T H E TOWN. HINTS ABOUT j) IN N ERS. We liave lately seen a little work wh h affords some useful in- formation, and extract the following foi the benefit of our readers. Before you decide on giving a dinner paty, it is usually as well to consider, in the first place, if you can at > rd it. A neglect of this precaution hRS often cut short the sporti. f many worthy people, to the_ infinite amusement of their fair- w ather friends. We con- sider it is excessively bad generalship to stint your own stomach to fill other people's ; the useful effect of , ' hieh is to make tfcem so proud they won't know you. Being, however, satisfiedjJihat you can meet the expense, you may preptre to meet your £ ™ nds. It becomes necessary, at this stage of tl? proceedings, to deter- mine upon what scale you- intended enter ainment is to ba; but it is not at all necessary, on that account, ;! iat it should be scaley, with the exception of the fish. You will fiid some judgment ne- cessary in selecting your set, as there shmifd be no inharmonious meeting of dissimilar tastes ; thus, they should form either a mis- erable set, a jolly set, a respectable set, or a blackguard set— a so- ber set, or a drunken set, and s > on. Tliere should also be a sim- ilitude in their habits, manners, and occupations : thus, busmen and clergymen, butchers and literary men, uedieal gentlemen and coalheavers, should not be invited together." Also, be cautious not; to invite any one unless you have very good (. rounds for supposing you will get it out. of the:-, again in some way or other. Noticing poor people, under any circumstances, is an exceedingly low ha- bit, and must not, therefore, tie indulged in on any account. The art and management of a dinner- table rests much on the liveliness of its owner; for instance, as to how much beer is re- quired for dinner, and the size of the table- cloth to cover the table. If you are a good manager, you can diae any number over eiuht, at Is. 3d. a head; but it is the height of vulgarism to have an insufficiency at the table, or not tell your suests the price per lb. of the meat they are eating. Always have a double'set o{ forks for each guest; as it is the custom of some countries to pick teeth with forks ; and perhaps some of your guests might have been travellers, and imbibed the habit. On your first ontrance into the dining- room), you should offer ty toss the first lady or gentleman as to who shall carve. Your next movement, to prevent confusion, and to causa as lit- tle delay as possible, is to get two gentlemen, to join with you h going odd man for a dram of gin before dinner; these prelimina- ries settled, the next most important thing is to teli some dreadful thing about seeing a man run over: this will help to keep away the appetite of your guests, and thus leave enough for suppor. The useful habit of taking snuff adds greatly to the amusement; as by constantly using your pocket handkerchief, and blowing your nose with as much gusto as possible, you give a delightful sensation, which, to ears polite, acts as a substitute for something to say. The constantly asking for things out of the reach of your next door neighbour, makes a great sensation at the table, which, by giving trouble to everybody, causes you to be considered a per- son of great importance. Always have your plate piled up with as many things as there on the table— it shows you are a man of taste ; and never speak but when your mouth is full. You will thus have an opportunity of making sundry grotesque faces, which will all add to the sport. Napkins at the dinner table are an indispensable article. The art of using them without modest affectation is, to throw the rem- nants of what you have had on your plate under tho table, and wipe it, previous to taking pie; this must be done in a very dex- terous manner; otherwise you may throw it out of the reach of your feet, which must form the means of stamping the whole of the remains on the carpet. When you have finished your dinner, to hiccup constantly denotes that your dinner is down in its pro- per place ; but, to give double assurance of the fact, thrust your bands- deeply into your breeches pocket, stretch out your legs un- der the mahogauy, and yawn. This system of etiquette was first i introduced into this country by a person whose name we forget. THE CONSTANTINOPLE COCKNEYS. Albert Smith in his new work, called a month at Constanti- nople, gives us the following amusing description: • The whole population had turned out, to walk about in their finest clothes, up and down the promenade in front of the wooden coffee- houses. All the seats and narghiles . r/ ere engaged, a^ wjtfi in the cafes as on the sea- view platfo* m opposite. Somg'ot the people had evidently taken up th; jir positions at an eaffy hour, to have a good place : others fo-. ined little groups in the porticos ; others flitted and vandyk/ ecf about from one - party to the other. The brilliancy of the^ ne ladies and gentfgmen who walked up and down to be looked at, was beyond / ll conception ; but the most curious feu\ tire of all this was that in their overpowering cos- tumes, the. re was no particular fashion prevalent. Everything had evidently been marie from a book, or imported from some dashing European milliners, but at all sorts of periods; so that there were long and short petticoats, and wide and narrow bonnets, and pol- kas, and mantillas, and summer fly- a- away scarfs over winter dresses, all jumbled up together to create a sensation and out- 1 shine the neighbours, There were fev^ fezzes to be seen now. The wearers had ex- changed them for glossy silk hats; and they wore gloves of daz- zling hue. But the children were the most marvellous of all; and ono family looked as if they were preparing for an exhibition of grojand lofty tumbling, so brilliantly outre were their cos- tumes. Two of the little boys were attired in crimson satin trowsers, spangled, and the third had a perfect Highland dress, which was the great hit of all. With a bit of carpet for the latter to dance, and the others to posture upon, the business would have been complete. The men were all gents— as thorough bred as might have been selected from the combined forces of Rosherville and Epsom, and the public ball- rooms of London. Some, for display, paid for the blue candles to be fired by daylight; others marched up and down, several abreast; and all evidently had the notion that, got up so remarkably well, they we ' doing it!' Amidst the throng, cafidjees ( waiters) darted about with little morsels of incandescent wood to light the narghiles with : boys sold walnuts, ready peeled and kept in glass jars of water : and sweetmeat men piled their trade. Those ladies who had servants made them walk behind them; aud those who had not, sneered at the others. All this went on for two or three hours. There was not one trace of ori- ental life in the entire scene. The gravity of the Levantine had entirely disappeared ; and a restless fevered wish to out out the others was the leading attribute of every character there assem- bled. A CHAPTER ON HEADS. It has been said by cooks and philosophers— Soyers and Bacons that the first requisite for enjoying a head is the accompani- ment of brains. Now, without wishing to be personal to anybody, this is very absurd; for the heads which are generally enjoyed the most in society are precisely those which have the smallest ' portion' of brains. Who is it that generally sets the table in a roar— but the Block- Head ? If we all had brains, what a set of miserable creatures we should be! It is curious to watch the heads in the pit of a theatre. The heads are packed as close as those in a bundle of asparagus. There is every variety of organ. How strange it is. that, out of the immense number of lines, each line containing an immense number of dots, there are not two heads alike ! There may be two noses of the same order of architecture— or two mouths approaching within an inch of the same width— or two eyes, or rather four, that do not positively contradict one another in the precise shade of colour ; but we do not find, pick them where we will, two faces that contain a per- fect resemblance of all those beautiful features. You will find this the case in boxes, gallery, everywhere. Watch a theatre when God save the Queen is being sung. Well, there is tho cry of ' Jlats off!'— even that poor Frenchman with the republican hat has been compelled to uncover— and every head is exposed to view. What a collection! Some as round as bullets— others so flat that they look as if they had been purposely planed— some with foreheads that run out so fast that they seem as if they were padded like an officer's breast, and a pretty fair sprinkling with temples that slaflt off in the style of the roofs of certain houses, capital heads for a shower of rain. Then there are bald heads, that shine like ostrich- eggs, and are not unlike them in shape ; and others, with a few hairs, like the bars of a gridiron, very ' few and far between'— old heads— grey heads— young curly heads— heads with perruques and without them— there are not two that are facsimile. Nature's Book of Beauty, it appears, never contains two engravings of the same face. The only public heads that cherish a seeming similarity are brewers and porters. The head of the beer and stout which they are constantly imbibing, may produce a family resemblance. Covent Garden market women and coal- heavers also exhibit a sort of family likeness. These are all persons who work with their heads. It is curious to watch the uplifted heads during a display of fireworks at Vauxhall, or when Mount . Etna, or the fashionable volcano of the season, is vomiting its sky- rockets and Roman can- dles at the Surrey Zoological. All the noses are nearly turned upside down, and if a jocular spirit from above, or some star that was fond of playing practical jokes, sprinkled down a small shower of snuff, what an universal sneezing there would be. The heads at an auction, are well worth looking at. The ex- treme caution of tbe Jews, the brokers nodding, the nervousness of the female bidders, the triumph of the hero who carries off the gridiron after a series of the most valiant advances, are little amu- sing scenes of physiognomy to anybody, who in studying ex- pression, thinks pre- eminently that' the play's the thing.' • The gentlemen at the passport offices must be sadly puzzled sometimes. There are some heads and faces so unmeaning that they give you nothing to take hold of— which must be very con- venient for them if they happen to be Irishmen, or quarrelsome. There are others so unfortunately comical, or plain, that the clerk's pen must halt two or three times before it can have the courage to write the awful truth. Supposing it puts upon paper the very worst, think of the feelings of that poor fellow who has to carry about with him eveiy where the written confession of an unhappy squint, and has to exhibit the cruel testimonial to every gendarme— to every cocked hat at a barrier, that calls upon him to produce the voucher of his unhappy identity. Why! It is fairly insulting a man to his face ! There are often advertisements addressed to ' heads of families.' These heads must have great weight, for everything is submitted to them, from Infant Soojie down to patent pokers and tongs. Nothing is good unlesB it is patronized by them ; and if the heads should belong to the Royal Family, the patronage is, of course, so much the higher. There was an absurd instance of this the other day, in a Professor laying the Ointment to his flattering soul, . ftnd advertising it as ' patronizedby the heads of the Royal Family.' Another genius, too, has been puffing his ' gutta per- cha elastic stockings,' as ' patronized by numerous heads of the nobility.' One can hardly imagine a nobleman wearing a stock- ing round his head, unless he happened to have a cold. Every nation has its own respective head. Meet with an Eng- lishman where you will— you are sure to recognise him long before he has opened his mouth. There is that individuality about him which no tailor, or barber, can possibly disguise. The same with a Frenchman. But it is easier for an English head to pass for a Frenchman's than vice versa. How is this ? Is it easier to cari- cature humanity than to embellish it ? Is it that there is nothing to add in the Englishman's head, and if you garnish it with hair, and trim it with whiskers, and serve it up with moustachios, it is only a fine head spoilt ? This is a curious head for an argument, 1 and which would take wiser heads than ours to determine— for per- sons in endeavouring to be too rational often hit a point with ad- ditional strength in order to drive it home. Thus, Prejudice ham- mers away at Truth, just like a tenpenny nail, and knocks it on the head. A LOVE SONG. FROM THE ITALIAN.* A WEST- END SKETCH. IT is curious to speculate as to what part of England will ulti- mately be the West- end of London. Keeping within the recol- lection of old inhabitants still extant, we find that the neighbour- hood between the Foundling Hospital aud Red Lion Square, north and south; and Gray's Inn Lane and Bloomsbury, east and west, was once the patrician quarter; but when the more fashionable sses still moved on, colonizing Percy and Newman Streets and the old thoroughfares about Soho, Fitzroy and Golden Squares were in turn looked up to. Proceeding in two parallel directions, divided by Oxford Street, Hanover Square gradually declined before that of Grosvenor, and Portman rose above that of Manchester. Still fashion kept march- ing on— the former division tending towards May Fair, and the latter to the Edgeware Road; until the first, turned aside in its course by Hyde Park, reached the site of Belgravia, and the second, heedless of the associations connected with the gallows, and the de- caying foliage of the Bayswater tea- gardens, colonized Tyburnia for its territory. And powerful as ridiculous are the rules which fashion issues from these strong holds. She directs amusement, and regulates private economy, whether we will or no. She turns night into day — sends people to bed in the fresh morning, and calls them up at noon, if indeed so early; she even sets the laws of Nature at defi- ance, and repudiates the seasons which begin and end whenever she We cannot learn the coming of the West- end London season by the almanacs. The earliest indication of it is the opening of the theatre for the French plays, when, in astrological language, Mitchell enters S t. James's. The shutters of the West end squares open again, and the newspapers that covered the blinds disappear: the chandeliers cast their brown holland skins, and the chairs, sofas, and ottomans, come out as gay as ever. Then, before the pantomimes have died away in the blaze of their last scenes— before the clown has put his head under the curtain, and bidden a final' good night' to his friends, come the announcem ents of the Operas; dinner- parties collect, and cards increase until Easter passes, the days lengthen, and the Season, par excellence, commences iu its glory. And, then, indeed, the West- end generally is, towards afternoon, worth seeing— as different a world to the City in its habits, its popu- lation, and its pursuits, as though the two parts of the metropolis were hundreds of miles apart. In what a whirl are the great thoroughfares: it puzzles one to think where so many pretty women, and fine horses, and elegant equipages, can come from. And there is no repose— no cessation. Crowds of fresh women, and horses, and equipages, succeed the others; the thunder of wheels and knockers never dies; the last parties going home to dinner meet the first coming down to the operas or theatres. Until grey morning does this dash, and glitter, and heated dusty excitement go on; and then the West- end population goes to bed, and, for a while, leaves the stage clear for those whose exertions are required to administer to its wants or fancies. Tho close of the West- end season must not be taken as the close of summer weather— very far from it. When it ends, the leaves are still deeply green upon the trees, the sun bright and warm, and the days sufficiently long for anything. New pleasures, new whirls of excitement begin for the aristocrats, and, following as usual in their wake, the middle classes. And now the West- end becomes a perfect desert. The thousands who leave London make no difference to the stream of life that daily flows along its business thoroughfares; but Regent Street— there are no more lines of carriages at the kerb; no concert pro- grammes at the music- shops; nor bouquets and lap- dogs on the pavements. You may wander all round Eaton Square without finding a single window lighted up, or meeting one carriage rolling along, with its lamps like two bright eyes, to a party. All have departed— the handsome girls to recruit their jaded strength, and recover from the pallor induced by late hours and the fretting emotions of a false society; the men to shoot, and ride, and sail; the heads of the families to retain their caste, because it is proper to do; but all to get away as soon and as fast as they can, when Parliament is prorogued, and the grouse are reported to be ready for slaughter. i& oiiceg to Comsponttentg. I. B.—" We received your letter, but we cannot undertake to send answers by post unless the matter is of some interest. No. WILLIAM BEST.— If the poetry forwarded is bad is tbe ' best.' a specimen, all we can say i « , A country schoolmaster one day announced to his pupils that an cxamination would soon take place. ' If you are examined in geography,' said he,' you will surely be asked of what shape is the earth ; and if you should not remember, just look at me, and I will show you my snuff- box, to remind you that it is round.' Unfortunately, the schoolmaster had two snuff- boxes— a round one, which he only used on Sundays, and a square one, which he carried during the'week. The fatal day having arrived, the class in geography was duly called out, and the question asked, ' What is the shape of the earth V The first boy, appalled at the imposing appearance of the examining committee, felt, embarrassed, and glanced at the magister, who at once pointed to his snuff- box ' Sir,' boldly answered the boy,' ' tis round on Sunday, and square" every other day in the week!' ' I'm sitting on the style, Mary,' as the lover said when he seated himself, on a bonnet of the latest Paris fashion. Come Mary, warm my fe » t, More grog, my love, more logs, ' Tis raining cats and dogs, Dost hear the hail and sleet? Do Mary, warm my feet, The fire is getting low, Give it a gentle poke; Burn alder, pine, and oak, Do, Mary, warm my toe. Burn table, chair, and bench, More logs, more grog, good wench, The logs they must be dry ; The grog is better neat, Come Mary, warm my feet. And Mary, when they're warm, | The warmth it must ascend: I'll cuddle thee from harm, And night with love we'll spend ; So Mary, warm i ® y feet. * The above is an immense favorite among the peasantry of the North of taly, and is adapted to a very beautiful air. T. B. E.— We do not know the work in queetion. MALTHUS ( Bristol).— We have endeavoured to ascertain it from statistical tables, but we have not yet succeeded and cannot spare further time. R. N.— Write to Professor Chambers. Five shillings worth of stamps. GAMMA ( Liverpool).— At the ' Cafe de l'Europe.' Six o'clock. Order what you like for dinner. J. U.— Must be a J- E- W. PHILO LITERIS.— Received. Thanks. G. H. ( Reading)— All right. The M. S. received. Will be inserted. ANONYMOUS.— will see the alterations we have made. Get a better plot in future. Keep your sentences clear— we mean less verbose; write in prose and on one side of the paper. Always hapyy to hear. DICKY DUTTON.— We will attend to you next week. Send earlier. T. B. H.— We will use some of your matter. Send again— something newer. ENQUIRER.— In the first instance address, Professor Chambers, care of Hicks, tho publisher. ( Several communications stand over until next week.) In a small village, near Norwich, may i>.; . con at a window of a public- house—' A Glass of Ale and a Galvanic Shock for 2d.'— Query-. Is tbe shock administered by a lady? A GENTLEMAN UIICK asked Sir Richard Steele, why the Irish' his countrymen, were so prone to make bulls, ' Indeed,' said the knight, ' I suppose it is owing to some quality in the soil, for I really think, if an Englishman were bom jn Ireland, he would make as many bulls as an Irishman. TEETOTAL SPEECH. Ye friends of Moderation, who deem intoxication, a scource of degradation, in every rank and station, of which your observation, gives daily demonstration, who think a reformation or moral re- novatiou, would benefit our nation; who see with consternation, the wretched habitation, a scene of desperation, unequalled in creation, without accommodation, for common instanatiou ; who view with ruination, distress, and desolation, the open violation of sabbath ordination and utter desecration of common conversation, even to maniac desperation', why sanction this duration, or show disapprobation, to this association, or any combination, whose only ordination, is the extermination of abomination. Now, in continuation, from calm deliberation, not seeking compeusation, we make a declaration to hold no communication with any ema- nation of brewer's fermentation or poisonous preparation ot spirit's distillation, or any vain libation, procuring stimulation, and may your participation in this our protestation, against all immodera- tion, secure the elevation, of this our worthy population, aud a future generation from all contamination. ' What have you got to say, old Bacon face?' said a counsellor to a farmer, at the late Norwich Assizes. ' Why,' answered the farmer,' I think my Bacon face and your Calf's head would make a very good dish.' What is that which occurs once in a minute, twice in a moment, and not once in a thousand years ?— The letter M- The sale of the WHAT S TJP. ' TIMES WE LIVE IN.' T H E TOWN. EXHIBITION. WAX- WORK OF THE GOSSIP CLUB. TOME ® J QUMEUfi, WlMEi ! I O) w wl ^ t m a 3 m EVERY- BOD Y 9_ S TIMES!!!! NOW READY, < o be continued Weeltly, Price One Penny, of THE TIMES WE LIVE IN' An original and highly Illustrated Mirror of * tt H JE: ." ww- CB ae n^ wb a m m T Mm. € I ¥ E S M MED I ATE ORDERS. THE ( The assembled members, and Mr. Waggles in his seat of honorJ. Mr. Waggles, ( rising). Gentlemen, this is the proudest mo- ment of my file, ( hear, hear). Gentlemen, yon have drunk my health, and I drink yours all round in return. Snoddles. I'm much obliged to you for myself, sir. Red- nosed Man, ( confidentially). Don't be a d— d fool. Mr. Waggles. Si- ilence, Mr Snoddles. I say this is a proud moment, Gentlemen, and for why I will tell you. Circumstances over which I have no control, compel me, but— I'll come to that in a minute. I look back upon what this club was. and I see what it is— I ask, how is it ? and modesty can't stifle fame, for fame echoes ' Waggles.' I walk in the streets, and little boys whisper' Waggles.' I go to the play, and the actors in the back ground when they have nothing to do but look at the front of the house, pick me out in no time, and n urmur ' Waggles,' ' tis Wag- gles, like Figaro the barber, here, there, and everywhere. Snoddles, ( audibly). I'm werry glad they ain't always whis- pering ' Snoddles,'— the s—' s would blow their teeth out. Mr. Waggles. Will you be quiet, sir ? Snoddles. I ain't saying nuffiu. Hallo! oh ! who's that kick- ing so ? Mr. Waggles. Gentlemen, will you protect the chair ? am I to have oruer or not. (' Yes, yes,' ' chair, chair.') Shall I be heard, or that individual? (' You, you.' 4 Go on.') Snoddles. Gentlemen, I rises to order, ( great disapprobation, during which broken sentences are only heard). Somebody was a kicking my sbius— under the table. I says nuffin— mayn't a mauspe ik— lamt a indiwidual. ( Order is with difficulty re- stored. and S noddles dragged down). Mr. Waggles. Before tins interruption, Gentlemen, I was ob- serving, how this club had risen in the estimation of the public, how one of the most eminent of the public prints has reported us from time to time, and given our portraits to its hundred thou- sand readers— need I say, Gentlemen, no I need not— that I al- lude to THE TOWN— Mr. Striggles, I have the pleasure to inform you that your likeness is the next. ( Striggles bows). I was detailing how our names were up— we have met no crosses except what I'm coming to by- and- bye, and— oh! yes— this morning in the Strand there were two chimney sweeps, and one says to the other ' My eyes! Jack, there's Waggles.' 4 Don't, Bill,' replied the other—' never make fun, you don't know what you may come to yerself.' 1 say we have had no crosses, no quarrellings, and yet, Gentle- men, 1 am compelled to resign these honors— to give them up scot and lot— to be no more your Chairman. Gentlemen, a tripe supper is within your recollection. On that occasion in the exhuberance of seven six penn'orths of brandy and water, warm, with u little sugar, and just a squeeze of lemon, I kissed Mrs. Jones behind the door. Gentlemen, Mr. Jones is jealous! Gentlemen, 1 cannot further wound that highly respectable but rather stupid little man's feelings by frequenting his house— Gen- tlemen, the throne is vacunt— 1 resign the chair. ( Profound general astonishment, and Mr. Waggles walks down the room wiping his bald brow). Mr Sharp, Striggles, and the Red- nosed Man, start up. Sharp. I beg leave to move— Snoddles. Vou had better move on. Striggles. I ri » e to order— Snoddles. We ain't going to be ordered by a lawyer's clerk. Red- nosed Man. I am most emphatically of opinion— ' Snoddles. YV by don't you keep your opinion to poultice your nose ? ( Loud cries of' Shame.' ' Turn out Snoddles.' ' Wag- gles in tbe Chair.' ' Wugglcs for ever.' ' Order.' ' Sit down.' ' I shan't.' ' Landlord.' ' Long live THE TOWN,' & C. ( Mr. Sharp obtains a hearing). With the protouudest regret we have all hoard— Snoddles. Except the deaf'uns. Mr. Waggles forgets himself for a moment, and thinking he is still in the Chair shouts out Si- ilence, Mr. Siioddles. Sharp. 1 say, Gentlemen, that we have all heard with the pro- toundest regret the speech of our worthy and respected friend, Mr. Waggles, and I beg leave to suggest if continuing the Chairman of a Club held within these walls, be incompatible with those sensi- tive feelings which we all know him to possess, that this club do adjourn to some other house, and that Mr. Waggles will elsewhere continue to hold the honorable position of Chairman of the Gos- sip Club. (' Hear, hear,' and applause). Snoddles. I begs to oppose that ere on these ere grounds. There ain't another woman in all London as makes sich a four penn'orth of gin aud water us Mrs. Jones. Red- nosed Man. 1 f we are going to move I have got something to say before we go. The way things have been carried on lately has puzzled me a good deal, aud I contend that our reports are garbled. Snoddles. In course they are, they dishes them up to be gob- bled. Red- nosed Man. Garbled, sir, not gobbled. ( Aside) jack- ass! Snoddles. Oh ! I know what you're muttering. I don't mind. Push on. Keep moving. Red- nosed Man. And this is what I most complain of. Mr. Striggles I understand lias been sitting for his portrait in THE TOWN, and It is said completes the gallery. Sharp. What a pity. A stranger. ' Box that man's ears. ( Loud groans). Red- nosed Mart. What is the reasou that my likeness has not been taken— I a-. lc again what is tbe reason? Snoddles. And I'll tell you, if you will keep it a secret. Red- nosed Man. Well, sir, I, will— upon the honor of an in- dignant gentleman. Snoddles. They are afraid that your nose will frighten the women. ( Loud cries of ' question' ' order,' and the Red- nosed Man throws his hat at Mr- Snoddles). ( Mrs. Jones enters, leading Mr. Jones by the hand). Mrs. Jones. 1 have brought in my little man, Gentlemen, to apologise for what he was foolish enough to say— he didn't mean it he tells me, and I have kissed him, and he has been sitting on my knee in the bar ever since— Jones. I overheard somebody say summut about moving the club, and then says I,' what's feelings to business,' didn't I dear ? Mrs. Jones. Yes, duck. Mr. Waggles, ( advancing and taking the hand of Jones in his hand). Sir, I respect you. Madam, 1 am your humble. You will please to bring your good gentleman a glass of grog— he drinks with me— Gentlemen, I no longer abdicate. I accept the throne once more. I am again your Chairman. ( Loud applause). Aud may good feeling— Sharp And unity— Striggles. Jest— Red- nosed man. And earnest— Mrs Jones. The best of cheer— Snoddles. And a little bit of fun— Waggles. Ever be found at the meetiugs of THE GOSSIP CLUB. LEAVES FROM THE UNPUBLISHED DIARY OF A PAGE. \ It's a werry great advantij to be a byblow— spesliully if yer father's a genelman. Mother say she cunsider I arrive at the ears of indiscretion, and she cunfide in me the secret of my berth. Master are my father. Tho mother is now a larndress and have hir own cart and live at Clapham, yet she was a ousmaid once, and then it were she say to me ony last Sunday evening as she was takin a little weak gin and water, at her own plaice, out of a te- cup, ' James,' says she. ' That man who's boots is now a crekin on them stairs, once kitched me when a youth in a ungarded momint.' ' Mother,' I says, 4 eggsplane, and spit it out.' 4 Sixteen ears ago,' says she, 41 vere a booty, if yer could : ony a seed me in my short pet- ^——.,:/!} tikits and leg o' mutton j. ( sleeves, and my Sunday cap WrajL- \ / » ' / a , merly, whereat your master jUfS \| w vs was brother, and stay. My « 4Mr bed- room were a flite above /^ PV'iiU Kv « r him; he pinch me sometimes auli kiss me often i one niKht ^• t^^ MIB^ / \ NCy he creep upstares and I do not j ./-/ That nits I were ungarded, that - WS^ BilKit^ y A^^- nite you was— no! Some ; months arterwards you was llL'JIl5^^;/ ^ Ss?- horn. No one but you kno . / j my secret hear, make use ol / it! if it ill do you good; but ^^^ jfelg / // lit don't be!! t0° ard upon hiin, gWKslStfS^ y Ji '// because he have behave well J^ H^ ftjgSPg^^ /.* and liberal like, and have - yieldei to my request to take - .._- you into the buzzum of his famerly. Go on, Jem, a> as you have begun, and you may be a butler yet. Aint he your father?' Oh! my wig, how jolly glad I was when mother told me 1 was master's boy, it was such a [ prime spree I thought I should a bust myself with larfter. What a game I could have and no one kno nothink about it. Aint he my father ? This mornin at brekfis I wink a heye at him when I git be- hind missus. Oh! crikey! I never see any one stair so in my life, and I think he fancy it was a weakness in the lid for he say nothink. Didn't I pitch into that orange marmerlaid and no flies— well, if he are my father, I are his boy, and our bloods the same, and what's good for the goose is good for the gander. Now, aint he my father? He cumplane of his boots, but I say nufSn, if he don't like ' em let him clene em hisself— I'm obliged— rite is rite. Aint he my father? Criminy ! what a rage he was in about his papers. He called me in the librery, and arksed me what I had been and took. Oh ! jist when I told him I hadn't touched, the clene, ony what got ritin on, didn't he let fly, and calls hisself a horthur too. Well— aint, he my father ? ' Cause I broke a pain of glass this arternoon didn't he kick up a jolly row. I should like to know how I eould elp it. One of our maides and me was a rompin and she joggled me. What's glass— tho dooty's off— besides, aint he my father? What a go in I did have at that open work jam tarte— he sus- pec somethink ' cause I didn't answer the bell quick, when he pounce out at me and ketch me by the scruff of the neck with my mouth full. Oh! can't he kick, that's all, aud aint his boots pinted ? I werrv nearly bolted it out then— aint he my father? + ' + + I + He call me up sins I rite the abov, and giv tne my month's notis— blowed if he didn't take the wind out of me, I couldn't say" auAfliu. I ony loot i> t him ard, aud think of my moiher-— blest if it'ffcint » reglar crammevAIM have it hout, if I arks hiin myself— ainthe my father 1 A farmer in the neighborhood of Doncastds;, was thus escorted by his landlord :—' John, Jam going to raiseVvour rent.' John replied—' Sir, I am very much obliged to you, for f& inuot raise it myself.' PROFESSOR CHAMBERS'S THREE SECRETS, in sealed Envelopes.— SECRETS OF MARRIED HAPPINESS; addressed to the Barren, the Potent, and the Impotent. A Medico- PhilosophicaMvork. 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.— Tbe 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, Nest Day's Restorative; the only escape from the effects of drink. Price 2s. 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 ERADICATOll; a Friend at a Pinch. Price Is. 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 orders entire, even to the smallest articles. Cash in advance for the first two months. W. WINN, 34, Holy well- street, Strand, London. Printed and published by W. WINN, 34, Holywell- street, Strand, where all communications are to be addressed. 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