Q^ SKm^' mmEm acc A FALLEN FAIR. TALES OF LONDON LIFE.— No. 2, MODEST MARTHA; OB THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON STREETS, BY n. G. BROOKS.— AUTHOR OF MRS. LORIMER SPINKS. Lady Arding then proceeded to relate how she was compelled to suppoit her brother, whose profligate habits frequently entailed considerable display upon her, and that finally she placed him in chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields, London, where lie carried on business for some time as a bill discounter, till lor an act of fraud he was transported, and she had not heard of him until the last fi w days. This fraud, as the reader is doubtless aware, was upon Drifcoll, and not an act of forgery as ignorantly stated by Sam in an earlier portion ot the tale. The agitation of Herbert now became extreme, upon hearing his companion boldly declare that she having formed un attach- ment for him, and jealous of the attentions paid by him to the daughter of the old bookseller ( Pemberton), had determined to work her ruin, and her plans had been so far successful as to in- duce him to desert the girl he had seduced, and leave her to per- sh in the streets. Lady Arding watched the working of the countenance of her nephew, and noticed his extraordinary restlessness ; she, how- ever, imputed it to the working of the poison, and emboldened by this idea, she continued her detail of infamy, concluding by ob- serving— ' Alter I had assured myself of the death of Martha Eistree, finding you still inflexible, I paid court to your uncle. You know the rest; his embarrassed circumstances made the banker's widow a match not to be slighted, and in return for a title, aud the op- portunity of having you lor a loving nephew always near me, I gave him & portion of my fortune— mark me, only a portion, for I could not unuerstand with all the regard I had lor you, giving up everything to him.' ' I am now,' she continued,' again free, and again make you an offer of my hand. You know the conditions; remember your present posiuon : your future liberty may also be perilled ; I offer you tbe means of obtaining a princely fortune, and farther the liberty and happiness ot your child depends upon your answer.' The offer was indignantly refused, and then there was a pause of a few moments, during which Leslie regarded his vile relative with peculiar interest, whilst imagining that the poison was operating upon him, watched him with equal earnestness ; she believed that the deaih- struggle was about to take place, and knowing the power of the drug she had placed in his wine, expected every moment to see him transfixed before her a livid corpse. It would almost seem that Herbert read her thoughts, for the colour forsook his cheeks and an ashy paleness toeik their piece, at the same time an idea crossed him of counterfeiting extreme ( See Page 2). illness, to witness what lengths her infamy would carry her. The continued coolness, however, with which she gazed upon him could not be borne, and in a voice that even made her tremble he exclaimed— ' Murderess— you are deceived— you would have had another victim— look! the poisonous draught you intended for me has, however, found a better resting- place,'— and he pointed to tbe fire- grate. The self- congratulation of Lady Arding at the supposed success of her schemes, was completely destroyed, and she nearly fell to the ground, 60 great was the shock she received at finding all her plans completely baffled, her story, liberty, and even life in the possession of the man whom she would have murdered. The next moment, however, she rallied, and before Leslie could be aware of her purpose, a ball had grazed his cheek and lodged in the wall behind him, being discharged from a pistol that she had suddenly drawn from beneath her dress. ' Foiled again,' she shrieked, as Herbert rushing upon her showed that he was uninjured. ' Demon,' exclaimed Herbert, seizing her by the arm,' it is now my turn.' The report of the pistol had alarmed the people in the prison- yard, and the room was almost immediately filled with persons who crowded to the spot. Astonishment, however, gave way to a feeling of horror upon beholding the 6cene presented to their view. Upon the floor stretched in the agonies of death lay tbe body of Ladyt Arding, the strong pungent 6mell which pervaded the [ No. 60J u T H E TOW N. chamber, and the bioken phial by her side, showed that Idespite tbe efforts of Leslie, she had emptied the bottle concealed;: in her bosom, and taken a preparation of Hydroceanic Acid. One or two of the debtors assisted Herbert to raise her from ihe groui. d; she essayed to speak, but articulation was completely gone. We have before said that Lady Arding was a beautiful woman, and it was therefore a feartul sight to witness | the con- tortions of her form. ' Is there no help for her?' said one of the crowd,' d— n it, run for a doctor one of you.' ' It's useless,' said Leslie,' she las swallowed all that was in that, bottle, nearly half an ounce, enough to kill fifty women.' With an effort almost superhuman the wretched woman turned her eyes upon Leslie, giving forth the impress of withering scorn, the dps quivered as if desirous of uttering a curse, then there was a start, a convulsive shudder, but no groan or sigh escaped her— this was followed by an electric- like thrill, the eye dilated, the jaw fell, and all that remained of Lady Arding was dust! ' Is this report true ?' said a man thrusting himself through the crowd, ' that Louisa Arding has poisoned herself.' ' Behold !' answered Leslie pointing to the body. ' Had you business with her?' 1 My name is Rushton,' was the answer. ' I thir. k you will re- member Mr. Leslie, I am a Bow- street Oiticer.' ' I do remember you,' replied Leslie, ' if you have any thing to communicate to me I will step into the yard with you, for we have, as no doubt you are aware, no private rooms here.' ' I have nothing to say but what may be mentioned publicly- I had a warrant for the apprehension of this bad woman for several murders, but she has gone to answer for her misdeeds in a higher court of justice— I can understand you imagined that I had some business with you, but I think this gentleman will ex- plain to you that your fears are groundless.' His companion proved to be Simon Pemberton, or the Earl of Elsiree, who informed him that he ( Let- lie) was free. This statement proved correct, and after giving orders relative to the disposal of the body of Lady Arding, and leaving a gra- tuity to be spent amongst his late jail companions, handed to him' by Elstree, Leslie in company with Rushton and the Earl left Whitecross- street Prison together. It being arranged that they should proceed to Leslie's lodgings in Wigmore- street, where Rushton said he would find his daughter Martha. Rushtou then informed Leslie that Bradley, after the poisoning business at Ard ng's house, had taken alarm, and, although deeply implicated himself in the Cato- street plot, was now anxious to secure his own safety, and had, therefore, given information to the police that a gentleman of property was con- fined against his will at a place called Wentworths Mill in the Wandsworth Fields. ' I immediately,' continued Rushton,' had an interview with Ingrain, and to my surprise found that it was my old friend here, who the rascals had seized. Bradley further in- formed me that Mr. Elstree was about to connect himself with a rising, that was to take place iu Ireland, and that the Weazel's companions had secured a quantity of fire- arms and ammunition, which he had purposed taking with him.' ' And which are, unfortunately, still at the mill, interrupted Elstree,' and will probably be used by the misguided men to- morrow.' ' I will, at least, take measures to prevent that,' replied Rushton, ' but to continue my story. My respects fur my old friend, Mr. Pemberton, would not of course permit me to hear this part of the story; and I advised Ingrain, if he wished to seeure his own safety and have my assistance, to ke p a. l he knew upou this subject to himself, and leave London immediately. I then proceeded to the Mill, and effected the liberation of our friend. Yt> u have heard the rest. Driscoli, in attempting to escape from me across the river, as you are aware, perished.' ' And is that wretch, the Weazel, to escape— have you not se- cured him'?' ' For a lew hours he is permitted to be at liberty, that we may the better seeure the other villains to- iucirroW.' ' Unfortunate creatures,' ejaculated Elstree ; ' it A- ere more in keeping with the name of justice to warn them of their impending fate, and prevent them by their meeting becoming the certain vic- tim of this villain Palsgrave, and his accomplices.' ' They should have thought of that before,' ftiplied Rushton. ' This is no matter of ours— ihe law must now take its course, and these fellows must be made an example of, to fctier others from imilar meetings.' Rushtou concluded his narrative by informing Le- lie that he had learned from Ingram the particulars oi the abuiictiou of Mar- tha, detailing to liim tbn circumstances with which the reader is already acquaiuteu,— adding, that acting upon the information which he had received, ho went to the house in Miliurd- lane, with a party of officers, and there secured Paget aud old :, u- s. Bradley. That he found Martha in the room of tk: resurrectionists, in an insensible state, anu had caused her to be riimoieU to the lo ' gings in Wigmore- sireet, where he would now find her with her old friends, Sam Rivers, Rose, and little Agatha. The conversation had by this time woiigiit tue parlies to the house in Wiguiore- street, where Elstree and Leslie encountered all the persons named by the officer. The joy of honest Sam was uubounued at seeing Ins master at liberty, equalled only by his surprise at learning he was the heir of old Carruthers ; the only drawback upon their pleasure being the in 1 imposition of Martha. ( To be concluded in our next.) THE GENT. THAT WAS LOCKEDOUT. ( GROUNDS FOR A DIVORCE.) A CHAPTER FROM THE LIFE OF m^ S. REBECCA RANT. PRINCE ALBERT AND THE TREACLE. 1 t is with feelings of deep concern ami unmitigated mental an- gui sta, that we give a little anecdote concerning Prince Albert, wh ich was told us as a particular secret, and which we therefore ho pe no one will mention again. It appears that Prince Aioert, whose usual drink is pale sherry an d water, on the occasion of Her Majesty's accouchement the ot : ier day, partook rather too freely of caudle, into which some oi J connected with the royal household had introduced some iiau df Vic. Prince Albert being naturally of aspreeish temperament, be came quite excited, and as the Queen had dropped off into a gentle slumber, determined to take advantage of the opportunity to ha, ve a lark, and proceeding to the nursery told ail tue maids to go and amuse themselves while he played with the children, who had been all just dressed in white. He went to a c. upbo. jrd, aud taking down a basin of treacle told the little unsuspecting infanta that all the spoons were goue to the pawnbrokers, out if they couid make shin to help them- selves with tueir lingers, they were welcome to as niucii treacle as they couid eat ; wuereupou tuey set to work, uu. i in less than five minutes to the inn into amu » emeut of. Prince Albert, were be- smeared all over with treacle, in winch couuitiou injieit them, auu sent in the nursery maids, who iu a, state of iude, eiioable vexa- tion, threatened to tell the ( iueen. The Prince was obliged, to make it all right oy standing three half- pints oi giu. ' And Love— which, on their bridal eve, Had promised long to stay— Forgot his promise— took French leave, And bore his lamp away.'— Balleck. CHARLES T was married a few years ago. He was a happy man. His business was a thriving one, and he snapped his fingers, and said he did not care a fig for the governors, cashiers, and direc- tors of all the banks in Christendom, for he owed them nothing; and was not obliged to bow, and stoop, and cringe to them, as many do now- a- days, until it is quite impossible to stand erect in the presence of an honest man. He had a house in Piccadilly, and a box at Turnham Green, and lived more like a Nabob than a retailer of ribbons. Mrs. T , his rib, ( and, as she thought), his better half, had been a belle and a beauty ; but, like most others of the gentler sex, she had a will of her own, which she did not lay aside with her bridal garments. Every body envied Charles his good fortune. Matters went on swimmingly. Charles was a high fellow— fond of his friends— fond of his horses— fond of his dogs— and fond of having his own way in every thing. He liked company— frequently gave parties at his own house, attended balls, routs, and soirees at those of his neigh- bours, and never missed a good night at the opera. He was, in short, a fine, gay, dashing spark, full of health and spirits, and iu the very bloom of life. Yet, with all his good qualities, Charles T had one fault, whioh his wife endeavoured in vain to correct. He would occa- sionally stay out until midnight; and, whenever this occurred, Mrs. T met him either in the hall, with chidings aud complaints, or else the curtain lecture never failed to harrow up his drowsy spirits. Now Mr. T.... . had a trifling dash of Glos'ter's condition in his composition, which ' could not brook the spirit of reproof;' so that the course his wife took to remedy the defect in his character, only made matters worse— and discontent and family bickerings were the result; frequent wranglings followed, aud an open rupture finally ensued; consequently, in process of time, both husband aud wife grew heartily tired of each other. One day a grand entertainment was given at the Thatched House, St. James's Street ( a house noted for the excellence of its dinners and wines), to a brother of a certain lodge, of which T was a member, and to which he most certainly went. The dinner proved excellent— the speeches eloquent— the wiues sparkling, and the company even more sparkling than the champagne. Charles did not go home that night at all. It was half- past three before the party separated— and by the time he saluted the knocker of his own door with a rat- tat- tat- tat, St. James's clock kept time by striking four. The morning was drear and cold. Not a light was to be seen— not a footstep heard. The gas- lamps were turned out; and more dismal still, the door of Mr. T.' s dwelling was locked 1 What could this mean? it had never happened before. Patience at last gave way to petulance. He pulled most lustily at the bell— he broke the wire— he dashed the handle on the pave- ment ; but no one answered his summons. He addressed himself to the knocker— rap, rap, r- a- p, and repeatedly; r- a- p, r— a— p, r r- a- a- p- p, and again repeated; but all iu vain. The inmates were all asleep, or dead— it was not certain which; but it was certain that no one came to his relief. It was striking five o'clock; an old dunghill cock, in an adjacent stable, had ' thrice done salptatioa to the morn.' The musical time- piece, on the marble mantel iu the front room of his own house, was playing ihe popular air of' How brightly breaks the morning' — but no friendly hand withdrew the bolt that kept him from his bed. This was too bad. Rap, rap, rap, went the knocker once mors, and louder than ever. Up flew the windows of almost every house within hearing of the knocker, except his own— aud out shot nightcaps and bandanas of all the colours in the rainbow, to inquire ' what was the matter'— or ' where the devil the tire was?' Charles endeavoured to explain, when, with a bitter reproof for disturbing people in their virtuous beds, and for avraking them out of their innocent sleep at such unreasonable hor rs, down went the sashes, and— presto!— the nightcaps and bandanas disappeared in the twinkling of an eye! Charles was boiling over with rage. He tried the window- shut- ters, the cellar- door, and looked at the hr n plate over the coal vault — the two first were fast— the fatter, r' ther too small— all was to no purpose. Finally, a thought stru jk him— the wall at the rear of Jones's ( his next door neighbour's house) was rather low, and he resolved to scale it. He repaired to the rear of the house with that intention. While clambering over the bricks, he was arrested by one of the guardians ot' the night, who had awakened from a delicious nap, just in the nick of time to seize him by the leg and bear him away to the station- house. Here he remained uutil he was conducted before the sitting magistrate, oy whom he was discharged, with an ad- monition to keep better hours in future! How the lady explained the matter— how it happened that none of the household heard the bell and knocker— and why a night- latch was added soon after to the front door, are matters that we know nothing about; aud, if we did, they are not worth recording here. I pass over these and other interesting particulars for the sake of brevity, and leave the reader to account for a very mysterious ad- vertisement, which some time siuce appeared in the morning papers, wherein it set forth that a Certain very ill- used lady claims to be di- vorced from her husband, on the grounds that he is giveu to late hours aud bad company! Frisky, fanciful, fair- haired, aud near upon forty, was Mrs Rebecca Rant; the coquettish wife of Mr. Jacob Rant, a respect- able tradesman of the town of B— ; and, in her own language, ' quite determined to be mistress of her own house.' It happened on the eve of oue Easter- day, that Mr. Jacob Rant gave au invitation,— without the consent or knowledge of his bigger and ' better half,'— to a young man of the neighbouring village to spend a few days with thein at B—; the intelligence of which Mr. R. did not communicate to his wife until very near the time the young gentleman visitor, Mr. Robson Blow, had made a promise to come, and at the mention of whose name Mrs. R, immediately fell into violent hysterics. When the brief, but severe illness of the lady had partially sub- sided, in broken accents, she murmured, ' Robson Blow? What! He who jilted dear, dear, sister Emily? No! No! Mr. Jacob Rant, if you do not apologize in some maimer, so as to prevent him from coming I shall, well— you know.' Poor Rant hung down his head,— worrying his brain for a way of escape from this unexpected labyrinth. Mr. Jacob Rant wits some years the senior of his lady, and such a personage as few females would have accepted. He seemed made up of the odds and ends of humanity— the remants of better workmanship ; but he possessed a good share of this world's wealth, which appears to have been the main spring of Mrs. R's love. With this, added to his trade of cabinet- maker, his wii'e, who had a happy future in prospect, meditated great and untalked of things. They harl now lived together thirteen years, without having added even one to their family, a fact which was a source of con- tinual jar, broil, arid quarrel between ihem, and the lever of many a pang to the hoping mind of Mrs. R. alone. Mr. Rant's invitations to youug men, however, were not ranked amongst his misdeeds; but the character and general description given of Mr. Blow, by diar sister E nily, ' long- drawn and highly colored' as it was, added to the slight attentions of two other old crabbed- tale- creatures of the village had led Mrs. R. to believe that Mr. B. was really a kind of ' lusus naturoe,' or monster in the form of man; and not, as indeed he was, one of the finest fellows you would see in a day's march. Suffice it to say Mr, R. did not think it necessary to have any more hysterics — Mr. R. could not get out of the invite he had giveu, and Mr. B. came, saw and conquered. The talk of the neighbourhool soon became of them, rather than of anybody else; and often WAS it insinuated that' the surest place to find Mr. Robsou Blow, was at the residence of Mrs. Rant, especially when Mr. R. was from home. Things went on thus for a short season, when dear sister Emily visiting Mrs. R. discovered Mrs. B. and that lady receding from a small bed room, but as Mrs. R. directly insinuated that Mr. B. had only been ' stringing the clock' no further notice was taken. Eight months passed, and Mrs. Rant's house was the scene of chatter, Miss Me^ gs and Mrs. Porter, two genteel milliners had been engaged, ( in all the pride and joyousness of a hopeful mother,) to prepare baby linen, for which Mrs. R. offered a boon should it be ready at a certain time. All was prepared iu due time, and neatly packed into a small cabinet constructed for the purpose, at the bottom of whieh some wag of a joiner had scrawled as with a chisel, the following signi- ficant characters, • Mr. Rubson Blow's Baby's linen'— on reading which Mr. Jacob Rant blushing involuntarily, lilted his hand to his head. Instantly, however, withdrawing it he muttered lowly, ' They could not grow there.' A rine son was ere long boru to Mr. Jacob Raut, and at the christening people smiled when the god- father gave the startling, yet amusing cognomen of ' ROBSON BLOW RANT.' WELL- TIMED. A gentleman remarking that he had lost his watch through the carelessness of a servant, in leaving the house unguarded, con- cluded by saying,' However- it was a poor one.' Miss B. replied, ' Why, sir, a gentleman, like you, should have kept a belter watch.' MR. BARON ALDERSON decided, at the York Assizes, that it was a libel to call a woman an ' ill- tougued woman,' as she ought to be soft- spoken. THE CASKET. THE FALLEN FAIR. ( See Engraving.) What custom can be more dangerous, and yet more a matter of daily— nay, hourly practice, than that of flinging orauge- peel ou the pavement of our public thoroughfares ? Tnere was a law passed to stop little boys from crying ' sweep, ' but there is no law to prevent anybody from laying a trap to break the limbs ot anybody else who may happen to pass on tuat way, and that very serious accidents do often occur, resulting from the cause referred to, there is little doubt. Our artist would almost seem to fancy that the dropping of orange peel is a plan of the boue- setters to procure custom, aud to be sure that young boy grinning in his master's doorway, looks very like a mischievous rascal who would delight iu the fun. We look upon the pretty face of our prostrate fair, and pray that she may not be hurt. Good gracious! how awkward an affair it would prove— how exclusively painful to the mind of a sensitive female to submit to an examination. There must be bruises, poor dear! bat let us pray that she may be plump, and theu the bones will be saved aud after all no marks made to mar the whiteness of that skin, ' smoother than monumental alabaster.' In this case, though we cannot forgive the boy, as he knew not what consequences might ensue— supposing the young rascal did it ou purpose— we rejoice at the circumstance which affords us a peep at so pretty a leg, fringed with its elegant trowser- frill of Valenciennes lace, as with woe ou our lace, aud admiration in our eyes we hasteu to assist the lady. ' All! sir, if I hadu't fallen.' ' Regret, madam, is uuavailing, pray think of it no more, if you hadn't fallen we couldn't have picked you. up'.' Oh ! how am I used, I had always refused Each favor; in vain did you ask it; 1 deemed, I uui sure, My honour secure Enshrined like a gem iu its casket. Oh! cease, love, to weep; Bid memory sleep, Nor you nor I ever. uore task it; I stiove long in vain, Again and again, Till I fouud out a hole iu the casket. PUKUAIOKY VERSUS MATRIMONY. Joe Kelly's ghost came to his wile. ' Molly,' says he, I'm in purgatory at this present moment.' ' Aud what sort of place is it?' i> ayo she. ' Faith,' says he, ' it's a sort of hali- way house be- tween you and Heaven,' says Joe, ' ami I stand it mighty aisy alter leaving you.' RECOMMENDATION OP A LADY. The younger Miss Cushmau was congratulated one day by i- togeis ( the poet) on a report of her approaching marriage. She denied it, adding that she diu not think it probable that she should ever marry, as she had not inut any one oi a manly tone of mind ; if she ever married, it woula be one of a strong masculine nature. ' Indeed,' replied the wit, ' then why dou't you marry your THE LAST NEW TRICK. A man, having the appearance of a countryman, and laden with a bundle of hay, mauaged, one day last week, to fall through a pane of glass, valued at 30/., which adorned the establishment of a large mercer, iu the Edgeware- road, Loudon. The shopkeeper quickly seized upon the tellow, who protested he had no money, and pleaded the weight of his load for an excuse. Two gentlemen, lookers ou, testified to their having watched the ' stupid clown,' and just before remarked that his gross carelessness would lead to some mischief, aud they suggested that the ' booby' should be searched; this was promptly doue, aud the production of a Ml. note was the result. Vaiuly did the couutryinau, with tears in his eyes, proclaim the note to be his ' measter's,' the proceeds of his journey to market. The mercer paid himself the SO/., by giving the boor ' Ml., in Bauk ot England notes, and retaining possession ot the one found upon him. The wight said he would get a policeman, that he might ' have the law' upou the shopkeeper, and lelt the premises, aud the two gentlemen blaudly took their leave, after congratulating the tradesman on the lortunate result which had attended their suggestion of a search. Of course the reauer guesses the upshot — the 50/. note was a lorgery, and the whole proceeding a trick. ' What makes the milk so warm?' said Emma, to themiikwoman when she brought her pails to the door one morning. ' Please, mum, the pump handle's broke, and missus took the water from the biler.' T H E TOWN- L, iN5itlNG OUT FOR A BERTH. BY AMBROSE HUDSON. ' Deuced lucky fellow,' said a young gentlemen opposite his shaving- glass, with his nose in one set of fingers and his razor iu the other : ' deuced lucky fellow to get an answer so soon. ' X, Y. Z. is desired to call'— don't like ' desired,' the proprietor's a Tartar—' to call at 7, Putney- place, Brompton, before 12 o'clock, where a situation may be heard of.' Ugly word ' situation'— smells of the scullery ; but, what's in a name ? a rose by any other— where on earth has the girl put the boots ? There is no- thing like talent in this country, it is sure to win its way, command respect, and— dem it, there never is any water in that bottle— ' but we will leave Mr. George Pooley, whose profession is the Press, to finish dressing, and journey to his appointment at 7, Putney- place, while we take the liberty of popping in before him. Two very nice girls there in thedrtwing- roorn ! They are both young and both pretty ; what a pity they should be both affected! The little one, while singing the last of the ballads of fashionable inquiry,' Does your heart still beat in your bo- om, my love?' is making eyes at a proof- print of the late Rev. Dr. Chalmers, and the other is playfully fiddling with two bits of ivory and a tolera- ble quantity of white bobbin. ' Don't y, u know who he is, dear?' ' I know he is a charming person, and his name is Mr. George Pooley ; and ' Does your hea- ar- art sti- ill beat—' we waltzed in- cessantly, and he adores me— 1 in your bo- o- o- som, my love ?' Theavnt entered the room, and the conversation was inter- rupted. Mrs. Wicks was the wife of a rich and eminent soap- boiler, and becomingly aristocratic. Her weak points were deafness, and fear lest the world should find out as much. An elongated body and weazen face, a black silk dress, a high cap, and a shrill voice, made up the rest of her character. Mrs. Wicks, the aunt, seated herself in a great chair, as a dou- ble- knock was heard by every one but her, at the street- door. The footman, in the course of a minute or two, announced that a gentleman was below who had called respecting an advertise- ment. This intimation having been delivered in a loud tono, Mrs. Wicks said to the young ladies— ' It is about the cook's place, my dears. I like to arrange these matters myself; go and dress yourselves, or sit iu the parlour till I ring for you.' And away went the girls. On the stairs they met the gentleman— our friend Mr. George Pooley, the press- man. Fanny Dobson, the singer of' Does your heart still beat in your bosom, my love?' clung to the banisters. Recognition aud surprise on either side was mutual. ' Fanny I' ' George!' ' Bold man, what has brought you here ?' ' An advertisement— a letter.' ' From my aunt ?' ' Your aunt!' ejaculated George, and fiction recommended it- self, with insinuating grace, to the tip of his tongue, as he added —' To be near you, my adored !' ' Then, for my sake you will debase yourself and accept of a situation—' ' The most menial in existence!' and the gentleman passed on with enthusiasm aud the footman. ' How truly romantic!' aud the little lady, leaning on the arm of her cousin, glided into the drawing- room. ' Good morning, sir,' said Mrs. Wicks. ' Good morning, ma'am,' said Mr. George Pooley. ' I presume, sir, you wish to recommend some deserving person to the situation iu my house.' ' Oh, oh !' thought George,' this is a wealthy proprietress. No, madam, I propose to fill it myself; then, perceiving the old lady was deaf, he repeated his answer in a louder tone. Astonishment sat on the extreme bow of Mrs. Wicks's cap, as she exclaimed— ' You, young man ? why, you look like a gentleman.' ' I hope, madam, that will not prejudice me in your eyes, or prevent me from fulfilling my duties.' Mrs. Wicks recovered from her surprise, and rather liked the idea than otherwise. It was gratifying to the pride of the soap- boiler's lady— a man- cook! ' Did you live long in your last place ?' ' The supercilious old dame,' muttered Pooley. ' Three years.' ' You can have a good character, I suppose ?' ' You may write madam, to Messrs. Type and Settup, of the ' Potterton Mercury,' as to my qualifications and integrity.' ' Write, eh? I don't like written characters young man. Can you cook well ?' ' A humourist,' thought George; ' I'll answer her in her own style. Why, ma'am, I can cook up an article as well as most people iu my line. When Phiggs, the grocer, put up for West Potterton, and did not get in, it was said that I was the man who ' cooked his goose.'' ' Cook a goose!' exclaimed Mrs. Wicks, who only caught the end of sentences. ' But that's only a plain roast.' ' No, ma'am ; but theu we roasted him in good style. He never got such a basting before.' ' Baste ' etn before,' said the lady to herself; ' ' um, some new fashion. I suppose, now, you can dish up anything first- rate?' ' Oh, yes ; the reviewing department, public meetings, and din- ners especially.' ' Ah! dinners especially— to be sure , and a luncheon, or a supper occasionally, if required ?' ' Not often the case, ma'am ; a public breakfast, indeed, some- times.' ' I don't think we should give them,' said Mrs. Wicks. ' All a matter of opinion,' replied George ; ' we should be sure to get them reported by the small fry.' ' Small fry, eh ? nice little treat, now and then— I understand. Mr. W. is very particular about one thing, and that is— the game.' ' I don't wish to depart from the usual course adopted by the proprietors, but, respecting those laws, the opinions of my late employers were liberal.' ' What is all that? Liberal! Oh, Mr. Wicks is very liberal. All our game is ' boned' before it goes into the kitchen.' ' Boned, madam ?' ' You could make something good of the stews, of course ?' ' I have given considerable attention to the Sanitary question, to which I suppose you allude, and might pen something in sea- son.' • In Beason, nonsense. In season all the year round.' ' Doubtless a great deal my be made of it.' ' A great deal? no, no; we like little aud good.' ' Alt! short articles!' ' Short of articles, young mam, not at all ; you will always find plenty for use. The last person we had was very careless, anil did not suit Mr. Wicks— made awful hashes and such pie, aud he is very particular about his^ iasfe.' Gtoige ventured to think the pie was the printer's affair, and as for the paste, it was generally made by a devil; when Mrs. Wicks, hearing as usual, the last word, told them they would like their devils to be well peppered always. ' And now, young man,' she continued,' as to wages. We never give more than fourteen pounds a year, and find your own tea and sugar; but, as we have always kept a woman before—' Pooley started to his feet. ' What on earth, ma'am, are you talking of?' ' Good gracious. Bir, A COOK— what else? didn't you come here for the place ?' ' A cook !' Mr. Pooley's indignation knew no bounds; pulling a note from his pocket, he flourished it belore the eyes of the soap boiler's spouse. ' Isn't that your writing, ma'am ?' Mrs. Wicks confessed that it was, but begged his pardon; she must have copied the wrong address. There were two X. Y. Z.' s, one over the other. Mr. Pooley's was headed— SUB- EDITOR AND PROVINCIAL REPORTER; the neglected one— COOK AND HOUSE- KEEPER. George scarcely stopped for the explanation, but, seiz- ing his hat, rushed down stairs. In the hall he encountered the romantic Fanny, who, sinking on his shoulder, eagerly inquired in a soft voice—' Oh ! George, have you got the place ? will my aunt have you?— but tell me, tell me above all— must you wear a white night- cap ?' We blush to record it— Mr. George Pooley disengaged himself from the young lady in much haste, aud left the house without a word. He shut the door with a bang, ground his teeth as he went, and lowly growled—' Cook— cook— cook I' ABRAHAM JINKS'S SHIRT. Perhaps, all things considered, washerwomen are the most trou- blesome aud detestable of the ' small fry' of Duns. They are con- tinually clamouring for their dues, and they are somewhat dangerous persons to offend, as the following anecdote will show. We were once acquainted with a gentleman, whose stock of linen had degen erated ( from too frequent visits to ' my uncle') into one solitary shirt. Mr. Jinks was consequently under the disagreeable necessity of lying in bed till this solitary shirt could be washed and dried for his evening use. One evening he was engaged to a dinner party, where a very pretty and rich woman, to whom he had been long paying his attentions— and successfully— was to be present. The hour was drawing nigh; our friend had made his toilet, except in the one indispensable article— a shirt. Enveloped in a ' seedy' dressing- gown, he sat shivering in anxiety, awaiting his washer- woman's well- known knock. It came, and she made her appear- ance with the wished for shirt in her hand. ' Give me the shirt, quick.' cried he, extending his hand as he spoke. The washerwoman drew back, and coolly replied, ' You owe me eighteen- pence, sir; I am a poor woman, with a large family— I must be paid.' ' lJ— n your family; 1 have not got a farthing— give me my shirt.' ' I won't, till I have my money,' was the virago's reply. The unfortunate devil swore, stormed, and raved; but all was of no avail; he eveu descended to the most abject supplications, but it was in vain. There she stood with the coveted garment in her hand, while, he, litce Tantalus of old, ' saw but could not grasp it.' At length driven to despair, he exclaimed,— ' My good Mrs. Brown, for God's sake give me my shirt. I am going to dine at Mr. Wyatt's in Belgrave- square; I shall be too late— I shall be ruined!' An infernal smile lighted up for an instant the obdurate washer- woman's face, and without saying another word she departed with her prize, leaving him shirtless, and of course dinnerless.' In the middle of the dinner at Mr. Wyatt's that evening, while the guests were discussing the mysterious non- appearance of Abra- ham Jinks, and the pretty Charlotte Seymour was pouting and looking daggers, grievously offended by the absence of her lover, a parcel was brought in by a servant, and delivered to the master of the house. He opened it, and, to the astonishment of all, out fell a shirt! Snatching up a little dirty scrap of paper which fell from the garment, the host read out the following exquisite morceau for the edification of the company:— ' Sir,— Has Muster A. Jinks owes me eighteen- pence, and has only got this one shirt, which I encloses; and has I would not let he have this ere shirt till he paid me, which he said as how he couldn't, I sends you the harticle iu question, that you may not be surprised at his not coming to dinner. ' Your hurnbell servant, ' MARY BROWN, Washerwoman. ' N. B.— Washing done on reasonable terms, and a good drying ground.' The roar of laughter which succeeded may be guessed. The match was off— our friend was dished. ' LOVELY WOMAN' ( OF FASHION.) There is a visionary scheme at present abroad for rendering woman a rational being. We need scarcely point out the gross absurdity of such an object: for since ine whole duty of a young lady is to endeavour to get comfortably settled in life, only those accomplishments should be cultivated which will be the most likely to secure an eligible husband. Instead, therefore, of en dowing her with a knowledge of the world at large, and its won- ders, her attention should be directed to ' the world of fashion,' thus imbuing her mind with a proper appreciation of the works of the milliner, instead of those of Dame Nature. As the ball- room is to be the arena of her conquests, she can- not devote too much tirnelo the study of the waits aud gattopade, and to those other graces which will be the means of procuring her a partner not only for the next set, but also for life ; for it is plain that the chief care of a young lady should be to win the ad- miration of the lover, and not to secure the devotiou of the hus- band. The foundation thus laid will be sure to promote that domestic estrangement which every one with the slightest pretension to fashion naturally desires. The finer sensibilities, as they are called, are by these means sufficiently blunted to prevent them becoming a source of inconvenience to the mother; and the help- lessness of infancy divested of those anxieties which would other- wise attend the transfer ot the maternal duties to the nurserymaid. CATCHING A HAT. There are few moments in a man's existence when he experiences so much ludicrous distress, or meets with so little commiseration, as when he is iu pursuit of his own hat. A vast deal of coolness and a peculiar degree of judgment are requisite in catching a hat. A man must not be precipitate, or he runs over it; he must not rush into the opposite extreme, or he loses it altogether. The best way is to keep gently up with the object of pursuit, to be wary and cautious, to watch your opportunity well, get gradually before it, then make a rapid dive— seize it by the crown, and stick it firmly on your head,—- smiling pleasantly all the time, as if you thought it as good a joke as anybody else. POETRY. Au English punster being asked, why the best poets were obli- ged to write prose, answered—' Because poetry is prose- scribed.' A TRADING- BRIDEGROOM. After a marriage in Connecticut, the bridegroom took the par- son aside most mysteriously, and whispered to him, ' Can't you take tbe pay out in tatoes ?' ' I atn now about to do for you what the evil one never did by ye,' said a quaint parson in his valedictory to his flock : ' that is, I shall leave you.' A grocer's boy, being presented with a glass of beer by his em- ployer, for his good conduct, said,' Pray, sir, is this what they call the mead of praise ?' NOT SO BAD. An elderly lady, telling her age, remarked that she was horn on the 22nd of April. Her husband, who was present, observed, ' 1 always thought you wire born on the first of April.' ' People might well judge so,' responded the matron,' in the choice 1 made of a husband.' STYLE OF THE DAY. As the literature may generally oe taken the criterion of the polite character op the age, the ' flash dictionary ' must now form a necessary part of the library of every gentleman. An acquaintance with s'ang not only tits the youth of the pre- sent generation for enjoying society, and arriving ur, a knowledge of the habits of that romantic class of individuals known by the name otthe ' light- fingered gentry,' but, ijlso enables the student to appreciate the more popular works of modern authors. The prosaic common- place phraseology of Addison, and other ' caste writers,' as they are called, sinks into insignificance when con- trasted with the fanciful tropes and metaphors of the' boosing ken;' for who cannot appreciate the poetry wliid. li describes the mouth as a potato- trap, and paints the teeth as a box of dominoes'! Who, that wished to express his Conviction of another's intelligence, could hesitate between the terms ' a sunsible man ' and a downy cove ? or, should he " desire to speak of him as . tit illustrious indi- vidual, what more graphic expression could be employed than designating him a, great cigar ? or who, being anxious to commend a liberal course, of conduct, could pause between ' prodigality' and ' going it like bricks ?' Forcible as are the above examples, a great ir vigour may yet be imparted to them by the liberal introduction of oaths and other profane expletives, which though destitute of meaning, al- ways mark the gentleman and the scholar. A NEW CHAUNT TO Aiy OLD TUNE. ' HAVE YOU SEEN MY MISSUS.' CBy rather a fast and slightly flash gent. J I have got a pretty wife, And she is such a twister, I love her as my life, And don't she like my sister? I can't object to that, But one thing is a bother, She don't only like her, But she is fond of my brother. T'other day, engaged in trade, She sain as she wanted to go out, And rny brother comes to her aid And says he'll take the gadabout. They said they go into the park, And look at the ducks aod the geese, But when they came home it was dark. Oh! and hadn't » he torn her pelisse? One night we went to the play, And took with us her mother; When in the coach we got My wife must sit by my brother. Inside there was not room For me and them together, So outside I did get; Now, why did not my brother? When the play was done we left, And I saw home her mother; Then to supper we all went, Me and my wife and brother. I got so jolly drunk With one thing and another, And when I awoke I saw, Quite close my wife and brother. I can't now rest at night, My feelings I can't smother ; I think it aint all right, With my wife and brother. And, yet I do not know, Tho' that feeling I can't smother, For the whole thing is a go— Oh! shiver aud stump my brother! THE TIGHT- ROPE DANCER. ( See Engraving.) We last week witnessed at Astley's some extraordinary feats, by a young French lady, on the tight- rope, well worthy the ap- plause they then elicited, and we believe continue to earn from hosts of delighted auditors. We may take this opportunity of adding, that the entire performances, both on the stage, and in the ring, reflected the greatest credit on the company and ma- nagement, displaying to advantage the talent of the one, and the liberality and judgment of the other. J& Qtitttf to ittowsspontowte. BUCKINGHAM PALACE,— We beg to acknowledge the print forwarded to our office, but decline publishing unless by command of Her Majesty. A SUPPORTER OF THE TOWN.— Your anecdote is amusingly told, and you are a queer fellow no doubt, but we are compelled to decline inserting the contribution. OPPIDAMUS.— We are obliged, and appreciate. ANONYMOUS.— Try another style. We nave used you see wbat you las sent. A LUSHY SWELL.— TWO shillings worth of postage stamps for the tonic. WE will send you the paper to Paris, so that you forward the amount of postage. What a pleasant, gentlemanlike, fellow you are. PATER NOSTER.— If you had taken our advice you would not at this moinerit be a sufferer. What interest could it be to us ? DICKY BUTTON.— Thanks. You will see what we have done. Send again as soon as you like. Name you » - authorities, but do not expect us to put your initials to the mat ter of other authors. A. B. C.— Can hardly say with justice, the last did not suit as [ we used two out of three. ANTE.— Declined with thanks. P. S.— We caunot give the lady's address. Enquire at the stage door. R.— We know you, and are not to be humbugged. UP TO SNUFF.— It escaped us before, and at this moment we are busily oc- cupied, but we will write next week. ZETA.— There is little doubt that he is doing an enormous practice amongst all elates. Of course at his own residence, but you had better address your letter ' Professor Chambers, care of his publisher, T. Hicks, Holywell Street.' MARY.— Received. You are a very polite young lady, and the gloves fit capi- tally. uur best thanks, Mary, clear. T. C. O. S.— We were obliged to do as we have done. Think first and theu write. That is the plan. Giad to hear from you, nevertheless. Don't be offended. R. B.— You can do better. CHARLOTTE D.— Ye~; a new continuous story, by Ambrose Hudson, will be commenced with the first number of vol. 2 of the Town. ( Several communications stand over until next week.) ARISTOCRATIC ECONOMY. We understand that several noble families, finding their incomes reduced, have curtailed the number of pairs of breeches usually issued to their flunkeys, and thus calculate on saving by the end of the year, a considerable over- plush.— Punch. / T H E TOWN. Printed and published by W. WINN, 34, Holywell- street, Strand, where all communications are to be addressed. Sold at all Booksellers, Railway Stations, and Steam Boat Piers. THE GOSSIP CLUB. THE TI ' Time is money,' said a debtor to bis creditor,' and therefore, if you will give me time, it is just the same thing as if I gave you money.' A young lady asked a boy in a bookseller's and perfumer's, if he had the Exile of Siberia. ' No, ma'am,' was the answer, ' we aint got no eggs He, but we've got a prime article of hair ile, if that'll answer.' ' Mister, where are you going with that horse ?' cried a gentle- man to a suspicious looking person whom he met on horseback ' Well, I aint a going nowhere with him,' said the other, ' but he is a- going somewhere with me.' On SATURDAY, MAY 25th, 18SO, will be pmMislied, to be continued Weekly. Price One Penny, Ho, B, of " THE TIMES WE LIVE IN;'' Jin original and highly Illustrated Mirror of * Jin original and highly Illustrated Mirror of T 3HC IE WW O M. JL, M _ W. « GHT OPE DANCER. [ On the occasion of our last visit to the above snuggery, we were waylaid by Mrs. Jones, the landlady, as we were about to enter the parlour, and led with a desrree of gentle force— if we may use that term without being charged with an Irishism— and earn- est persuasiveness, into a most agreeable and retired little sanctum behind the bar. Mrs. Jones really said so much, and spoke it so confidentially, and made our grog so much pleasanter than we had ever ta- ted any before in the same house, that we wore kept in agreeable bondage, with the certainty that the brandy came out of her own private bottle, and instead of giving the reader this week the ben- efit of the ' sayings and doings' of tbe members of the Gossip Club, we will do our best to report Mrs. Jones.] My good MK. TOWN, will you oblige me by stepping in here just for a few moments? You will ? thankee, you're very kind— and I'm sure it isn't for me to say how much I feel it— Susan 1 MK. TOWN drinks brandy and water— not out of that bottle, of course— the further one on the second shelf— didn't you say brandy MR. TOWN ? I thought so— do sit down Goodness gracious! what a fool that girl is— you know that water don't boil— how can you? People, MR. TOWN, in the pub- lic business has a deal to put up with. You would hardly believe it I dare Eay, but I have seen very different days myself, though I don't mean to say but wlint we are doing tolerably as the world wags; but that isn't what I mean: money do not always give re- lief, it is society— I miss the spear in which I formerly moved. You would, perhaps, hardly believe to see me now, with such a man as Jones, and standing behind this bar, but I was own young lady's- maid to the daughters of the late Alderman Phattbuff, who was an eminent sheriff and oilman. Sugar? certainly, why didn't you ask me before?— Susan, su- gar. Indeed, sir, I shall do nothing of the kind, so you may as well put your money in your pocket. It was as a friend if I may take the liberty to talk in that character— parlour bell, Susan— to one of such consequence as you are to the world, MR. TOWN. Half- past nine, my child. It is a great nuisance, and no one would believe it, but those who are in the public line, how many are the children as comes in at the doors merely to ask the time, and never take beer nor spirits, only asks questions which makes things troublesome, because you wouldn't like it yourself where you was chatting or busy, now, would you ? A cigar ? of course, they are very fine— now this is what I was going to eay to you when I took the liberty to bring you in here, but whenever I do, I always try to make things agreeable, be- cause Heavens— there's real troubles and tribulations enough in this world as you say— I'm sure I wasn't at all surprised at that gentleman the other day, that had his housekeeper murdered at what was the name of the place, while he went to church and his place robbed, and they can't find out the cause of death. Ah 1 Clapham— so it was— yes, thankee— Clapham to be sure. What was it he said? Was his name Maddle though— ah! I think it was— oh! so he did. Why, you know he got quite excited at the inquest, and said it was shameful— shameful! so it is too, th^ f paying so much as we do for policemen and gas lights, property in this country isn't much safer than it is, and not only property but lives too— dear me, it's dreadful. Where was I ? let me see,— Oh ! I went to Clapham, when I was going to say what it was that I had taken the liberty of ask- ing you just to step in for a minute for, and talking of Clapham, reminded me of the Queen. It was a very pretty thing I am sure of Her Majesty to think of, because the little Prince was born on the Duke of Wellington's birthday, to call him Arthur, and I wish, MR. TOWN, youcould tell me, because you know everything— No ! you wicked man, we hav'nt any little ones, and if we had I should be afraid to ask you to stand, but then what can you expect from a man like Jones ? — I want you to tell me if the Duke will be expected to give the little Prince a knife, and fork, and spoon, in a morocco case, like anybody else, or— nonsense, you must. jkot have another ! indeed, why you've only had one, and I couldn't think of such a thing— excuse me, but I must have my own way, because I asked you in here as a great favor to tell you that— A pounds' worth of silver, sir ? Certainly; though silver is re- markably scarce in this neighbourhood always on a Friday even- ing, because to- morrow is Saturday. Going to the theatre, are you sir ? I wish you a pleasant evening, I'm sure— what a pity wasn't it, that Drury Lane closed, beaeause they could not keep it open any longer for the legitimate drama? You don't think it a pity, don't you, because the company wasn't good, and they did not manage well— perhaps not, sir, but I don't know. Thankee, sir— Good night. Pint of porter, my dear ? yes. I hope, MR. TOWN, that you'll excuse my running away, but the fact is— Oh! yes, about what I was going to say, would you believe it, only in play Mr. Waggles the other night kissed me once, as I think you see, behind the door, and though you would hardly think such a thing of so small a man, and this is the point that I've been trying all the time to— draw that beer mild lor Mr. Snoddles— MR.' JONES IS JEALOUS. ( See Page 3). LEAVES FROM THE OF A UNPUBLISHED COOK. DIARY The eggsperians o' cooks is wondrus— leastways sich is my thinkin, tho'in corse I don't give judgement on the pint, for I aint a Crowner's Inquest, nor a Lord Chansellur. But this is my way o' thinkin— and I thinks as I cooks, and most- ways pnspires a- doing of both, for my figure is what may be called meaty, and our range a reglar one to burn. I thinks, as this ere world are constitructed, in doors and out, the cook are the most consequential indiwidyal of all, for this ere, can anythink be done anyveres wirout a dinner, priwate or puberlic, air it not the same ? in corse. Air a dinner anythink wirout a cook ? in corse not. Now comes the pint. Air not all the wurld in a continyal stoo— Air they not all sorts of hashes, and is not roastings a continyully going on— let alone bastings and bilings— well then, how can all this be, and who do this but the cooks ? then the cooks has the eggsperians— argal, as a gentleman which was a philosofer were I once liv'd, a Doctor Did- dleum Lamer, for which oooking from, I learnt a good deal— a cook's eggsperians air woudrus. I rite this after a ard day, and one of tryals. Fuslly— missus had the meneness to arks after cold pie, which were much cut— vole and am. I said I knowd nothink, nor did I arter that pur- liceman D. 107, rapped it up last night in his blue and white cotton pocket andkercher, and reseved it for better or wus. Noty beney. A lady has arks for pye, should not be cooked, but cook Complaints of tbe bills — does she think they is perkisites, or is we to fry ourselves and fat for nothink ? That baker arealeetle sandy, j but I do think there is a rchness about redness which air not to be found in black and white. Proscriptibum. Must not sell no more kitching stuff to the man as comes with his washhutt and don- key at hate o'cloc every morning reglar. He give an inferor price, and have no philosofy. The woman as comes at arf- past for my money, for I give her little kitching stuff, but a cold shoulder o' mutton not much cut into, have with her great wayte. We dine to- day usual hour, but vegsations terrible— four gen- tlemen come in to dinner wirout no pepperation. Extra frying and stooing, and no satigsfaction, the only advantij D. 107 come in in the evening, and take away superphlus superphluyties. Memoranding. Will trouble that feller John to make no more remarks when one orfers to fetch coles, if a purliceman do see one to a coal- hole. We likes nubly ones for the kitching, it being of no consequens what they burns up stairs comsparunsly, and nubly ones takes time to find. He need to say nothink, for nobody ever goes to sleep in a coal sellar, if they is a little long. It is aston- ishing, if you lenes again coals much when they is piled up, how the sharp pints urt the small of the back. 107 D. harks me to- night what feather bedscostes— that Baker if he have got red hair, and is of a rich nature- like, are less plain and pushing. Them two air things to think about, problybums for a philoso- fer— why not— and I likes to argy the pint of the perfession— why not I says for a cook. If a cook air a cook, a cook air a woman, air she net— and air not a woman feelinas? PROFESSOR CHAMBERS'S THREE SECRETS, in sealed Envelopes.— SECRETS OF MARRIED HAPPINESS; addressed to the Barren, the Potent, and the Impotent. A Medico- Philosophical work. Post free, Is.— • 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. Post free, 8d. " This is a useful 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 and hale old age. Post free, 8d.— This is certainly a work of first- rate talent; the best on the subject.— Pennv Punch. THE PROFESSOR'S RECIPES and REMEDIES.— The following pieces of valuable information will, be forwarded on the receipt of postage stamps for each Secret to the amount named.— THE TOWN TONIC; or, Next Day's Restorative; the only escape from LIQUID HAIR DYE. To aid the appearance of youth, and remedy the defects of age. Price 2s. 6d. INSTANT CURE FOR THE TOOTH ACHE; a Drop of Mercy for the Miserable. Price Is. THE CORN AND BUNION ERADICATOR; a Friend at a Pinch. T. Hicks, 34, Holywell- street, Strand. 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 drders entire, even to the smallest articles. Cash in advance for the first two months. W. WINN, 34, Holy well- street, Strand, London. THE LADIES' TELL- TALE. Originally published at £ 1 10. Price 2s. 6d. per post. 2 THE CONFESSIONS OF A LADY'S MAID, a picture of fashionable passion and seduction. Price 2s. 6d. post free. THE SWELL'S NIGHT GUIDE through London, Edited by the Lord Chief Baron, 3s. 6d. post free. MYSTERIES OF VENUS— Lessons of Love: or, the Adventures of Kitty Pry— five plates, 5s. 6d., post free. WOMAN of PLEASURE, coloured plates, 5s. 6d., post free. GENESOLOGY OF WOMEN, Sixty- three coloured Engravings, post free, 5s. MEMOIRS OF MISS F H , coloured plates, postfree, 5s. 6d. PHYSIOLOGY OF MAN, coloured Plates, post iree, Ss, THE SILENT FRIEND, Twenty- six coloured Plates, post free, 3s. ARISTOTLE'S CELEBRATED MASTER- PIECE, 3s. 6d.. HARRIETT WILSON, 5s. 6d. post free. Stamps taken as Cash. Catalogues sent per post, on receipt of two stamps. T. Hicks, 34, Holywell- street, Strand. T. H. will not be responsible for any Works directed to be sentto Post Office GrO^ I* Q W EVERY- 9 9 D 1 Y 9 S M @ 111