r No. 58. | Each Part may^ c^ sent, per Post,^ y alteohtjig fe^ Stamps^ r'aont, direct from l PUBLISHED WEEKLY. PriCC 1( 1 • |)( T [) OSt 2( 1. I the Office, for Eighteen Stamps' I For remote parts, Single Copies may be sent direct from the Office, for ' 2 Postage Stamps, or 26 Stamps per Quarter. ( A SCENE AT AN INN). MISTAKEN TRAVELLER— I really beg your pardon. No. 16 I thought was my room, but upon my life, I am very sorry indeed, for— ( Mistaken Traveller wa/ ies a long apology instead of shutting the door). PRETTY YOUNG LADY.— Oh! go away, do. It is very wrong of you to stand there looking at me so. I can only see you in the glass a little, sir. Now please go. TALES OF LONDON LIFE.— No. 2. MODEST MARTHA; OR THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON STREETS, BY H. G. BROOKS.— AUTHOR OF MRS. LOBIMER SPIKES. ( Continued from No. 51). By way of bringing the ' Mysteries of London Streets' to a ter- n illation, we will for a brief period leave Lady Aiding in company with her nephew, Herbert Leslie, in the prison of WhitecrosB- fiieet, snd pursue tlie fortunes ot the heroine of our story, ' Mo- dest Martha.' Return we fhen to No. 43, where Driscoll arid li giain having obtained possession of the girl, tmd knocked down ti e coacbnian, drove off towards Cato- street, a thin drizzling rain tailing, tendering the driver's position anything but pleasant. Ingrain nounted the coach- box, and Driseoll having seated himself ty the side of Martha, now threw off' all disguise as to his inflation*, and declared that it she made the slightest outcry, or did anything that might tend to excite attention, he would stran- gle her where she eat. Following up his threat by grasping her firmly by the shoulders. This violence, however, was not ne- cessary, for Martha, alarmed at the Bcene which she had witnessed in the neighbourhood of Lady Arding's house, had fainted, and her petite form reclined aparently lifeless in his arms. Not a sigh or groan esoaped her, and as the grey light of morning fell upon her features through the window of the carriage, she bore more the resemblance of one who belonged to the world of spirits, or from whom life had departed. Driscoll at length became alarmed, and exclaiming— ' F it, this will be a pretty go if she's dead,' opened the window and called to his companions. Ingrain accordingly stopped, and glancing through the win- dow at the figure of Martha, before Driscoll could utter a sen- tence, drew his breath, and then gave a long whistle, exclaming— ' Holloa guv'ner— vhy, s'help me bob, theyoung- un's a croaker — here's a stiff- un for the resurrectionists ready made.' The cold air which passed through the opened window, how- ever, had the effect of somewhat reviving the girl, for she heaved a gentle sigh, and then moved slightly upon her side. ' She's all right,' continued ingrain, ' she's only swounded ( swooned), if some of the rain falls on her it will revive her.' ' Hush 1' said Driscoll,' I don't care to disturb her, now that I know she's only fainted,' ' I ' 11 tell you what it is guv'ner,' replied Ingrain; ' I don't like this here job at all— I told you so afore— I don't mind taking a box of cold meat out of St. Clements Church- yard, or even play- ing at Btiff- bobbing ( body Bnatcbing), with the Charlies in St. Martin's, but this is a d— d dangerous game, it's just more than ten chances to one when this kid wakes up, she'll take to what is called screeching revulsions, and then we shall be finely hooped up. If 1 was you I shouldn't think of taking her to Cato- street.' ' Where can we take her ?' enquired Driscoll, who now in- wardly regretted he had ever anything to do with the adventure. Ingrain proceeded to explain that he knew a person who lived at the bottom of Milford- lane, in an old ruinous building that overlooked the river, and where he was often in tbe habit of tak- ing bodies after they had b( en removed from the neighbouring churchyard, and that there she would be safe for some time. ' I think I know who you mean,' answered Driscoll; ' the place is kept by old Arthur Bradley, the man who rents my mill at Wandsworth.' ' You are right,' was the reply,' and we will go there at once if you have no objection.' This proposition received the approval of Driscoll, and with- out farther incident they succeeded in reaching the church of St Mary- le- Strand as the clock chimed half- past six, whilst almost at the same moment one of those heavy fogs peculiar to our cli- mate, and tbe month of February, descended rendering objects at the distance of even a few yards scarcely discernable. This was a fortunate circumstance for Driscoll's adventure, as the unplea- sant character of the morning caused but few persons to be in the streets, and unnoticed the vehicle progressed down Milford- lane, and drew up under a low arch- way. Milford- lane, Strand, presents much the same appearance now that it did thirty years since, there being then the same old dirty ruinous tenements at the river entrance that there is now. It was at one of the most dilapidated of these buildings, in fact the same as doubtless the reader has ere this imagined, to which Paget and Wallis escaped after the encounter in Lyon's Inn, ( see No. 41), that Ingrain new stopped. ' I'm soaked through and through,' was his first observation as he commenced shaking his dripping garments, and then gave a shrill whistle. This whistle was a signal apparently well under- stood, for the next moment a man made his appearance, and en- quired if it was Jem Ingrain, and if he had ' got anything,' the fog had increased to such an extent as to render it almost im- possible to discern the features of the speaker, but Driscoll's as T H E TOWN. i extreme at recognizing the voice of his follower tonishment was Wallis. j£ A few words were sufficient to explain everything to Wallis, and Martha still in a state of insensibility - was conveyed into the house— an old woman being called from an upper room to take care of her. Wallis now in turn informed Driscoll that himself and Paget had sought this retreat for the purpose of getting out of the way of the night- watch, that. Arthur Bradley much to their surprise had not returned home all night, and the old woman having made them a fire, and procured some spirits, they had continued to make themselves tolerably comfortable. ' As for Paget,' concluded Wallis,' he's so comfortable that he's quite unconscious of all that's going on, for he's drank within the last two hours nearly a pint of gin, and he's now stretched upon the old woman's bed, wiiere he is likely to be for tbe next seven or eight hours.' ' Just like him,' said Driscoll,' but come, let. us to business, there is much to be done, we must first get rid of this coach— the girl, Martha, will be safe enough here, for here she must remain for two or three days at least.' ' Leave me to manage the coach affair,' answered Ingrain will be back in a few minutes, and make that all right.' And without giving farther explanation, he drove out of Mil- ford- lane, leaving Driscoll to accompany Wallis up stairs The room into which he was conducted by Wallis was an ex- tensive apartment, at the top of the house, rudely furnished, and anything but, conspicuous for its cleanliness, a tremendous fire was roaring up the large old fashioned chimney, whilst upou the table were pipes and grog glasses, giving tokens of the debauch just spoken of. There was another room leading out of this chamber, the door of which being half open showed an old woman with a light, who appeared so busied with some employment that she did not notice the entrance of either Wallis or Driscoll. Driscoll stood for a moment in the room regarding the prostrate figure of Paget who was sleeping upon a bed in a far corner, snoring loudly. Notwithstanding the density of the fog, the flame from the fire was sufficiently vivid to illumine every object in the room, and its red light falling upon the high beam and rafters with which the lofty ceiling was supported, gave to the place - most picturesque appearance. ' This is a queer looking shop apy how,' said Driscoll in an un- der tone. ' I shouldn't much care about being here very long— where can the old woman have put the child ?' he continued, looking round the place. ' In the other room I suppose,' answered Wallis. ' I'll call her — Halloa there Mother Bradley ! is this the way you receive company ?' This appeal was responded to by the entrance of an old and ex- traordinary looking female, who shrouding the candle with her hands, exclaimed in a voice tremulous with age and recent intox- ication. ' Company', company! what company ? I did not know you were going to bring any one here. Oh! dear, dear, dear, and Arthur not at home.' As soon as the old woman perceived Driscoll, she let fall a cur- tesy, and in a lachnymose tone continued to lament the absence of her son. The features of the old crone would have formed a fine study to an artist, although at least seventy years of age her eye was lighted up with a strange' radiance, vice being depicted in every lineament. ' What have you done with the girl ?' enquired Wallis. ' She's all right,' answered the old woman ; ' but I think she's very ill— I've put her to bed, pi. or little thing.' ' Did she say anything ?' asked Driscoll. ' Say anything,' repeated Mrs. Bradley,' why I don't think she can speak.' ' Surely you have not left her alone in her insensible state,' ex- claimed briscoll, making towards the door of the bed- toom, ' she may die!' ' Well,' answered the old woman with a chuckle, ' and if she does die she w on't be the first dead- un that's been in that room by many a hundred— as Charley Wallis knows.' Driscoll looked with astonishment at his companion for expla- nation of this extraordinary observation, but ere it could be given Mrs. Bradley continued. ' And as for the matter of company there are two or three of her own sex only a few yards trom her.' ' What, do you mean there are women in that room,' said Dris- coll. ' Not exactly in that room— but in one that, runs out of it, there is only a thin partition between them.' ' They may speak to her.' ' No fear of that,' said Wallis, apparently understanding the old • woman and everything, ' the ladies who go into that room are generally tolerable quiet.' Before Wallis could give to his companion any explanation, a bell which hung over toe fire- place was rung violently, and the old woman rushed to the long casement, and opening it looked out. This window, when there was light, commanded a view of the river, the fog, however, rendered it impossible to distinguish ob- jects, the only thing visible and those but faintly, were the red glare of the flambeauxs and ' devils,' which were burning upon the several wharfs and barges. ' It's Arthur,' said Mrs. Bradley; ' I know it's his ring, and there's something wrong abroad, or he would come in by the front entrance.' ' Why surely,' exclaimed Driscoll, ' your son is not upon the river in this fog.' Mrs. Bradley, who appeared to have considerably sobered, now that there seemed to be danger, and evidently also actuated by fear lest her son should perceive that she had been drinking, re- moved the glasses from the table— and as she did so, informed Driscoll that her boy had been out on business all night, she pre- sumed at the mill in Wandsworth Fields, that he was well ac- quainted with the river, and that night or day, fog or sun shine was all the same to him— and,' she continued, ' you'll see how well he knows the way of this place.' The words were accom- panied by her throwing with a dexterity truly wonderful for a woman of her age, a coil of rope from off the floor out of the window. To the surprise of Driscoll he perceived that this rope was suspended to a small crane or pulley which had escaped his no- tice, being fastened in a nook of the wall. This pulley Mrs. Bradley requested Wallis to assist her in turning, and Driscoll almost mechanically took hold of the handle, as the two turned the wheel they heard a whistle, and Mrs. Bradley immediately rushed to the window, imploring them to be steady and not re- lax in their exertions, or loose their hold, for her boy's life was in their hands. A ii, other's anxiety was plainly depicted in the old woman's manner, and it was fully explained in a few seconds by the head and body of a man appearing at the window, and finally Arthur Bradley, the proprietor of these extraordinary apartment i was drawn into the room. Arthur Bradley was a strong powerful built man, apparently about five and forty years of age, the means by which he had en- tered the chamber appeared to be no novelty to him, and he did not seem in the slightest degree surprised at the presence of the company. He informed his mother that, he had seen Tom In- grain in the lane as he was entering, who told him there was something wrong, to beg of Captain Driscoll and his pals to get out of the way as quick as possible, and said Bradley, ' before I could ask him any more questions he ran off. I wits coming in at the door, but changed my mind upon seeing a coach there, and didn't know what it might, lead to— so I oatno in by the old way — and now, gentlemen, as it is not impossible we may be favored with the visit of some acquaintances from Bow- street office, and, The hint was not lost upon either Driscoll or his companion, who expressed their desire to leave immediately, first explaining in a few words the cause of their visit, and promising Mrs. Brad- ley five pounds if she kept Martha safe. ' Leave the girl to mother,' said Arthur,' she'll manage all that business right, enough, as for Paget he must stop here, he's too drunk to accompany us.' ' Do you then go with us ?' enquired Driscoll. ' Most certainly,' answered Arthur in the same bantering tone that he had at first spoken. ' I don't think I should be able to make those below so comfortable as I could wish— they might ask some questions about a ton or two of lead which some friends of mine made me a present of a few days since, and which was brought, in at that window. I think it was found lying in the river— however, we had better be off. Wallis made a move towards the door as if to leave, but the old woman pulled him back, exclaiming, ' are you mad. If there's any one below watching or waiting, wouldn't they take you directly— you musn't go out that way.' Mother is right,' said Arthur, ' no people who live by finding things are forced to have more ways of going in and out of a nouse than one— you ktow of two already, I'll ahow you another, so saying he placed a chair upon the table, which enabled him to " reach a rope that hung unnoticed amidst the beams and ralters, which he pulled, and immediately a step- ladder fell out from the ceiling. This he ascended, direciing the two men to follow him, and having gained the top he opened a trap- door in the roof. ' Here,' he said, ' are the leads; and although its dark they are wide enough for six or eight to walk abreast— you must follow me, and go over the roofs till we reach Arundel- street, where there is a house that has been empty some months, it's all safe enough, I've been in and out by this means several times within the last fortnight.' Driscoll and Wallis followed closely upon the heels of Arthur, and in about five minutes they found themselves safely in Arun- del- street. For many hours, that is to say till near three o'clock in the af- ternoon, Martha - ontinued to sleep, about which time she was awoke by Mrs. Bradley, who brought her some tea and other re- Ireshment. The surprise of the child was great upon beholding the old wo- man, and it was a long time ere she could tell if she were not in a dream. The tea into which some spirits had been poured, had the effect of reviving her, and she commenced asking a number of questions, to all of which, however, the woman gave au iudi recr, answer, her cunning proving too much for the child. All therefore that Martha could ascertain was, that she had been in the hands of bad men, but had been rescued and brought there, where she having been very ill had lain in a state of insen- sibility ever since: and the old woman concluded by assuring her that she must not upon any account attempt to stir or she would be worse. Martha, hvcr, felt anxious to know where she was, and as soon as her companion left the room, she endeavoured to rise from the bed ; this she effected with some difficulty, for the night air had occasioned her cold in all her limbs, and with pain she contrived to crawl to the door. In a few moments she overheard a conversation between the old woman and the man, whose voice she recognized as Paget's, of such a description as to show to her that she had fallen into company with persons whose habits of life were of a disreputable character. She therefore hearing that Mrs. Bradley was about to go out for a short time, determined to embrace that opportunity to es- cape. No sooner had she formed this idea, but she commenced huddling on her clothes, being resolved to return to tbe bed, should she return. Whilst she was in the act of fastening some <> f hor under garments, Mrs. Bradley entered the room. In an instant she perceived how matters stood, and guessing Martha's motives, her rage at the idea of losing the sum of money promised her got the better of her canning, and in a strain of coarse in- vective, she charged Martha with attempting to escape; and calling her an artful designing little slut left the apartment, first locking the door upon her. Martha had now no doubt in her mind that she was with some of the party who had taken her from her grandfather's, and she therefore determined to use every effort to escape, or at least summon some one to her assistance. The chamber in which she was secured was only parted from the large apartment by a s ight partition, but dimly lighted by a portion of the window which passed from the outer room; to open this casement without making a noise was impossible, as it must slide in its groove into the next chamber. Whilst she was reflecting upon what course to pursue, she ob- served a door in the wall, at the same instant that of her apart- ment gently opened, and a man's head was thrust into the room. It was Paget— as soon as he perceived she was up, he advanced to the bed, and in a tone of familiarity desired her not to be a- larmrd— the old woman was gone out and he would take care of her— and by way of encouragement endeavoured to kiss her. This Martha, however, resisted, for with that intuitive sense of bashfulness which had earned for her the name of ' Modest' she felt the impropriety of his conduct. Paget was not so easily to be repulsed, and with his features inflamed with drink, and pas- sion excited by the appearance of the half- naked figure of tbe lovely girl, he staggered after her. We have before said that Martha was a fine grown girl for her = e ( nearly fifteen). Pager, was a sensualist of the grossest char- acter, and the naturally vicious and lustful feelings of his nature took complete possession of him ; feeling that he was alone with her, he determined to take advantage ot' her helpless condition. Rushing after, and seizing her rouud the waist, despite her efforts, he bore her to the bed, upon which he threw her, smothering her with brutal kisses, and exclaiming,' you little puss you thought to get away from me, did you ? but, d e, before you leave this house I'll make a woman of you.' Martha, however, continued to struggle violently with her would- be- seducer, the few articles of clothing that she had upon her body were nearly torn off her, whilst her arms neck and legs were much bruised in the struggle. With a last violent effort she contrived to throw Paget from her, and then rushing through the little door into the small inner chamber closed it violently after her. All was here nearly dark. But in her alarm thinking she might find some outlet to escape by, she commenced groping along the sides of the room, in doing so she slipped and fell upon a hard substance— it was a sack— she stretched forth her hand to rise, and at. scarcely a yard from her it grasped another, the next in- stant her eve- balls nearly burst from their sockets at discovering that both sacks contained human bodies, the long hair, and the damp, icy- feel of the features telling her too plainly that it was the dead body of a female. A long loud piercing shriek of agony burst from the girl, which was responded to with an insulting laugh from Paget, who ex- claimed in a derisive tone—• ' You all right now, my little dear, von won't get seduced there, but I don't think much of choice in leaving me for the body- snatcher's private warehouse. ivlartnn near. i no more, but fell lifeless across the sack. ( To be continued.) MINE OR YOURS;' or THE DOUBLE CLAIM. BY AMBROSE HUDSON. Mrs. Tidman was three or four and thirty, pretty, fair- headed, and embonpoint, with a charming little furnished house in Cam- den Town, and a rurtdv old set- faring gentleman for a husband. Captain Tidman was an owner and his own master, that is, nau- ticallv, and at. the time of the circumstances occurring we are about to describe, was supposed to be cruising somewhere between Bueonos Ayres and California. Mrs. Tidman, anxious to visit Brighton for change of air, and in order the better to meet the expenses of the trip, determined on letting her house for the au tumn months, and succeeded in finding a tenant in the person of Mr. Frank Potter, a young professional gentleman, who, while his own house, which was in the neighbourhood, was being fur- nished, proposed to inhabit Mrs. Tidman's. Mr. Frank Potter was young, good- looking, and 1 about to marry.' Miss Marv Morton was the object of his choice, and he sat writing ail acros- tic on her name, one morning, in his new residence, when the parlour- door was very softly opened, and a rough- looking man putting his head into the room, winked his eye, and clapped bis fingers to his mouth as he whistled through them. • Hush !' ' Holloa ! who are yon ?' ' Mum !' ' Eh?' ' Nobody at home ?' ' Only me.' ' She ain't here, then ?' continued the intruder. ' She— who ?' ' Why, who but Mary to be sure ; and now I look at you, you seern to make yourself tolerably at home here, young gentleman,' and the rough- looking man advanced to the fire- place. ' I should thiuk if anybody did, I ought,' replied Mr. Frank Potter,' but you're pretty free and easy yourself, old gentleman; I say again, who's Mary ?' ' The mistress of this house, young fellow.' ' There is but one, sir, and she was here just now.' ' To be sure she was, and will be here again— I expect her every minute.' ' You do I' exclaimed Frank, ' expect my Mary ?' ' Your Mary ! Harkye, youngster, do you know whose desk that is you are writing at ?' ' Mine, sir !' was the indignant reply. - Yours ! be jiggered,' cried the rough gentleman. ' What right, sir,' seizing the acrostic—' what right, sir, have you to address my dear Mary in this way ?' ' M y own, my love, my angel one, A rt thou not to me my sun, R oiling moon, and silver star, Y outhful, deare- t, best- loved, far ?' ' I've a devilish good mind to knock you down for your imper- tinence ! ' best- loved far,' indeed! best- loved grandmother.' Pot- ter started to his feet. ' Weather- beaten ruffian ! who you are or what you are, I don't know— how did you get. into the place ?' ' By a latch- key, you son of a sea- cook; look here!' and the article in question was displayed to the eyes of the professional gent. ' Well, you are here, no matter how you got in; you have in suited me most grossly— me, sir, the master of this nouse.' ' Ha, ha, ha !' shouted the burly old fellow, as he flung himself full length on the sofa. ' You have claimed the woman I adore, the desk at which I sit — Hang it! you will claim the house next;— get off that sofa, you hoary- neaded itinerant, look at your ooots.' ' Sir,' said the other, rising, ' I claim Mary because she is mine; I claim that desk because it is mine; and I claim this house be- cause it is mine. Dainme, but I'm husband of the one, master of the other, and landlord of the third ! My name is Captain Tom Tidman, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.' ' Now I have you,' cried Potter; ' you're a rogue, a thief, a swindler, and my belief is you want to run away with the spoons. Learn, to your confusion, old wig and whiskers, that Mrs. Tid- man is a widow V ' A what? ' A widow! Stop where you are, don't attempt to move ; I will have a policeman for you, my tine fellow, in a jiffy I' and into the hall and out of house rushed Mr. Frank Potter. The rough- looking intruder had scarcely recovered from his first surprise, when a sweet young creature burst into the apart- ment, crying, ' Frank! my dear Frank, there is such a duck of a cheffioneer in Tottenham- con, t- road. Good gracious! lor, my dear, dear, god- papa !' and then the pretty thing threw hersrlf into the arms of the obstreperous old gentleman, who kissed her with consider- able satisfaction, as Frank returned with a policeman in the back ground. Potter struck an attitude worthy of Canova ; it was true, then; at least, it looked so ; his Mary was another man s Mary, and that other man was his unwelcome visitor, in whose arms she was locked. A voice was heard without. ' I called to say if any letters should be left—' and ere the sen- tence was finished, Mrs. Tidman herself tnade her unexpected ap- pearance, She no sooner beheld the aspect of affairs, however, that she gently rnurmered, ' Tid., my husband, in the arms of another! ah !' and, with a faint scream she completed the tableau by sinking into the unre- sisted embrace of Mr. Frank Potter. ' Ho! ho!' said the rough- looking man. ' Now, then!' cried the professional gentleman. ' Is that your Mary ? ' No. Is that yours ?' ' No. Shall we change ?' ' With all my heart. Is that right ?' ' AU right,' and Frank Potter found himself by the side of Mary Morton, while Mrs. Tidman shook her finder at the old seaman. He explained himself satisfactorily. In reality, Captain Tom Tidman had returned to England earlier than he had expected, and determined to surprise his wife by his appearance, and with- out knowing that she had let the house, entered it in the hopes o f finding her. His reception by Frank we saw. Mary was his god- daughter, whom he had not 6een for years, and— need we say more? Yes, one thing remains to be told; Mrs. Tidman had passed herself off as a widow, that, she might be presumed to have, in her own right, the privilege of letting. It was a jolly evening that same in Camden Town : Frank Potter yielded his position as host on the occasion, and a few weeks afterwards Captain Tom Tidman had the satisfaction ol making his first appearance in public as the happy father of a blushing bride. WHY AND BECAUSE. ' Bill! vy don't yer put on a bolder front vith t'uat ere gal ?' ' ' Cos I shan't put on no more fronts at all Tom. Susan tvig- ged the last I vore, and its been all dicky atween us, for her chaff ever since.' When is a pugilist like a lying tradesman ? When he is f ibbing Willi 1,1 le visit ui ouiiic Muquiiiiittuiues IIULU - L> uw- sireet onice, anu, . ' . - , . . . . perhaps, we might not be able to make ourselves sociable in their his ' customer,' and getting the best of him in the company, had we not better separate as soon as possible, dodge.' NEGRO ELOQUENCE. A ' dandy black * stepped into a provision shop in Boston re- cently to buy some potatoes ; before purchasing, he gave the fol- lowing description of its nature :—' De tater is inevitably bad or inwerably good. Dere is no mediocrity in de combination of de tater. De exterior may, indeed, appear remarkably exemplary a', d butesome, while de interior is totally negative ; but, sir, i f you wends the articles ' pon your own recomwendations, knowing you to be a man of probability in all your translations, why, sir, widout further circumlocutions, I take a bushel.' Why would Scotchmen make the best, prize- fighters? Because they have the reputation of ' coming co the scratch' quicker tnan other people. T H E TOWN. THE CHARMED LIFE; OR, THE REVELATIONS OF A POLICEMAN. BY AMBROSE HUDSON. I need not go on to tell you how fast I made my way from that wretched place, and never once stopped to look behind me. Suf- fice it to say that in three days I reached a sea- port, and was for- tunate enough to get a berth on board a ship sailing to the West Indies I soon found a sailor's life was not the charming thing I had pictured it, and I verily believe there are not fifty men in the English ser- vice— and I am sincere in saying I think that the best, tor I have tried others— who having attained the age of thirty, would not most willingly adopt any other means of living that would afford them the same, or even a somewhat lesser income. For myself I left the sea at two- and- twenty, and as you know, soon afterwards entered the policeforce. The existence of a policeman, heaven knows! is not the most delightful, bnt it is far preferable— at least to my thinking — to that of the seaman's. I have but one more adventure to re- peat to you and then 1 have done. I was the second mate of a vessel trading between London and the Mauritius, and the son of one of the owners was the chief officer. . Between us there was a strong friendship, and he would have gladly served me, as he had many opportunities had I continued in that way of life. It was my last voyage, and when we landed in Liverpool together, after visiting his parents at whose house I was made welcome, he insisted on introducing me to the family of a wealthy merchant, named Rivers, to whose eldest daugh- ter he was secretly engaged. I thought Ellen Rivers one of the sweetest girls I had ever seen, and my experience had not been trivial, traveller as I was. I do not mean that she was strictly beautiful; her features depended more on expression than their classic regularity, but her figure was ladylike in the extreme, her manners were most refined, and when she smiled aud shook back her profuse brown ringlets, and her hazel eyes lighted up, and a smile played about her mouth, you vowed by her amiability and longed to imprint a kiss upon her lips — I did I promise you. It was to an evening party at their house we were invited the even- ing after our arrival in England. George Langley— that was the name of my friend— had often told me of his love, and I advised him to make Ellen an offer through her father, but he declared that Mr. Rivers was ambitious of a better match— he knew him well, and he said it would be in vain, and only have the effect of shutting him from the house for ever. ' George,' said Ellen, on the evening in question, ' all you feared has happened. My father has found for me a wealthy suitor, called Hargrave, and you will never lead me to the altar.' There was a tear in the eye of the pretty Ellen as she spoke, and her voice trembled audibly. ' This is cruel indeed,' said the young sailor. ' Ellen, do you love me ?' ' George !' ' Forgive me— forgive me, my beloved! I did wrong to doubt you for a moment; but I have been absent from you long, and I feared the power of wealth and your father's commands. You par- don me, do you not ?' The up- turned glance of the young girl re- assured the sailor. ' Is he here to- night, Ellen ?' ' He is not.' ' Have you informed him of our engagement ?' ' 1 have; and he regards it as the passion of a moment. Your absence, hitherto, has induced him, if not, further to urge his suit to maintain his advances already made, and my father's sanction gives him double courage to go on.' ' What is to be done?' ' Alas! I know not!' ' No way but this. Consent, dearest Ellen, to an immediate secret marriage, and we may defy this Hargrave.' ' Never, George,' replied Miss Rivers. ' You know how dearly I love you, how deeply rooted is my affection— it may not be readily torn up by any passing hand, but with this alone rest content: I will never wed without my father's consent, but I will never give away my hand where I cannot bestow my heart.' That " night, both Ellen Rivers and her young lover, George Langley, pressed sleepless pillows. The following day, by my advice, he determined to address her father;— he saw him, pleaded his suit and— was refused. Old Rivers now, even more than Mr. Hargrove, seemed to hasten tbe wedding with the latter. Poor George, was, as he expected, banished the house, and it was only from parties unconnected with the family that he heard of the marriage preparations. Again and again, did he ask what course would Ellen pursue, how could she obviate the misery that seemed laid up in store for both ? Was this world then one of woe and tribulation alone;— were there no bright spots on the landscape of life • not a single well in the broad desert from which to drink out love and bliss till death? One day— it was near that of the marriage morning— we were walking down the street in which Ellen resided. It was there that George stole by night, to watch the house that contained his love, and when strangers came he shrunk under door- ways, that alone in darkness, and unheeded, he might gaze up to the windows and picture her within, and talk to her in fancy. We were earnestly debating the best measures to be adopted, when stopping he exclaimed—• ' By heavens! here comes the man— this Hargrave, he is going there— I know him— he has been pointed out to me. If I meet him, I shall strike him to the ground. I cannot control my tem- per with the man who thrusts himself ' twixt me and happiness.' ' One moment, George, one moment only. God of mercy, ' tis the very same!' ' Who, what ?' ' Nothing— not a word ; this way and I will tell you all.' I dragged him forcibly from the spot, and hastened towards my own lodgings. I had once again encountered the Undying One in the rival of my friend— in the person of Mr. Hargrave! What should I do? He had been my benefactor, my protector, but. knowing tbe destiny that pursued him and all with wuom he came in contact, could [ see the hopes of that friend blighted now and for ever, and his gentle Ellen led a certain victim to the sacrifice ? No; there was but one course, and that I resolved upon adopting without delay. To reveal all to Langley might produce some hasty ebullition, the consequences of which I judged, by the past, might prove fatal. I would at once to Mr. Rivers and declare the truth. Bidding George be of good cheer, for I hoped iu a little while to bring him satisfactory news, I visited the merchant, and fortunately tound him within. For awhile he treated my statement with contempt, and almost insulted me for its delivery; but when I urged so calmly, and yet with so much earnestness everyfact, and offered to confront the man, he appeared somewhat shaken in his belief. He told me, Mr. Har- " rave was in the house, and I should see him. We entered the drawing- room together, and he was there, bendins over the form of the weeping Ellen. He looked up— his eyes met mine— and he recognised mo on the instant. ' You know this man,' said Mr. Rivers, 1 the is the friend of the rival of whom you have heard: he has told me a strange story of which you are the hero.' « Edward!' ' It, is true!' ' I forgive you, Edward Dawson,' said the assumed Hargravc. I do not say you have acted treacherously, but you have displayed a needless zeal. 1 have already, to this fair girl, withdrawn the o laim I held upon her hand and heart,' 1 Ellen!' exclaimed the merchant. 1 My dear father, he has acted nobly,' sobbed the maiden. ' And now, my dear sir,' continued the Undying One, ' give her to the man she loves. I have made within these few days past, all due inquiry, and I believe that he is worthy of her. It would be insulting you to offer her a richer dower than that which you can give her. but the interests of her destined husband, 1 will watch over yet, and while I live— that is, while he shall live, he shall never want a protector in the person of— Hargrave, the Wanderer!' Our hearts were too full for words to escape us. ' Edward,' said he to me, ' you voluntarily abandoned my house, and I may not further serve you, but with all my heart I wish you that enduring happiness which I can never know. Mr. Rivers what you have heard to day, sir, yon will, for your daughter's sake, ab- stain from making the theme of idle conversation. Farewell, madam; farewell, gentlemen, for ever!' ' Stay, stay, sir, do not leave us,' exclaimed the merchant; but his visitor had departed. ' Ob! if you could but have seen the happiness of that fellow, George Langley, when the incidents of the. scene were recounted to him, and he was told that old Mr. Rivers had given his consent to the union! How he laughed, aud sang, and capered, and cried and hugged me for bringing him the news, and kicked the cat out of his way, aod actually tore through the streets of Liverpool without his hat, to fling himself at the feet of his charming mistress! And Ellen too— ' What's the use of you going on in that way. Ned?' again broke in the policeman who had so often volunteered his remarks during the progress of the story. ' What is the use of it to fellows like us, tint havn't got wives of our own, and aint sentimental?' ' We are men, and have our feelings, have we not?" asked Dawson. ' Of course we are men, and have our feelings— such as they are — Policemen!' ' What he means,' said listener No. 2, ' is, come to the point,— they were married, weren't they ?' ' Emma Rivers and George Langley ? certainly.' ' And happy ?' ' Very happy.' 1 And had a lot o'little ones ?' ' Three boys and two girls.' ' Then why couldn't you say all that before ?' grumbled No. 1. you seen this Hargrave, or what- d'ye- call-' un since?' ' Last night at the foot of Waterloo Bridge.' ' Did you speak to him ?' ' I did not— I saw him but a moment.' ' How did he look?' 1 The same as ever— the same coal- black hair, the same dark bright eyes, the same olive complexion, the same unfading youth that has ever marked this MAN OP MYSTERY!' Ned Dawson quitted the room as the time grew near when he had duty to attend, and Policeman No. 1 whispered to Policeman No. 2. ' Tom, what do you think of all this?' ' Well, Bill,' replied the officer addressed, ' I have been a turning in my mind a goodish bit, and I've come to this condu- it over ' What?' ' IT AIN'T BAD POR A YARN!' ' HOW IS YOUR DAUGHTER?'. SEVEN YEARS AGO. Seven years ago! why it seems but the other day, and yet how vast, and mighty are the changes. Changes not alone in things but men- not in places and streets and squares, out habits, thoughts and feelings. Seven years is an apprenticeship, nnd the boys of the by- gone time have burst into manhood, and are battling with the age, with creeping children about their knees while yet the down is on their chins. Girls we played with yesterday at blindman's buff, and kiss in tbe ring, are staid aud matronly housewives, the mothers of chubby grubby children, and would resent the very idea of a squeeze aud a smack, as treason to the state, they are— oh ! direful sound— seven years older. The longest seven years of which we have hitherto had cogni- zance are those from fourteen to twenty- one. We can remember how anxiously we counted them, and prayed for them to pass, because on attaining man's estate, we had half- a- crown to receive by way of starting us in the world. The day arrived; we pocketed and spent the coin, and then how quickly whirled the weeks, and months, and years. We find grey hairs sometimes when we are shaving; when we get in the way of a cabman or a costermouger ' n the street he no longer shouts out to us—' Now then, young feller!' each seven years adds to the rotundity of our corporation, ami looking back, we almost wish that we weri1 boys again. Leave England, or London, or the place of your residence wherever it may be for sevea years, and you shall note changes on your return, which though they may be deemed improvements by all the world beside, shall convey a something of sadness to your own mind. If to this absence conjoin estrangement from friends, and after seven years you shall be a stranger in the home- of your boyhood. Reader! seven years ago— though The Town had before that time existed— we were tinknown to each other, we can converse pleasantly together now through tbe medium of our successful journal, but where and how shall we both be seven years hence ? You would know if you could, and so would we, we frankly own. Happier for us, whatsoever might be our fates that the future is hut as a sealed book, and in the language of Pope ' Whatever is, is right.' I propose that you should give, for the entertainment of your friends, an Evening Party ; and as this is a scene in which young ladies prominently figure, I will pay particular attention to your daughter. 0 mystery of preparation ! When men made a " dis- play of manhood, wearing beards, it is recorded that they packed them, when they went to bed, in pasteboard cases, lest they might be tumbled in the night. Man at his grimmest is as vain as " woman, even when he stalks about b. eardei? and battle- axed.— Tois is the mystery of preparation in your daughter's case: How does she breathe ? You have prepared her from childhood for the part she is to play to- night, by training her form into the only shape which can be looked at with complaccncv in any ball- room. A machine called stays has had her in its grip from early girlhood. She has become pale, and— only the least bit— liable t'o be blue about the nose and fingers. This is the secret of their excellence. A woman's ribs are narrow at the top, and as they approach the waist they widen, to allow room for the lungs to play within them. . It happens that these lungs have work to do— the trotting of the breath of life into the blood— which they are unable to de properly when cramped for space; it becomes about as rfilficult to them as it would be to you to play the trombone in » < iiina. closet. By this compression of the chest, ladies are made nervous, and become unfit for much exertion- they do not, however, allow us to suppose that they have lost their flesh. There is a fiotion of - attire which would induce in a speculative critic the belief that- some internal flame had caused their waists to gutter, and that the ribs had all run down into a lump which protrudes behind under the waistband. This appearance is a fiction. It was written one day that the hump alluded to was tested with a pin upon the person of a lady coming from the Isle of Man, and it was found not to be sensitive. Brandy exuded from the wound, for in that case the projection was a bladder in which the prudent housewife was smuggling comfort in a quiet way. Your daughter comes down stairs dressed, with a bouquet, at a time when the dull seeker of Health and Strength would have her to go up stairs with a bed- candlestick. You guests arrive. Young ladies thinly clad and packed in carriages emerge half stifled, put a cold foot, protected by a filmy shoe, upon the pave- ment, aud run, shivering, into your housp. Well, sir, we.' ll warm them presently. But suffer me now to leave you now while you receive your guests. I know a Phyllis, fresh from the country, who gets up at six and goes to beu at ten; who knows no perfume but a flower- gar- den, and has worn no bandage to her waist except a sash. She is now in London, and desires to do as others do. She is invited to your party, but is not yet come ; it may be well for me to call upon her.— Why, in the name of Newgate, what is going on ? She is shrieking' Murder!' on the second floor. Up to the rescue! A judicious maid directs me to the drawing- roum : ' It's only Miss a- trying on her stays.' Here we are sir; Pnyllis and I.— You find the room oppressive—' tis with perfump, Phyllis.— With foul air? ah, your nice country nose detects it; yes, there is foul air: not nasty, of course, my dear, mixed as it is here with eau- de- Cologne and patchouli. Pills are not nasty, sugared. Why do they cuddle the ladies, and spin about tbe room with them like teetotums? Oh. Phyllis! Phyllis! let me waltz with you. There, do you not see how it is ? Faint are you— giddy— will you fall? An ice will refresh you. Spasms next! Phyllis, let me take you home. Now, then, sir, Phyllis has been put to bed; allow me to dance a polka with your daughter. Frail, elegant creature that she is ! A glass of wine,— a macaroon ; good. Sontag, yes; and that dear novel. That was a delightful dance, now let us promenade. The room is close ; a glass of wine, an ice, and let us get to the delicious draught in the conservatory, or by that door. Is it not beautiful ? Another dance. How fond she seems to be of macaroons. Srp per. My dear sir, I will take good care of your daughter. One sap-' wich. Champagne. Tipsy cake. Brandy cherries. Glass of wine. A macaroon. Trifle. Jelly. Champagne. Custard. Macaroon. The ladies are taking care of— YtS, now in their ai>- sense we will drink their iiealth, and wink at each other : their and our Bad Healths. This is the happiest moment of our lives; at two in the morning, with a dose of indigestion iu the stomachs, and three hours more to come before we get to bed. You, my dear sir, hope that on many occasions like the present you may see your friends arou , d you, looking as glassy- eyed as you have made them to look now. We will re- join the ladies. Nothing but champagne could have enabled us to keep up the evening so well. We were getting weary before supper— but we have had some wine have dug the spur into our sides, and on we go again. At length the bottle stimulated our worn- out compauy no more, and then we separate. Good night, dear sir; we have spent a Viry Pleasant Evening under your roof. To- morrow, when you depart from a late break fast, having seen your daughter's face and her boiled mackerel eye, knowing that your wife is billious and that your son has just gone out for soda water, you will . eel yourself to be a Briton who has done his duty, a man who has paid something ou account of his great debt to civilised society. WHO EVER SAW? Imprimis. A Newfoundland dog following a Jew clothes- man ? 2. A black man driving a four- horse coach in or out of town ? 3. A Jew ploughing a nine acre field? 4. A two- penny postman weighing twenty stone? o. A woman with good teeth that was nor. given to grinning? 6. An old maid that had not a spite against, a young one ? 7. A young maid who had not a joke against an old one ? 8. A sailor in jacket, trousers, and top boots? 9. A boxkeeper that couldn't take a sixpence ? 10. An actor more satisfied with his engagement, 1he manager, and his brethren than himself? 11. A man who shook hands with a ghost? 12. A very talkative keeper of a toll- gate? 13. A man who could rub his right eye with his left elbow? IF a gent, rather t; psy, fall upon an aspbaltic pavement, why is t. he pavement as much to blame as the gent.?— Because it is as faulty ( asphalte). A MAN very much intoxicated was sent to prison. ' Why don't von bail him out,' inquired a bystander. • Bale hi- i. out!' exclaimed the other,' you couldn't pump him out! SACRIFICE EXTRAORDINARY. A newspaper advertisement announces that ' A professional gentleman is instructed to sacrifice three young sound horses at half their cost.'. We wonder what deity horses could be sacrificed to? Hymen, perhaps : for when a gentleman mairies heis some- times forced to give up his stud.— Punch. J& otices to Correspondents. TITE GENTLEMAN who wrote, the beginning of the w-' ek to Professor Cham- bers and has noc jet received a reply, is ( through the rnedi cm of our columns) requested by the Professor to write again, as by aii accident the letter was destroy ed. A LOVER OP PHYSIOGICAL SECRETS.— 1st, 2nd, and 3rd, No. 4( h, We Infer. the contrary from experience. 5th, Not very. 6th, Men of an open honest nature, and strong unprejudiced mind. HAWK EVE ( Liverpool).— We are much obliged by your complimentarv epislle, and will, when practicable, carry out your suggestion. 11 h regard 10 the matte,- of your postscript we recommend you to send half a- crown's worth of postage stamps to Professor Chambers. A DICKEY SAM.— Not quite up to our mark, old fellow ; try again. J. S. It. ( Cambeiwell)— We have no objection to insert it, but it must hi paid lor as an advertisement. As our space is valuable, and our i* ale im- inense, we take nothing under a pound. B. G. S. ( Bath)— Under consideration; but certainly not availabo in its present sriape. We are obliged, and shall be happy to hear from you again. Z.— We must see our way clearer. If you are in earnest, show us srrm. i guaran ee of good faith, afid we will meet your views. Attempt to string us and we laugh at your lust endeavours. W. S. B ( Liverpool).— T. Hicks, Holywell- street. Three shillings and silt- pence. i- or ' information' connected with The subject we can only advise you tj write to Professor Chambers. Five shillings worth of postage stamps. DICKEY DUTTON ) Norwich).— Thanks. Try another style, and . let us hear from you again. T. C. O. S.— Too highly colored, governor. Be more subdued next time. ESTRELLA M. S.— Next week. , rake yourself, Miss Em. Send us your your composition, aud pretty as your EMILY ( Bristol).— You're a bit of portrait, if you are as piquant as handwriting. AMRER.— Declined with thanks. K. R.— We are a deuced deal more independent than you Imagine; but we always meet courtesy with courtesy, anil iiope, that gentlemen, we behave ' as sic a.' L. P. T.— We accept the challenge. F. D. S. ( Dublin)— We have only one batch of yours— the last. Send again — prose. A Lusbv Swell.— Keep your temper, old wig and whiskers, find let your hair grow. We have only received you last epistle. If you want anything forwarded, write lor it civilly, and remit its price in postage siamps. \ on will be duly attended to. S « \- ito k n tii mirations stand over until next week;) % THE TOWN MR. SNODDLES, OF THE GOSSIP CLUB. POSES PLASTIQUES, Waggles, the renowned, in the chair as usual. Mr. Snoddles was on his legs as we entered. Mr. Snoddles. I repeats, Mr. Chairman, without repetition, if you aint more important business afore the company, I feels that 1 should like my motion to be looked at. This is it, sir, on this ere piece of paper, which if permitted I vill introduce at vonce. Chairman, I have more than twice already, sir, requested you to wait until the close of our gossip upon the topics of ths week. I believe there is little else to speak of, and then we shall be glad to hear you. , Mr. Snoddles. I assures you, Mr. Chairman, from the bottom of my art— Chairman. Si- ilence! Mr. Snoddles. ( Mr. S. is dragged down in his old coat and customary disgrace, which latter, as usual, produces not the slightest effect upon the gentleman). Chairman. 1 hud that Walter Wans, Mr. Sharp, the late lessee of the Olympic and Marylebone Theatres, and clerk in the Globe Insurance Office, has been fully committed for trial upon two indictments; one for stealing an order for 1,400/. and one piece of paper, value one penny; and the other with having stolen a like order on another day. Mr. Sharp. So I see, sir. What a cruel mess he made of management— I hoped for better things at the Olympic from the conduct of the Marylebone. Mr. Striggles, ( bursting into life with what he conceives to be a new joke). And 1 anticipated from his name alone, that he, better tuau another man, should have known je( h) at's what. ( A general groan). Chairman. We do not usually discuss politics in our society, but 1 cannot help offering a remark on the conduct of some of the gossiping old women of the Parliament and the Press. It appears that Sir Robert Peel— by the bye, I beg your pardon— 1 quite forgot to ask you beiore, but how is Mrs. S. and the babbies ? Mr. Sharp. Thank you. ' Mother and children are doing well.' Chairman. I'm glad to hear it, because two you know— Mr. Snoddles. Yes, Mr. Waggles, two is a trial, 1 speaks from cggsperience, but if Mrs. Sharp is short, I knows a bootyful thing for the milk. Chairman. Si- ilence! Mr. Snoddles, ( Mr, S. good naturedly submits to be burked again). Oh 1 an ! Sir Robert Peel— that was it— Sir Robert went to see the Queen aud Prince Albert on Thursday last, and everybody is looking wondrous wise at every- body else, and wondering in consequence, how soon he will be in office, and who will go to make up the cabinet. Red- nosed Man. Not all, guv'nor. Bobby Peel called after- wards at the . Duke of Wellington's, and stayed there for some time, on his road home. Mr. Striggles. And so because Peel visited Her Majesty and the Prince— most probably to converse with the latter on the ex- position of 1851, aud afterwards popped in upon the Iron Duke to enquire after his rheumatism and take a glass ot wine— Mr. Snoddles. Or probably a dish o' tea. Depend upon it that old Deok don't use no miste shugar, and his tea's good. Mr. Striggles ( to Mr. Snoddles). When I require your assist- ance, sir, 1 will ask you for it. Mr. Snoddles. You'll always be werry welcome, I'm sure. Chairman. Si- ilence! Mr. Snoddles. Mr. Striggles. 1 was about to observe how we English make mountains of mole- hills, and twist any absurdity into presump- tive evidence, however improbable, if it only agrees with our pre- conceived wishes. Red- nosed Man. As we are parliamentary this evening, I can't li? lp referring to what I consider a very ludicrous petition pre- jented to the House the other evening by old Joe Hume from the Highland Soldiers, at Stirling, complaining that their dress was indecent. Chairman. Yes, and it further stated that during the last eighteeu months the inhabitants had been exposed to painlul spectacles. Mr. Striggles. Ha! ha! what the deuce did they mean by that? Who complained, the ladies or the gentlemen,' o' the braw- toon ?' Depend upon it the spectacles alluded to could never have injured the eyesight, whatever mischief they might have done in another way. I trow, sirs, ( trowsers), that the petition itself a great breach is ( breeches) of decorum, and that the Highlanders fully deserve what they are complaining of— to be kilt. Chairman. Good gracious, Mr. Striggles, I cannot sit in my seat, and here such villainous puns. Geutlemen, beware! look out for your pockets. Mr. Snoddles, the gossip of the evening is over— propose your motion. • y. Mr. Snoddles. I vill, as veil as I am able, trumptoraneously, Mr. Waggles, for a gent in this ere corner, has been and lit his pipe vith that ere piece ot paper. Vot I has to propose, Mr. Cnairman, is a supper, ( loud cries of Bravo Snoddles, hear, hear! Sfc.,) a supper to commemorate ttie - foundling—( several voices • The what ?)' I means to say the foundation of our club. ( Loud cheers). Geutlemen, this is the proudest moment of my eggsis- rence, for I feels my triumph now, aud you hearks to me vith greedy ears, and hopen heyes, and ' ungry stomicks. ( Laughter and • Hear, Hear 1)' Gentlemen, I don't propose no great eggs- pense, nor no furrin kickshaws, nor halt- cooked jints— sicti as oiled mutton and trimmings, vich is never no more than varmed and lies like bullets in yer bellies. ( laughter). If bellies is unparliamentary, I vithdraws the eggsprcssiou, and says— ab nommums. ( Cheers J. No, gentiemtn, vith your permission it' nothing of that sort tor us, but jist a nice little social repast for the hour of enjoyment and relaxing, ( CheersJ. Gentlemen, propose this ingiit veek at nine o'clock, Mr. Waggles in the chair, ( tremendous cheering), a supper o that ete dclicucy ot vioii tUe Qaouii < o so loua, sue has it aivVays regularly every Fn- NOT MADAME WARTON'S. day night at half- past ten— need I say the vord ?—' tis tripe 1 Tripe, biled with onions, stewed, fryed, browned with taturs, and in every other unimaginable vay— all for a bob a nob! ( great cheering). Gentlemen, for the ' cnor you've done me, I begs to assume my seat, and drink all your good ' ealths in return. ( Im- mense applause). { JAr. Snoddles' motion was carried unanimously, and grasping our hand with great excitement, as we seized our castor, he whispered, You'll come, vont you ? Do. It is only a bob ! POSES PLASTIOUES. ( See Engraving.) In the neighbourhood of St. Giles' Church is an old established penny exhibition. Anxious to afford our readers a glimpse of life under every phase, we lately penetrated the mysteries of the place alluded to. Heaven defend us from another such struggle in the cause of the public, for though we are by day and night the humble, bat- tling servants of our readers, we care not often to encounter the gsod fight that waited us at the doors of the elegant place of amusement which the happy pencil of our artist has this week so ably— and in the smallest conceivable spirit of caricature— hu- mourously illustrated. Charles Dickens in his new work, called Household Words, has had something to say anent ' The Amusements of the People.' We may, hereafter, take up the same subject pursuing it, however, somewhat further than our contemporary, entering into an analysis scenes enacted beyond thresholds seldom crossed by the literati of the age, and certainly never described in the columns of the press. LEAVES FROM THE UNPUBLISHED OF A LADIES' MAID. DIARY Took my breakfast while the ladies had theirs and read Paul dy Kock. Am pleased with the effusion of Kock, but I rather object to the name, and own it. My young ladies' father squeezed my hand as he went into his study, and because I did not desent it, clapped his hand round my waist and pulling me in sat me down on his knee. I got away, however, as soon as I could, for if I must be a victim again, and another blighted heart sacrificed as usual in every house I go— it must be on the altar of Tom the younger. I have heard of ' old Tom' before— I am free to ' confess I have tasted of him in another kind of way, but if I have a weakness now it is for youth aud beauty. Two o'clock and the ladies were dressed for morning calls while my fingers were pricked fastening them up as usual. Four, and I prepared them for their drive in the park, after which Mrs. Mills, the housekeeper, Mr. Botson, the butler, and self, dis- cussionated a bottle of madeira, and. as I was returning to Miss Leti- tia's own room, Mr. Tom met me again. He was very rude, and is excruciatingly adapted to tickling, so I tickled him before lie thought it., and was off. As I evaporated, my young mistres- es returned— dressed for dinner— got two new gowns given, of which I shall make one pound ten, to Mrs. Stancy, the second- hand re- tailer. N. B. must not speak any more to that James, the footman, who had the impertinece to try and recommend himself by speaking French, which sands dowte I talk like a native by saying in the hall, Common vowsporty vows shiveramouse s ear Madymogsally. Arpray vows, says 1, anu walked on. Dressed Miss Letitia and Miss Rosa for the conversatiarny and packed them off, and tired enough with my days hard work, and the cruel wear and tear of a sensitive heart. Retired to my own boodwar, thinking all the way how well the flounce looked when as I locked my door and lay down on my bed wearisomed to death, who should suddenly and irrevocably cough underneath it, but that rascal Tom. I certainly made him go away as soon as I could, but he would not go directly, and I am bound to say, though he is quite a boy, that he kisses one with great fervence, and the ring he left on my dressing- table must have cost at least five- pounds. 1 write these few lines after a day of unusual labour and excitement. The trials and tribulations of this Monday world are visited with a heavier hand on the hearts of the sensitive, than is felt by the canal. Nerves are not given to all; but as an equivocal to those who have them is the vapours they curtail. I am assured of this, and that I am a frail thing. I rose this motaing unusually early to complete Miss Leittia's flounce for the conveysasiarny this evening, but in future I must decline such matters, as I am sure it is reproducing an invisible consequence on my health. Decomposition or decline is what I shall come to if the young ladies go on at this rate— but as the French say nous verrong. Hot water as customary. Met Mr. Tom on the stairs, and the jug in my hand, was over - powered by his insinu- ations — he kissed me twice and tickled my bust; he is young aud I am fearful vo- luptually de- clined, but after all there can be little harm in the boy. Laced the young ladies, Miss Rosa no 11 more breast '||| than the back 1111 of my hand, and of course ![ obliged to make 1 i up her muffins, Muffins is a secret not gen- erally known, made of one piece of flannel sewn a top of t'other, each gradually " smaller till they acquire a nipple like, and then stuffed into the stays, but as our neighbours express themselves on the in- continent— honey sweet key many pence. When the flannel gets out and shows, > t is a poetical diction among the ladies to say, the muffins rise upon the stomaoh. Tool sweet. THERE'S A GOOD TIME COMING, GIRLS. Out of fifty orphan girls, sent to Moreton Bay, from the earliest emigrant ship, forty are already married.— Australian Sportsman. Rare news for spinsters; those girls who live single in their native land, can, by giving it the double, and doubling the Cape, give themselves the double too. It is useless for them to sit sorrowing at home wringing their hands, when there are so many young men in Australia who would be glad to be ( w) ringing their fingers. Let them alter their country, and Altar their state; for you may be- lieve us, girls, that though Single Bay may be very well, a snug harbour in the United States is much to be preferred. THE UNKINDEST CPT OF ALL. That which some of the world's unfortunates are ' doomed * to meat from the < cold shoulder.' What are the rants of air. 1 fruits' of breaking a pane of glass? Cur- TO COUNTRY BOOKSELLERS & NEWS- AGENTS. THE TRADE are requested, should they And 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 pneo 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 lirst two months. W. WINN, M, Holy well- street, Strand, London. PROFESSOR CHAMBERS'S THREE SECRETS.— SECRETS OF MARRIED HAPPINESS; addressed to the Barren, the Potent, and the Impotent. A Medico- Philosophical work. Post free, Is.— • The youthful and the aged,. the married and the single, should alike consult it.'— The Argus. SECRETS FOB YOUNG MEN, MARRIED MEN, AND SINGLE MEN ; giving them a description, by which certain diseases may be cured without medical aid. Post free, 8d. " This is a uselul little work, aud 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 Briiain, 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 leceipt of two stamps. T. Hicks, 34, Holywell- street, Strand. T. H. will not be responsible lor any Works directed to be sentto PoBtOffice Printed and published by W. WINN, 84, Holvwell- sueet, Strand, where all communications are to be addressed Sold at all Booksellers, Ka. iway Stations, and attain Boat Piers. [ ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL.]