to a seat. ' Edward Dawson,' said'he,' you have known me now three years You have had means of education— you are beyond the winters you have numbered. I am about to intrust you with a great secret. You must know the man with one of the incidents of whose life you were extraordinarily linked., He paused for a moment, but I oould make him no reply, aud ha proceeded. ' Edward, I bear a curse about' me, that would make the world loathe me, did it dream it. From you, hoy as you are, I anticipate pity and justice. Hear then— damnation!' and he paced the room wildly as he spoke. ' Have you not read somewhere that there is a being doomed to live throughout all time, to bear about him a weary load of life— a burthen and a curse ? who, when the careers of other men are run, may see them sink into their resting- place the grave, with longing eyes, and find no last bed on which to rest his own aching heart— to wear throughout all ages con- tinual youth, to feel the passions of men, and be immortal— to love ten thousand times, aud see each object of his love, decay, and droop and die, while he yet walks upon the teeming earth ? Edward, I am the man ! at the foot of the holy cross my crime be- gun, I wore then the features and the figure that you see before you. In the flesh I am unchanged. I have wandered in every land, I have wooed in every tongue, I have killed and destroyed, when the destroyer's spirit has not been within me. One after another, the affections of my heart have withered to burst, again into fresh blossom, and to seek new objects; yet it is my curse never to forget the past, to mourn each dead and broken ( lower. With frightful distinctiveness rushes into memory each face and every event; even now my heart bleeds for my long lost Rachel, the maid of Jerusalem in the days of Christ Think you then I have no thought for Mary Franklin, I am for ever seek- ing to control my feelings— to hide my passions— aud to an extent I succeed. That I have told you the truth, I will give you some evidence. It is in my power to show another, any of the past event in my long years. Choose your scene, and you shall behold.' Astonishment held my tongue, but when I recovered my first feeling on hearing this narrative, intense curiosity and excitement led me to wish to behold the past as it had actually occurred, and I asked him with a manner, at which I now shudder and repent, to recal for me a portion of his adventures— let them be of love, in that period of history which most enchanted me, the reign of the English Queen Elizabeth. The Baron looked at me very earnestly, and then bowing his head gravely, said— ' Have faith in my power, obey my behests, and the paBt— or at least one of those incidents recorded, for which you ask me— shall be recalled, and, as in a mirror— nay, as in the life itself, shall pass before you.' Wondering, but still without fear, I did as he desired me, and walking to a dark recess in which stood a couch hung with blaok, and shrouded with nodding plumes, that made it more like a funeral bier than anything else, I took my seat upon it by his direction. He then lighted two small lamps, which threw out a perfume so potent they almost overpowered me, and I lay back yielding to a sense of delightful lassitude, as the Baron wrapped about my head the soft folds of some eastern scarf. Next he he passed his hands across my eyes, first slowly, and then with precision— then' with rapidity. He continued to repeat some sen- tences in a language I did not understand, but which I now be- lieve to have been Arabic, and one by one the things of the ma- terial world about me faded or rather appeared to evaporate before my eyes, while in their stead came up around me, the objects of existence in a past age, and yet I could not see the process of the change. As in our dreams, incongruities the most monstrous and impos- sible occur, without exciting for an instant, our surprise, because a portion of the perceptive faculties is alone roused, while the reflec- tive powgrs still sleep, so did I behold scenes that had long passed away, and read the hearts and heard the words anew, of those who had for more than two centuries been mouldering in their graves. For me, the world turned back upon its axis, and invisible I walked the streets of old London, entered the dwellings of the citizens, learned the secrets of their bosoms, and pondered over their ways and feelings. ( To be continued.) THE UNFINISHED STREET. THE ROBBERS OF THE THAMES. Before the institution of the river police, the Thames was in- fested by a daring band of thieves, who were so numerous that they were divided into classes, of which the ' river pirates' were the most desperate. They plundered ships and small craft in the night, and have been known to weigh a ship's anchor, and hoist it with the cable into the boat, and, when discovered, to tell the captain what they had robbed him of, and row away, bidding him a good- night. The ' night plunderers' consisted of watchmen, who, formed into gangs of five or six each, used to lighten every vessel they could get to of some portable articles of her cargo, while a re - ceiver was always iu readiness to receive the spoils of the night. These night plunderers have frequently been known to cut light- ers adrift, aud follow them down the river to a place where they could more successfully carry off the cargo, which they have sometimes done completely. The ' light horsemen' confined their depredations to West India ships, and originated iu the conni- vance of the revenue officers at a connection established between the mates of the vessels and some receivers on shore. In all West India ships there is a quantity of sugar spilt in unloading the cargo, which is claimed as a perquisite by the mates, and sold. The purchasers of these sweepings, however, by a bribe of forty or fifty guineas, often succeeded in getting on board the ships, and opening the hogsheads and taking as much as they could, by the assistance of coopers and watermen, carry away with them. They were provided with black bags, which they called ' black strap,' and these were often filled and emptied during a night. Puncheons of rum were also drawn by means of a small pump. The ' heavy horsemen,' another class of river plunderers, went on boards ships, either by connivance or in the day, under the pretext of selling some articles. They were provided with pe- culiar dresses, which had pockets all round, and bag bladders and pouches affixed in various parts, which they filled with sugar, coffee, cocoa, or any portable articles they could lay their hands on. In the night they would frequently plunder more largely, and boats, rowed by what they were called ' game watermen, were constantly near the ships, ready to receive the stolen pro- perty, and conduct them on shore. So active wera the heavy horsemen, that they frequently made five guineas a night; ar. d an apprentice to the game watermen has been known to keep a country house and a saddle- horse. The ' mud larks,' the' scuffle- hunters,' the' copemen,' and several other classes of depredators, were not confined to aDy particular branch of plunder, but were ready, either as principals or auxiliaries, on all occasions. The coal- heavers, of whom there were 1200 or 1400 constantly engaged on the river, were in the constant practice of each man taking his sack of two or three bushels of coals when he went on shore, during the unloading of the ship. Neither the captain nor the owner of the ship and cargo durst resist their taking what they considered as a perquisite. Some idea may be formed of the suc- cess of these plunderers when it is stated that the loss of the various classes of property on the river, previous to the formation of the docks and the establishment of the marine police, was half a million annually, of which, according to an averaged estimate of some years, the West Indian trade suffered annually to the amount of 232,0002.; the East Indies, 25,000i.; the United States, 30,0002.; and the coal trade alone, 20,0002. However, this is all now altered, and the depredations committed on the Thames are not more numerous than on other rivers. An effective police has been esta- blished, and so vigilant are they, that even the race of ' snappers up of unconsidered trifles' are fast disappearing from the scene of London's greatest traffic. Before we talk of' The Unfinished Street' it is necessary that every one should distinctly understand what is meant by ' The Unfinished Street,' or it would have been much better if ' The Unfinished Street' had never been begun. We have nothing to do with these long rows of uniform three- Btoried, and shortly to be ' desirable tenements' where thick- limbed Irishmen run up and down tall ladders, and the hammer thunders and the trowel rings from six in the morning till six at night. There the builder is, with heavy penalties, bound down to complete his work by a certain day ; and the stacks of yellow bricks and the mounds of grey mortar that half block up the road show that the capitalist has faith in his speculation, and looks upon the property as a thing to leave to his children. The Ro- man cement festoons on the public- house at the oue end, and decorations of the baker's shop at the other, are brown and wet • whilst one- half of the huge vase that crowns the middie house seems mildewing into whiteness. But the bona fide 1 Unfinished Street, is a very different kind of affair. London had many such streets at one time, but they are fast vanishing. Railways appear to have a wondrous faculty of creating inhabitants— we know they do traffic— and by conse- quence comes a demand for houses wherein the new comers may dwell. But go to a country town— one which, if inland, has, perhaps, had the ill- luck to lie out of the beaten track of the loco- motive— whose glories departed with the days of four- horse coaches and postboys, and which is fast falling out of the recol- lection of all men, except sessions' barristers and commercial tra- vellers. Or take a now second- rate watering- place, at length sur- passed in public favour by some younger rival, or robbed of its season attractions by the promotion of a popular preacher, or the death or retirement of a still- more popular physician. Such towns as these now possess the truest spec imens of ' The U nfinished Street.' There you will see them branching off from their full- grown brethren, prematurely decayed, and looking like arms which the town has stretched out to grasp the country, but which have withered in the rash attempt. The place begins respectably enough, the road is sound and whole; but follow it a little way and you will find the flag- stones of the pavement exhibiting oc- casional gaps, till at last they cease altogether, and apparently decline to lend their countenance to a road which itself has de- teriorated from a respectable carriage- way into a muddy expanse, full of puddles, and which finally becomes a rutty country lane. As with the road so with the houses. Three or four on each side are finished, and, perhaps, half of them inhabited. To these suc- ceed habitations advanced to all but furnishing, and exhibiting bills which tell you they are to let, but sedulously avoid inviting you to inquire within. At this point the existence of area railings generally terminates, and if you look through the windows of the houses you see the doors off their hinges, and the mantlepieces are either lying on the floor, in sheer despair of ever getting warmed in the legitimate way, or have been removed elsewhere. Thenceforward the decline of building is rapid ; first, shells of houses, with boards nailed up in the place of the street doors; then front and back walls pierced with loopholes to represent win- dows, but utterly destitute of flooring; aud the last building of all has only reached the first- floor height, and a few bits of scaf- folding cling to what they once hoped to have helped to finish. The foundations of the rest of the street gape on the edge of the fields, serving now as a place of play for children, and a cemetry for all the dead dogs and cats of the neighbourhood. The very lamp- posts participate in gradual decay of usefulness and Buceess; they are like all other lamp- posts at the beginning, but get rusty, and lose first their lights, and then their very lamps, towards the end. The inhabitants of such an ' Unfinished Street' are usually in- fluenced in the selection of their domicile by sterling motives of economy. The agent for the estate has a large family, and living rent- free in one of the houses is a great consideration to him. The people at the corner, with the crochet- work window- curtains, found a habitation which suited their limited means, without appearing to live out of the route of the society of the place; and their opposite neighbours— would they only confess it— had but the same motive in so locating themselves, though they do keep a brougham, and have a front seat in the gallery at church. The old gentleman next door, with the scarlet geraniums crowding his window- sills, was induced, long ago, to take his house on a lease; and he thinks he may as well take out the value of his money, as impoverish him- self in burning his caudle at both ends, ns he calls it. The last arrival was that of a ruined merchant, with his wife and children, and who was only glad to find a house to shelter him, and is thauk- ful it may yet be so. His neighbours know all about him. They wondered for a long time what should make him go to town so often, juntil one day, whilst reading an old borrowed Times, they saw his name among the list ot bankrupts. But it is not only for these that, in looking on an ' Unfinished Street,' we feel regret. Our thoughts involuntarily recur to those who projected and those who built it. With such subjects are al- ways connected histories of blighted hopes and ruined fortunes, which, however painful to dwell upon, are but the oft- repeated and too fully realized episodes of every- day life. Perhaps the street emanated from him whose name the place still bears, who lived a wealthy man and died a poor one, leaving but such unfinished pro- jects for future wealth as a heritage for his children. Perhaps it was the creation of some specious speculator, whose only aim was literally to take care of number one, and who left the rest to shift for themselves. In such a case the ' Unfinished Street' has led many to sorrow; and that has been its only tendency. The ' Unfinished Street' has its story and its lesson. With its rotting carcasses it is, as it were, the churchyard of bricks and mortar. For the sakeoi those who are most nearly connected with the progress of th ' Unfinished Street,' we can only hope that the intended conclusiou may follow very shortly from the existing premises. MARRIED LIFE IN CHINA. The apartments devoted to the women are set apart exclu- sively for their use, as they do not eat or sit with their husband, or more correctly speaking, with the master of the house; none but female attendants or lads are permitted to enter these rooms ( as the chastity of the women is little trusted), except when the household is present, and then only the nearest male relatives, such as father, brother, or son, are suffered to remain with the women. One part of the sitting- room of the women is always de- voted to a shrine, on which stands a goddess or idol, for a repre- sentation of the Queen of Heaven, to which the married women and concubines pray for children; the unmarried supplicate to have rich husbands sent, them, and soon. RATHER AWKWARD. Making love to a pretty girl on a steamer, and your wife, whom you fancied sea- sick below, interrupting your whispered pro- testations with ' Now then, Mr. Jones, are you aoing to talk to that good- for- nothing creature all day long, or will you nurse the baby a bit? My arms are dropping you brute! and there' Sarah Jane, and Hannah Maria, bringing up their hearts like dead things. Call this a day's pleasure you false- hearted mon- ster— ugh ! for shame of yourself.' AN OVER DEGREE OP CAUTION. Declining the chances of a good speculation, because you have not an immediate steak. ENGINEERING DIFFICULTIES. So frequent have been the cases lately of the trustees of savings bauks absconding with the deposits, that it has been thought ad- visable to alter the name of the establishments in question, and instead of considering them as ' banks,' call them cuttings. A HINT FOR SMALL GERMANS. In Cumberland, people are dying of hydrophobia, without being bitten by mad dogs. No doubt it is all owing to eating sausages. REASON FOR WEARING A BEARD. There is a member of the Peace Society who has not shaved now for years, and the reason he gives for his beard, which is a very handsome one, is this : ' He is not going to touch a razor, lest by any accident he should be lending his hand to the unne- cessary effusion of blood.' A SNUFF- TAKING STATUE. An English officer, in Venice, walking one day from the Doge's Palace, thought he observed one of the figures On the clock tower of St. Mark's stoop down and take up something! He looked up atiutn, and he positively saw the figure take a pinch of snuff The officer confessed that he was apprehensive he was losing his senses, or, that his vision was deranged ; when an old woman, observing his consternation, soon explained the seeming miracle, by telling him that, one of the figures that struck the hour being out of repair, her nephew, Jacopo, was engaged as a substitute till the machinery was put in order. WHOLLY UN- ANSWERABLE. First Old Fooele.—' Would you like to see the paper, sir ? There's nothing in it.' Second Old Foonle.—' Then what the devil do you keep it so long for V AN OBJECTION ON PRINCIPLE.— Cent, per cent, interest. L 1 116 T H E T O W N. JUVENILE PRECOCITY JUVENILE,— Please, eir, when does muni your hatmaker line? MR. SLOWBOY ( blandly).— Why, my man? JUVENILE.—' Cos I vants to border von o' pattern, to vear ven I takes my young ' oman in Park a' Sundays. the same the RECOLLECTIONS OF A RAKE; OR, MY ADVENTURES BETWEEN FIFTEEN AND TWENTY. ( Continued.) When next I met my two newly found friends, it was at a Fancy Dress Ball, held at the Dancing Saloon of some pleasure gardens near the Town. This was the rendezvous of the beautiful fair ones, who enjoyed the ' light fantastic' in the company of their lovers, with all the zest that unlimited license could suggest. Even had no greater license been taken, than fancy allowed them in their dresses, it would have been sufficient, for the manner in which they jumbled dates and costumes was enough to drive an antiquarian wild Elizabethan collars, shoes of the time of Henry the 2nd., Charles the 1st. cloaks, aud Crusaders helmets, were brought together in exquisite confusion. There was however, no lack of amusement, and as the night advanced, the spirits taken inwardly began to evaporate in spirits of another sort, and smiles and laughter, long and loud, were seen and heard on every lip. Fanny was there, of course, but my extravagance had at length reduced my purse to so low an ebb, that I resolved to go before the ball had finished, not wishing my poverty to be known. I told Fanny of my inten- tion and she enquired the cause; I summoned up courage to tell her the truth, and instead of her leaving me in disdain as I expected, she replied—' Foolish boy! why did you not tell me this befote, if 1 had known your purse was so shallow, I would never have encroached upon it— a bottle of champagne here.' I was indeed surprised, for I had thought all ladies of her class grasping and avaricious in the extreme, in fact, I supposed them all ' Mill- woods.' 1 have grown wiser since, and though no defender of vice or immorality, yet I can truly say, in justice, I have found amongst such women, hearts overflowing with the milk of human kindness— full of love and charity. Shame on the men who would hunt them down as they would hunt wild beasts, and close against them every place in which to rest their heads, and obtain proper refreshment. But to return to the ball. The champagne drank, we began to think of leaving, the dancing being near its close. Fred accom- panied home a young lady who rejoiced in the extremely digni- fied cogomen of ' Polly Come- kiss- me- now,' and I was equally happy in the society of Fanny. These proceedings of mine were highly disagreeable to my worthy father, and though the excuses I made were far from bad ones, they came too fast on one another to be believed. One night shortly after the ball, Fred called and informed me he had discarded Polly, but, continued he,' I have such a capital Bpree on. Last evening, Jack and I taking a walk, met ' two domestics,' and they have invited us to tin ir master's house to- night, when he has gone to bed. Now Ja: k is so engaged with his ' Milly,' tl. at I'm certain he will not come. What say you? you aud I will go.' I was agreeable, aud at eleven o'clock we went. They had been expecting us, and had provided an excellent supper from their master's larder, together with a bottle of brandy. The lat- ter we nearly finished, and whether it was this or any other cir- cumstance, I will not pretend to say, but it is so far certain, that afterwards we were far from being so quiet as we might have been, considering the time and place. Kate, my ' chere- smie,' was a magnificent, dark- eyed beauty, who would have struck you with admiration, though perhaps not with love. Fred's on the contrary, whose name was Jane, was a beautiful, loving looking little creature, with eyes of liquid blue. As we had come to the house for other purposes than eating and drink- ing, we proposed retiring, and our proposi'ion being accepted, after some little delay, we wended our way as quietly as we could up three pairs of stairs. Having shown our sweethearts all the attention in our power, onr spirits were considerably lightened, from the combined effects of brandy—& c. Well, these spirits ran away with us. I bad commenced a pathetio ditty, in which I asked Kate if ' she wouldn't come down from Limerick,' and Fred was endeavouring to impress upon the mind of of Jane that' the pleasantest hours that ere he spent, were the hours among the Lasses 0,' when this strange combination of sound reached the ears of Mr. Pol- tron, the master of the house, who was pillowed in the arms of hi better half. Mr. Poltron listened, and came to the conclusion that there were thieves in the house. Now Mr. Poltron was not a brave man, indeed quite ' t'other' would be more correct; but taunted for his cowardice, by his spouse, ( who was as much dreaded by Mr. Poltron as a host of robbers), he at length sum- moned up courage to emerge from his chamber, and with a huge stick— which might have served with propriety the office of a bed- post— ill one hand, and a candle in the other, began mounting the stairs, when, bethinking himself of a better course, he retired to his room, and throwing up the window, shouted police, but as is usually the case ( especially in Provincial Towns) none of the wor- thies called for, came. Thinking he had frightened the robbers, he commenced mounting the stairs in right earnest. Now came the critical moment for us. The first intelligence we received of Mr. Poltron being up, was, the cry he raised, which Kate in stantly recognized as her master's. At that instant I was— but no matter. All my energies were now needed to get clear oft', without being discovered. ' AH is lost now,' whispered Kate, who had been a few nights before to he » r ' La Somnatnbula.' Not so, I replied,' trust to me, and Fred and I will get both you and our- selves clear out of the mess, only do as I tell you.' Mr. Poltron's hand was heard upon the handle of our door. ' Now scream and cry murder,' I whispered. She did so, and was speedily joined in the chorus by Jane in the next room. I then took the bed clothes off the bed, and throwing the door violently open, discovered Mr. Poltron retreating down the stairs. In an instant I enveloped him in sheets, blankets, and counterpane, putting an extinguisher on him and the light, at one and the same moment. Fred was already out of his room, swearing like a trooper, and expressing his intention of cutting the throat of every man, woman, and child, in the house, who dared to intercept his retreat. The girls soon saw through our maneuvre, and one of them, arming herself with the enormous stick her cowardly mas- ter had dropped, while the other seized the water jug, they bade us go or dread the consequences. As a n atter of course, we ' bolted,' giving Mr. Poltron a gentle kick by way of regard as wc went down stairs, as he still lay enveloped in the bed clothes, shaking like an aspen and praying for mercy. We fortunately got clear of the house, and escaped unnoticed, not encountering even a solitary' Peeler.' No doubt these gen- tlemen had been regaling themselves on somebody's mutton, and wisely preferred a seat by a warm fire, with cookey for their com- panion to going into the cold to encounter the ' perils and vici- situdes ' of their high official duties. A day or two afterwards, the local papers boasted a paragraph headed,' Desperate attempt at murder and robbery, frustrated by two heroic servant girls.' They then kindly informed the reader that the residence of a gentleman named' Poltron' had been broken into by ' two blood- thirsty ruffians,' who attempted to rob the house of its valuables and murder the inmates afterwards. It was supposed, however, that being flushed with drink— the remainder of some cold fowls and a bottle of brandy nearly demolished being found in the kitchen— they had attempted to ravish the two virtuous and heroic girls already mentioned, but to their honour be it spoken, they preferred death to the loss of virtue, and by their bravery saved both them- selves and the property of their master. It then went on to say that it was supposed the burglars had entered by means of skele ton keys, as no marks of violence were discovered on any of tho doors; but the impudence of the wretches astonished them the most, for not content with merely eating their fowl and drinking their brandy, they bad actually laid out the table with every re- quisite for supper in proper order. The editor then politely in- timated that a subscription was on foot to reward these girls for their heroic conduct, and that any amount above 5s. would be re- ceived at the office of the ' Bridledum Gazette,' and the donor's names with the amount of their subscriptions, printed in the pa- per of the ensuing week. The night after the appearance of this paper, Fred and I went to the ' Saloon,' where we read it in triumph to a select party of our friends, laughing heartily to think how police, editors, master, and all, had been gulled. However, we did not attempt to visit them again at the house, but contented ourselves by making ap- pointments for the long summer's evenings. Something like thirty pounds was subscribed for Kate and Jane, which they graciously but modestly accepted. MARCH WINDS. It is said and conceded that there are no two faces alike in all the human family; as minds and physiognomies differ, so vary the the months that go to make up the different seasons. March has no likeness, and well for us too, for its attendant annoyances are felt by all, in the shape of wind, dust, & c., and the destruction of our umbrellas, and the loss of our tiles are the recognized results. Among the benefits, however, may be enumerated the occasional glimpses of neat ancles, and swelling calves, with which we of THE TOWN are favored by March Winds. jaotiefs to © oaegponiieittg. A COLUMN FOR EVERYBODY; ( ORIGINAL AND SELECT). EXTRAORDINARY INSTANCE OF POLITENESS ON THE I'ART OF AN OMNIBUS CONDUCTOR. The omnibus is in progress, when the following dialogue takes place:— Passenger.— Stop at number two thousand three hundred and thirty- four. Conductor.— All right, sir ! ( Omnibus pulls up in the middle of a dirty road). Conductor.— Here you are, sir. Two thousand three hundred and thirty- four. Passenger.— Drive a little closer to tho pavement Conductor.— Certainly, sir. ( To the driver, but in a voice loud enough to be heard by every one inside). You must pull up werry close to the kerb, as the gentleman cleans his own boots. CLOSE DRIVEN. Jammed in a crowd. Bounded on the north by a stout lady, on the south by a ' fast' gent, on the east by a baker, and on the west by a thin sweep with sharp elbows. A GOLDEN IDEA. Several persons have lately been giving mournful pictures of the state of things in California. This does not surprise us, from the nature of the soil, we always expected they would be very ' dollar- ous.' A JOLLY LIFE. Insects generally must lead a truly jovial life. Think what it must be to lodge in a lily. Imagine a palace of ivory or pearl, with pillars of silver and capitals of gold, all exhaling such a per- fume as never arose from human censer. Fancy, again, the fun of tucking yourselves up for the night in the folds of a rose, rocked to sleep by the gentle sighs of summer air, nothing to do when you awake but to wash yourself in a dew drop, and fall to and eat your bed- clothes! A RESEMBLANCE. Colonel W. is a fine- looking man, isn't he ?' said a friend of ours the other day. ' Yes,' replied another ; ' I was taken for him once.' ' You! why you're as ugly as sin !' ' I don't care for that— I endorsed his note, and I was taken for him by the sheriff.' AMUSING INDIGNATION. Quiet Gentleman, ( trying to explain). But my dear ma- dam— Angry Lady. But sir! don't but me indeed, I won't be butted by any such ugly fellow ! CHARMING SIMPLICITY. ' Shall we take a bus at Charing- cross ?' said a yonng Cockney, who was showing the wonders of the metropolis to his country cousin. ' 0, dear no!' said the alarmed maiden; « I could not allow such a thing in so public a thoroughfare!' Why does a duck put its head under water ? For Diver's reasons. APHORISM BY A SECOND JOHNSON. The man who jokes on the subject of intoxication is one wli° makes a ' point' of getting drunk. CHEAP BIOGRAPHY.. If you ever did anything or anybody, the best way of learning everything about yourself, is to get a friend to kill you in the newspapers. It is astonishing the number of things you will learn which yon never knew before. CURIOUS PHRASEOLOGY. ( Case of Affiliation.) Magistrate.— Now young woman, who do you say is tbe father of this child? Young Woman.— Please sir, it is Mr. Jones, here. Mr. Jones.— Good gracious, your worship, I never did such a thing. 1 havn't known the woman more than six months. Young Woman.— You good- for- nothing fellow to say so. Why, your worship, I can prove that I have known him ' off and on' these seven years. COMMUNICATIONS should be addressed to the Editor of The Town, care of the publisher. We invite correspondence from al 1 quarters, and the benefit of our experience and advice, is at the service of < ur 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 dowr, and altering articles, the leading ideas in which, he deems worthy of publicity. GEORGE BARON BARNWELL.— We much sympathise with you. It is ind < J a lamentable thing that your godfathers and godmother who gave you these names, so fine and euphonious, did not afterwards fulfil their duties by teaching you good manners and tile rudiments of your mother tongue. Accept, and follow the advice which we offer you in a gentle unrebuking spirit. In future learn to spell, before you criticise that which your ca- pacity is too limited to comprehend, and as abuse is the worst argument a man can use, so let it be the last. CURRY.— There is a change in the editorial arrangements, but we thank YONJ and hope you will keep your promise. You will doubtless approve of the little alterations. R. T. ( Norwich)— If you wish to acquire a good style, choose short passages from the best prose authors, read attentively, master the tone of thought and then, putting the work aside, endeavour to express yourself in the same sense. Compare afterwards, and correct your errors accordingly. ALL THE SUBSCRIBERS.— Wo suspect that the writer of this, is known to us, and that we have had the same handwriting returned from Bristol. UP TO SNUPF.— You shall hear from us privately. SANTA ANNA.— Such men are quacks. You wi'l be quite safe in applying to Professor Chambers. R. N.— Of course, our sale is enormous. L. M. B.— The story was as follows : Charles Mathews— the father of th present light comedian— was engaged in a small country theatre in the west of England, when hearing of a v acancy in the York Circuit, then under the management of the celebrated Tate Wilkinson, Mathews wrote for the berth, upon which Tate replied on a sheet of foolscap : ' Sir I don't want you— yours See., Tate Wilkinson, and the comedian sent back as a rejoinder; ' Sir— I don't want to come— yours & c., C. Mathews. APEX.— You should not have lost your opportunity; remember the lines ' If you will not, when you may, When you would, I shall say nay.' T. R.— Original every word. __ N. T. M.— Yes, everybody quotes the lines of Pope ' Vice is a monster of such hideous mien, As to be hated needs but to be seen.' but very few think, or even know these next to them, * Yet seen to oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity and embrace.' JULIET.— Undoubtedly we are fond of kissing. What on earth do you take us for ? a man or a monkey forsooth. D. L. B.—- You will always receive attention. ( 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, he 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.— 4 The youthful and ihe 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. Postfree, 8d. " Thisis a uselul little work, and should be read by every Englishman." • Old Bell's Weekly Messenger." SECRETS OF HEALTH IN MEN, WOMEN, AND CHILDBEN; ad- dressed to all who would escape the diseases and epidemics peculiar 10 Great Britain, and attain robust maturity and hale old age. Post, free, 8d.— ' This is certainly a work of first- rate talent; the best on the subject.— Pennv Punch. Stamps taken as Cash. Catalogues sent per post, on receipt of two stamps. T. Hicks, 84, Holywell- street, Strand. T. H. will not be responsible lor any Works directed to be sent to Post Office Printed and publish*! by W. WINN, 34, Holj well- strpet, Strand, where all communications are to be addre? s d Sold at all Booksellers, Ra:! way Stations and Steam Boat Piers. [ ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL.]