TV n 11 ) ( The Second Quarterly Part will be issued at the publication of No. 26. Each Part ) PTTTJrrorn J ' J ( to contain 13 Nos. in a Wrapper, for Is. Post free, Is. 6d. j r bHED W F 1? Tf [ A/ rT> r\ Parts I., II., and III., are now ready. Each part will be sent direct, on receipt of 18 Postage Stamns v « • I A RICE ONE T) .... i ° r remote parts, Single Coniet fflav bo. Rf'nJ. rfvruof frnn, < 1 - #,.£ » • Ci i\ Y • Single Copies may be sent direct from the Cmce, for Two Post MBS. LORIMER SPINKS AT H 0 M E. TALES OF THE TOWH- MRS. LORIMER SPINKS; OK, THE MARRIED LADY THAT WAS A LITTLE TOO GAY. CHAPTER XI. When Gascoigne reached his apartment, after ln's strange inter- view with Mrs. Spinks, as detailed in our litLix chapter, he fastened the parlour- door, and. paused for a few moments to listen; all, however was silent within the house, and he threw himself into a chair, to reflect upon the singularity of his present position. Mrs. Spinks and himself were anything but new ac- quaintances ; two years her senior, he had known her from her girlish days, and although he had spoken to her but twice in a period of twelve years, he loved her with a devotedness and sin- cerity of purpose that no circumstances could abate. " Into what aposition has my rashness driven me," he exclaimed. " Passion has blinded me to every sense of precaution, and nearly ruined all. I shall be little fit for business to- morrow," he con- tinued, " unless I take a stimulant." As he made these observations, he opened a small portmanteau, and took from it a quart bottle containing brandy, a portion of which he proceeded to pour into a glass and drink. " These papers," he continued, unlocking a tin box, and taking from it a number of documents, " will require a sharp eye and a better light than this to decipher; there is some precious villany, and much money connected with them, I dare say." Gascoigne now prooeeded to closely examine the envelopes of some of the parcels, for there was a vast number of them. One or two were simply fastened with apiece of red tape, but others were firmly sealed, and, from the faded character of the ink, it would seem to have been some years ere they had been written or opened. There was also in the box a quantity of letters, some of which were torn aud scattered loosely about the box. '' These are the letters which, I presume, I was to burn," said Gascoigne, " in the event of my not seeing him at the hotel in the morning. What is this?" he added, taking out a small pocket book, in a white canvass cover, fastened with a piece of red tape, and sealed. " This is the book he speaks of; but where are the papers sealed with green wax ? What a careful old devil he seems to have been." Prior to looking for the documents be had just mentioned, Gascoigne took another glass full of brandy. " It is strange," he added, musing, " very strange, that I should come to this house to look over and sort these documents, for I have often heard it rumoured that Margaret was in some way connected with this property. My uncle and that villain Varden will have much to answer for one day, if all the reports that I have heard about them be correct. Why am I to take to him only this book and these papers so particularly to- morrow ? Some of these papers won't want much burning, for they seem to have barely escaped it now." This last observation was made, in consequence of the appearance of some of the documents, which were scorched and singed, as if they had been saved from the fire. The young man continued to arrange the papers upon the ta- ble, and look over tiie contents of the portmanteau, the major part of which was filled with books of account, and two capacious ledgers; whilst thus engaged he leaned his head upon the table, and, overpowered by the fatigue of travelling, fell into a sound slumber, in which state be remained for nearly an hour, from which he was awakened by the noise of a closing door, and shortly after he heard the sound, as of subdued voices beneath the par- lour window, and then there was a low grating noise as if some person was endeavouring to open the street door. Gascoigne listened abstractedly for ? moment, when lie heard the words, " The policeman is coming round the corner— separate," succeeded by the sound of departing footsteps. But little time was allowed Gascoigne to reflect upon the singularity of these circumstances ere he heard his own name uttered in a low voice, followed by an attempt to open the parlour- door. " Who can it be?" exclaimed Gascoigne;" there is not a soul in London can know me ;" a smile, however, lighted up his coun- tenance, as the words, " Open the door, Edward, it is me," were whispered through the key- hole; hastily thrusting the papers into the portmanteau, and closing it, he rushed to the door, and opening it, the next instant Mrs. Spinks was in the apartment " This is indeed kind," said Gaseoigne advancing towards her, and endeavouring to embrace her ; " you have then forgiven my rash conduct of to- night, and have come to make me happy." " Ill- fated man," answered Mrs. Spinks, " could you, then, think so little of me as to suppose I would run this risk for such a purpose? No! I have come to warn, and if possible, save you from the disgrace and destruction which must attend your recent foolish conduct. Fly, fly, immediately, ere it be too late!" " Rather it is you who are foolish to talk thus to me," an swered Gascoigne, " for after that I have ventured so much, think you the fear of your husband could daunt me?" " Alas ! Edward, you have but little to fear from him," was th answer. " Indeed." exclaimed Gascoigne, with a smile, " then whom have I to fear? I did not know you were so gtnera' a luver Margaret; but I am not jealous, so you but let me participate in the favours you bestow." " Sir," replied Mrs. Spinks, " this levity ill becomes you. I know my appearance here, and my present attire, after your con- duct to me in my bed- chamber this evening, may induce you to insult me, supposing I will yield to your desires ; but would it not be better to consult your safety by immediate flight, when I tell vou that all is discovered, and the police arc upon your track." 2 T H E TOWN Gascoigne could scarce refrain from laughing aloud, as he heard his companion make this declaration. Her appearance was, in- deed, sufficient to revive amorous inclinings in one even of a cooler temperament, and as she stood before him in her n iglit- dress, a considerable portion of her beauties exposed to his gaze, making such observations, she appeared strongly to resemble the tempter reproving sin. " And so the police are upon my track, because I love a pretty woman, whose husband, according to her own declaration, I have nothing to fear from," he replied, advancing towards Mrs. Spinks, and again endeavouring to embrace her. Mrs. Spinks, however, repulsed him, and exclaimed quickly, " Edward Gascoigne, but for the recollection of the friendship of our childhood, not to call it by a warmer name, that has passed between us, I now would leave you, without further warning of the danger that awaits you ; learn, however, that the robbery is known." " The robbery— what robbery 1 enquired Gascoigne, still smiling. " The robbery at Rodwell Hall, and the brutal murder of, at least, one of its inhabitants;" answered Mrs. Spinks, " Robberv at Rodwell Hall! murder ! when!! where!! how!!" exclaimed the young man ; " are you serious, Margaret?" " And can you ask for an explanation ?" replied Margaret, confounded at the coolness of bis manner, " and that, too, with these fearful proofs around you?" as she spoke she pointed to the various articles that were scattered about the room, and placing her hand upon the tin- box, she continued, " this box has even the name and arms of the Rodwell family upon it." , " True, true," answered Gascoigne, " but what is that to me? I am here in London in obedience to the instructions of one whose name is familiar, but anything but friendly, to your ears, and, there- fore, know nothing of the robbery you speak of." " Who do you moan?" said Margaret. " My uncle ;" was the answer. " Your uncle ?" " Yes, one whom report says has done you and your's much injury." " I do not understand you." " Nor I the robbery." " But who is your Uncle ?" " JONATHAN BABINGTON!" There were circumstances connected with this name, that will be explained as the story progresses, the recollection of which, revived by its being uttered by Gascoigne, that for a moment completely paralysed Margaret. ••• And are you, you the nephew of that dreadful man? of him whose fearful love for my mother has brought ° o much ruin upon our name ?" exclaimed Mrs. Spinks ; " brought me, her child, to beg- gar". ; and made me oh, God ! I cannot think upon it." A spasmodic effort, fallowed by a burst of tears, choked her utter- anc -, and she would have fallen upon the ground but for the as- sistance of Gascoigne. " It was love— love, dearest," answered her companion, holding her in his arms, and pressing her to his breast. " I have much, very much, to say to thee; but my love, and this story of a rob- bery at Rod well- hall, has almost driven it from my remembrance. My uncle, whom I have not seen for many years, has written to me, desiring me to meet him in the morning, at the C , in Lei cester- square, and bring with me these papers; his letter bears date a fortnight back, and I should have been here a week since. In his letter he makes mention of thee, Margaret." " Of me?" exclaimed Mrs. Spinks ; " what of me?" " Listen," answered Gascoigne, taking from his pocket a letter and reading:— " Use every exertion in your power to find out Margaret Daw- kings, the daughter of Lieutenant Dawkings, the young person whose mother you often visited with me when a boy, at Eccles. Spare no expense to discover whether she be living or dead ; re- member, I charge you to spare no expense ; advertise in every English paper, in your name. So, dearest, you will perceive that it wis not the mere gratification of my passion, as you sup- posed, that induces me to follow you." Truly has it been said, " How changeful is the heart of woman," and, to a certain extent, the aphorism will apply in the present case. We repeat, to a certain, extent, for Mrs. Spinks had, as the reader must have imagined, a lingering love for Gascoigne; he had been her first, her girlish love, and now that she beheld, or laucied she beheld, him, still truly loving her, following her, as he had said, not for the mere gratification of his passion, her heart became susceptible of a re action, and she, forgetful alike of her duties of a wife and a mother, gazed upon him with an eye of tenderness, that for a moment thrilled through and communicated itself to every fibre of Gascoigne's frame: seating himself upon the sofa he drew her towards him, and, throwing one arm round her waist, placed her upon his knee, exclaiming, in a voice that struggled with emotion, " Adorable creature, I could perish for thee." Margaret made no answer; her hand fell listlessly upon his breast, and her eye was radiant with a wild emotion, whilst her bosom " heaved with many a sigh," responsive to the kisses that he imprinted upon it. " This is the only robbery I have ever committed," he whispered, kissing her lips. " You are suspected of the robbery at Rodwell Hall," answered Mirgaret; " and my husband is now at the station- house upon the subject." " Tell me the particulars, dearest," said Gascoigne, placing his hand beneath her chin. " Listen, then, for it's a strange story,'' answered Mrs. Spinks. [ To be continued.] and many, many are the damsels who have discovered through a visit to the environs of the Park, tht " There is more to be feared From a fall on the grass, Than a slip on a frozen river." Immense numbers visited the place on Whitsunday last, and hundreds tried their speed down One- Tree- Hill. We never could understand how well- dressed, respectable- looking young women could like to be dragged down the hill, their clothes torn or dis- arranged, and in many cases much bruised through falling. We heard one young female tell her mother, after she had risen from the ground, that " that man in the filthy light grey trousers had riven her such a push, she was afraid she should never be able to vvalk straight again;" and a servant girl, whom we picked up, told us, with tears in her eyes, " that when she was on the grass at the bottom of the hill, a man gave her such a tremendous shove, that she felt it now." If you enter Greenwich from the river, and pass round Romney- place, you are certain to be hailed by a group of females, who have a strange mixture of cheap love and hard lushing in their faces, who invite you into their respective establishments; the girls both at Wood's and Dowson's are very nobbily togged, at the same time they are anything but proud, and have not the slightest objection to pay a visit to the neighbouring White Horse. It is, however, in the street leading to the park, gentle reader, if you " have been to Greenwich," you will have seen some fun; the place is lined with houses, professing to vend tea and coffee; each house has a female touter, showily- dressed girls, who invite the stranger in to take tea, or any other refreshment required— not excepting, we believe, in some eases, a little love- making, ren- dered the more palatable and refreshing by the aid of a sofa, an article in warm weather, when the blood is hot, highly acceptable; this useful article is, indeed, always mentioned, and Sunday last we heard one of Hitchcock and Roger's shop- men accosted by a smiling young girl with, " A nice sofa, sir; make you very com- fortable cup of tea, sir, or cook anything for you/' The doors and windows of these tea- houses are thrown wide open, and there is a great display of eggs, ham, French- rolls, and tea- cups; the young creatures, however, who ply at the door of these cribs, alter their note occassionally, for if a loving couple is seen to pass down the street, there is a cry from about twenty voices, of " nice room up stairs, good accommodation," and in a more piano tone, " private room, sir, if you wish it;" we saw last week a lengthy edition of masculine materialism take a small piece of muslin into one of the places, immediately after this bit of information had been conveyed to him, and upon his entrance the blinds of the first- floor window were instantly drawn closely down. This is all very amusing but not exactly the thing, so we would seriously recommend a married man, if he have his wife or any decent woman with him, to avoid the " tea and coffee row," as it is called, for he is sure to he annoyed with solicitations not always of the most decent character ; and as these girls are admirable judges of physiognomy, if he looks at all flattish, it not only brings disgrace upon bis female friend for being seen to enter such a place, but is certain to have it " stuck into him like bricks " in the way of charges. We purpose paying another call in the course of a few days, and we shall have some fun to tell of the Cuttriss's, Greenaway's, Illman's, and number nine. There are 01 her sights to be seen at Greenwich, as no doubt most of our readers are aware, but although it is a place much patron- ised even at other periods besides fair time, it is considered ultra snobbish; we have before spoken of the park, that is a source of great attraction, and was particularly so on the evenings of Tuesday, and Wednesday last ; we saw several of our coun- try correspondents in its neighbourhood, and we thought if the query should be put on their return of " Have you been to Green wich ?" the TOWN should not tell tales. As day declines, and shadows dark Fall over booth and tent, Young loving couples seek the park, They know with what intent ; The prudent TOWN and modest muse, Alike to sing their deeds refuse ; Chaste Cynthia, too, withholds her light, And wraps them in the veil of night, From guessing what is meant. From Biddies, Esq., Proprietor of the Bower Saloon, Stangate: to Mrs. Edwin Yarnold, Pavilion Theatre. DEAR MADAM— If you can make it convenient to call at my. residence or the theatre, any time from eleven till three on Satur, day next, I think you might hear of something to your pecuniary- advantage. Your's, & c., — BIDDLES. From Duffington Dennis, Esq., Windsor Theatre, to E. Tumour, Esq., Theatrical agent, Garrick's Head, Bow- street. DEAR NED— It's no use taking me backwards and forwards to Pentonville; I mean business; you recollect my words as we passed the Angel at Islington on the Saturday after the Oaks was run, I shall keep to them. Not one fraction less than seventy- five per cent, mind that; I've lost enough by discounting bills for tha profession; I wish well, and mean well to every man, but its absurd to suppose I can ruin myself for other people. Your's, ke., D. DENNIS. From the Hog of Brixton, Britannia Saloon, to Dr. Sidney, Spanishfli, Hackney Marsh. MY DEAR SIR— I have tried the " Restorative Cordial, and also the sand- paper- flesh- frictionising- gloves, of which Sally used eleven pair in two nights; I am sorry, however, to say without much effect, as she has since told Burrows it reminded her of Shaltspere's Love's Labour Lost. I am informed there is a work advertised on " Manhood" and " Premature Decay ;" it's a very excellent title ; perhaps Dibdin Pitt could dramatize it; be kind enough to send me a copy and I will get some one to read it to me. In the interim, I remain your's, THE HOG. " nAVE yOU BEEN TO GREENWICH?" Our oountry cousins, who may have been in the metropolis du- ring the three first days of the past week, will, most certainly, have heard the above query put, at least, twenty times in the course of that period, coupled with the interrogative of " have you seen the fair;" the two observations are sequitur, for, from time imme- morial, at this season of the year, Greenwich has been the favorite resort of the shop boys and " lasses of Cockaigne. The fair has also always proved with them a great gun, indeed, fairs have ever been as much patrouised by the Londoner as the Provincial, although the canting, tub- punching humbugs of the present day have taken an infinite deal of pains to, if possible, entirely remove them. Fairs in the environs of the metropolis are, to a certain ex- tent, desirable. The wealthy and aristocratic have their races, their steeple- chases, and their field- sports, and, why should the simple amusement of fairs be denied the humbler classes? Bow, Edmonton, and West- end fairs will, we doubt not, ere long be re- vived; the excellent regulations of the police at Stepney and Wandsworth, proving, that the depredations formerly committed at these places ( the original cause of their suppression), cannot now take place. We are not now, however, about to perpetrate a Chapter on Fairs, although the subject would not be out of place, but to return to Greenwich, from which we have somewhat strayed. Its hill, to say nothing of the approach to the place by water, must ever cause it to bear the palm from all fair compe titors. Behold upon famed One- Tree- hill The lads and lasses stand, And hand- in- hand go Jack and Gill— A laughing, jovial band. Ah ! luckless Mary over goes, What hidden charms doth she disclose. Behold the maiden's fair round r , Her taper leg, her thigh so plump! Let us ourselves command. Roth at Easter and Whitsuntide, thousands flook to Greenwich THE TOWN POST- BAG. From John Carpenter Weatherall, Esq., Princess- street, Drury lane, to Mrs. Jeffery's, Lamb, Vere- street. MY DEAR VIDDER— I writes to tell you, that I feel very much surprised at your permitting so much chaff about our approach- ing wedding from the parlour people, especially such coves as Flint, Allcorn, and Bill Phair. I don't mind Jack Woodham, or even Hawkins ( when he's allowed to come,) ' cos that's all in the way of business, and they're such very old pals. By the by, I have been thinking of the alterations I shall have made when the affair is settled ; first and foremost, I shall change the sign, for the Lamb is so very sheepish— Pendrigh altered his house to the Royal Yacht— as I'm a carpenter, we might call our place The Centre- Bit," and that would be a new name for a house: and then folks, instead of saying we are going round to the Lamb, would say we shall be up at the " Centre- Bit." One thing is very certain, my dear, we have got a family, and when our wedding does take place, we'd invite the Editor of the Town, for certainly he has well advertised your Lamb. JOHN WEATHERALL. P. S.— I don't know correctly, how much Woodey made by the Epsom affair; certainly, as things go now, ten shillings is reyther a stiff price to charge a pal for a ride in such a trap as the one he took to Epsom. From Mr. Lancaster, Boot and Shoe constructor, Election Can- vasser, Manchester Unity Grand Master, and Cochrane- Concilia- tor, Russell Court, Drury- lane, to Mr. Battensby, Craven Head Tavern, Drury- lane. MY DEAR FELLOW— I've stunned'em— positively licked'em into fits— I've talked, and talked, and talked, till I've talked the good people of St Martin's silly. It has been said that a little learning is a dangerous thing, but I can assure you that nonsense well laid on, goes a d— d deal further. You ask me what I shall gain by leaving my business, and rushing about, morning, noon, and night, speechifying about matters that don't concern me; my dear friend, it does concern me, that is my business; I shall become a great man in the parish, and although it may be said that my ieches arc full of sound and fury, and signify nothing, they will convert the late foreman of Barrett into a great man, and shed a halo of parochial pomposity around the name of your friend LANCASTER. From Mr. John Pilson, Knightsbridge Barracks, to Mrs. Elizabeth Squabbs, Ely- place, Holborn. MY DEAR BET— I aint any- ways komfortable in my mind at reeding your last epistle, its so very flattering, but as I hadn't the edication Providence has guv you, I don't comprehend its beauties altogether quite; it is enuff, however, for me to no that its all of it about me. I should fell greatly obliged by a remittance, as I owes for washing; and if so be you kould send me some tobacco ( common shag will do) in the event of your having no money, it will be taken as kind. I Should have no objections to any of Mr. Squabbs left- hoff shirts if handy and agreeable to send. Your sincere love, JOHN PILSON. DEAREST DEAR JACK— I have received your warrior- like epis tle, and it is now deposited, for secresy, near that place you have often said you wouldn't mind kissing, you shall have the tobacco and money too, and that shortly ; as to the shirts, my dear Jack, Mister Pilson has them all with him. I have no bodily relic of his tenderness and affection; you do not, by- the- bye, inform me how your back and loins are; eat plenty of oysters, and try cow- heel and tripe, they are both very strengthening. My heart is torn with anguish at our long separation. When shall I again see you— when dissolve in your arms; Ever, ever yours, ELIZABETH SQUABBS. From the same to the same. ELECTRIFYING ELIZABETH— This leves me well, back, loins and all, as I hope it finds you. By sum mistake the tobacco isn't cum, although the munney is, by a post hoffice horder. I'm un- common grateful, indeed. As you haven't sent the tobacco, my dear Mrs. Elizabeth, perhapps you will forrard with hit some pipes, if not inconvenient. Since I rote last, I has lost a beloved brother, who departed this here life on the 29th, aged thirty. I has no munney to berry him, and he must remain above ground till some kind soul takes pity on his body. My grief won't allow me to say no more at present. Your afflicted lover, JOHN PILSON. P. S.— Dearest Elizabeth, kould you put yourself anyhow out of the way to send me the money for a coffin. From Mr. T. Watson, Plumber- street, City- road, to Mr. Charles Jesson, Crown and Sceptre, Britannia- street, City- road. DEAR CHARLEY— It's all very fine to say, you hope I am not offended; I do not know that lever was; but this I do say, the least you could have done was to ask my advice as to who you should give your work to, and then I might have told you, when the bdl came in, whether or not to pay it: however, you have done as you like with your own and have paid for it, as you gene- rally do, so there's an end of it; and to show you that I do not care about it, I shall be very happy to have your company to Ascot, if you will condescend to take the ribbons, and a seat in my drag. Your's without change, with my best respects to Mrs. J., T. WATSON. RAILWAY PEOPLE- From Mr. John Frisbee, Law- writer, Sun Tavern, Gray's Inn Lane, to Long Hannah, the pot- girl, at the Beer- shop, near Balls' Pond. Miss HANNAH— It's ov no use you sending letters here to me, or thinking to come Mother Gardiner's games over me by bounc- ing me ; I won't stand a ha'penny. If you're with child its none of my getting, so you must go farther for a father. You may call me King of the Spongers, I don't care a solitary damn about that; of course I gets all I can out of everybody, that's my game : I could'nt make the appearance I do out of the trifle I earns, and do the liberal at the same time, it ain't likely. After this I hope you won't bother JACK FRISBEE. P. S.— If you writes to my sister, she won't answer you, and as for threatening to expose me to the bar- girls here, they all knows what I am. THE MODEL GOODS CLERK. He is a wide awake gentleman ; he knows, and can do, every- thing and everybody, from making a dividend ( when there is none) to " cooking " the accounts; he is reckoned a good hand and writes a ditto, ditto; he can post the ledger; he can play a tune upon hl » chin ; he can ship a load of wool and not go wool- gathering; he sings comic songs in business hours; he can sample a pipe of wine as easily as he can smoke one of tobacco; he will eat oranges that have been accidentally knocked out of a box in loading; he will examine carefully the shape and make of sieves of fruit, but takes little or no interest in the construction of Guano ; he will play at skittles in his dinner hour, and bagatelle during tea- time ; he knows the price of old rags, and can tell you what 1,009 of bricks will come to ; he is also a judge of cheese, and is aware what is the legitimate Stilton; he is quite at home in the Inquiry- office, conversing with the people at once, and giving replies before they put the questions ! he will tell a lie to screen a fellow clerk; he is respectful to the superintendent, but never creeps up his sleeve ; he hates time books ; as night approaches, he wants to get off; he has an appointment at the Casino that he would not miss for the world ; he frequents the Adelphi theatre, knows were Evans's is, and has been to Jessop's a few; he is often taken ill suddenly, and occasionally stays away a day from business; he sends a letter to the effect that he has a severe bilious attack or an ulcerated sore throat, but he shews up the succeeding morning as fresh and as well as ever ! he has a decided aversion to broken- down master- grocers and the liko being placed on the railway, through the influence of some Jack- in- oflice, to the detri- ment of those who have been on the line for years ; he says it is a shame that the bread should be taken out of the fingers b v such a very large parcel of split- plum and fig- dust, grinding " niuffs," ( and so it is); he is never finsh of money, but is always willing to lend you half- a- crown until the next pay- day ; he oniy earns 90/. per annum, and what is that for a Model Goods Clerk who is fond of a small portion of life ? he must have a rise or ho shall leave the company ; if he is not worth more now, he never will be; but he finds he cannot get promoted in town, and that he is living above his income, so at last wishes the governor to appoint him to a country station where the work i » put out; his wish, strange to say, is granted, and he does the rural accordingly, where he astonishes the weak nerves of the surrounding farmers by the earning he possesses, who think he must have been to an excel- ent school to have received such a finished education. PICKLES MIXED. The late Mr. Adolphus told a girl once, who used to walk the temple, and got a great deal of money from the young clerks and students, that if she had as much law in her head as she had in her tail, she'd be one of the most able counsel in England. A quaker stepping into bed on his bridal night ejaculated, " the Lord direct me." " Nay, nay," said Ruth, " rather say, the Lor strengthen thee, for I will direct thee." THE TOWN. 3 MEMOIR OF A FRENCH LADY OF FASHION- ^ Continued from our last.) Through the windows I beheld her choose in the shop what she had oome to purchase. I might have entered, but I dared not. I knew not who this woman was, and I feared lest she might guess the object of my entering the shop, and take offence at it. I did not, however, imagine that I should see her aga'ri. She was elegantly dressed; she wore a robe of India muslin, completely encircled with flounces; a straw- coloured Chinese veil, a straw bonnet without fl iwers, and an unique bracelet of diamonds, which completely hid the metal in which it was set. When 1 remember her appearance oil that day, and the change when I again last saw her with you, a shudder runs through my bones. She remounted her caleehe and left. One of the shopmen remained at the door, following with his eyes the carriage of the elegant customer. I approached him and begged him to tell me the name of the woman. " She is Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier," he replied. I dared not ask him for her address, and I retired. The remembrance of this vision, for it was a real one, did not leave my mind, as many visions I have seen since, and I sought everywhere for this woman, in white, so royally handsome. Sume days alter, a grand representation took place at the Opera Comique. I went there. The first, person I saw there in a front box of the gallery, was Maguerite Gautier. The young man who was with me also recognised her, for he said to me, and naming her— " Only look at the pretty girl in the front box 1" A t this moment, Maguerite, who was looking towards us through her glass, smiled at him and signed to him to come and pay her a visit. " I will go and ask her how she is and will return in a moment." I could not help saying to him, " You are verv lucky 1" " In what V " In going to see this woman." " Are you in love with her, then ?" " No," I said, blushing, for I knew— really knew not what to say; " but 1 would gladly know her." " Come with me, I will present you." " First ask her permission." " Oh! faith, there is no necessity to stand on ceremony with her; come." This observation rendered me great pain; I trembled to acquire the certainty that Maguerite did not merit what I felt for her. There is in a work of Alphone Kerr, entiled Am Rauchen, a man who follows, in the evening, a very elegant woman, and of whom, at first sight, he became amorous, so handsome was she. To kiss the hand of this woman, he feels that he has the strength to attempt anything, the will to conquer every thing, the courage to do any thing. Scarcely does he dare to regard the point of her coquetish foot which she exposes that she might not soil her robe by a contact with the ground. Whilst he is dreaming as to all he will do to possess this woman, she stops at the corner of a street and inquires if he will ascend to her apartment. He may have her for ten francs! He turns away his head, crosses the street and mournfully returns home. I remembered this scene, and I, who would have suffered for this woman, feared that she might accept me too quickly, and give me too promptly a love which I should have preferred paying for by a long suspense or a great sacrifice. We men are thus made; and it is very lucky that the imagination leaves this poetry to the senses, and that the desires of the body make this concession to the dreams of the mind. Lastly, had I been told, " Yon shall have this woman to- night, and to- morrow you shall die." I would have accepted. Had they said to me, " Give ten louis and you shall be her lover," I would have refused and wept, like a child who finds the dream of the night vanished by the morning. Still, I wished to know her; it was one way, and the only one, of enabling me to satisfy myself about her. I iherefore said to my friend, that I still insisted upon his ob- taining her permission to present myself, and I strolled about the corridors, imagining to myself that from this moment she would see me, and that I should not know how to keep my countenance under her regard. I endeavoured to connect the words I should say to her. What a sublime infancy is love ! a moment after- wards my friend came down. " She is awaiting us," he 6aid to me, " Is she above ?" I inquired. " With another female." " There are no men ?" " No." " Let us go." My friend walked towards the door of the theatre. " Whyl this is not the way," I said to him. " We are going to fetch some bonbons. She asked me for some." We entered a pastry cook's of the Opera Colonnade. I would have purchased the whole thop and I looked to see with what they would fill the bag, when my friend demanded " A pound of raisins glacis." " Do you know if she likes them?" I said to hitn. " She never eats any other sort of bonbons, it is well known.— Ah ! sa '•" he continued when we had left, " do you know to what woman I present, you ? Do not figure to yourself that she is a duchess; it is quite. simply to a kept woman, in the plainest sense of the word, my dear fellow; do not, therefore alarm yourself, and say just what happens to come into your head." " Very good, very good," I stammered. And I followed him, thinking I was to be cured of my passion. When I entered the box, Marguerite was indulging in a hearty fit of laughter. I would rather she had been sad. My friend presented me. Marguerite made me a slight inclina- tion of the head, and said— " And my bonbons?" " I have them here." In taking them she looked at me. I bent down my eyes and blushed. She leant to tho ear of her companion, said a few words to her in a whisper, and both burst into a hearty laugh. I guessed it was myself who had caused this hilarity; my em- barrassment redoubled. At this period I had for a mistress a little girl, very tender and very sentimental, whose sentiment and me- lancholy letters made me laugh. I now saw the wrong I had done her by what I now felt, and for the space of five miuutes I loved her as a woman is ever loved. Marguerite eat her raisins without troubling herself any farther about me. My friend would not leave me in this ridiculous position. " Marguerite," he said, " you must not be astonished if Mr. Duval says nothing to you; you eo confuse him that he cannot find a woid." " I think, on the contrary," said Marguerite, " that monsieur has accompanied you here because it was wearisome for you to come alone, and for nothing more." " If that were true," I said in my turn, " I should not have begged Ernest to request from you the permission to present my- self." " It was perhaps only one means of retarding the fatal mo- ment:" However little we may have mixed with girls of Marguerite'! class, interrupted Armand, we know the pleasure they take in showing off their wit, and provoking men whom they see for the first time. It is no doubt a revenge for the humiliations they are compelled to submit to, from those they see every day. To reply to them, therefore, it requires to be somewhat habit- uated to their society, a habit. which I did not possess; then, the idea I had conceived of Marguerite, made me exaggerate her pleasantry. Nothing that came from this woman was indiffere to me. I therefore rose, saying to her, with a hesitation in my voice, which I could not completely conceal— " If it is thus ( hat you think of me, madame, it only remains for me to demand your pardon for my indiscretion, and to take leave of you, assuring you that it shall not be renewed." And with this, I bowed and retired. Scarcely had I closed the door, when I heard a third peal of laughter. I would willingly have found that some one was elbow- ing me at this moment— I returned to my stall. I heard a tap at the box door. My friend returned to me. " What a pace you go !" he said, seating himself beside me, " they think you mad." " What did Marguerite say, when I left?" " She laughed, and said she had not seen anything half so droll as you were. But you must not consider yourself beaten, but do not pay these maids of honor the compliment of taking them seriously. They know not what elegance and politeness is; they are like the dogs on whom we throw perfume; they fancy it smells bad, and they go and roll themselves in the gutter." " After all, what matter 1" I said, endeavouring to assume an indifferent tone ; " I shall not again see this woman, and if she pleased me before I knew her, she is much changed now that I know her." " Bah!" said Ernest, " I do not despair of seeing you some day shut up m her box with her, and of hearing it said that you are ruining yourself for her. Besides, you will be right; she is badly brought up, but she is a pretty mistress to own." Luckily the curtain was raised, and my friend was silent. To tell you what they performed would be impossible. All that I re- member is, that from time to time, I raised my eyes to the box I had so abruptly quitted, and saw that the faces of fresh visitors succeeded each other with great rapidity. I was far, however, from thinking no more of Marguerite. Another sentiment took possession of me. It seemed to me that I had her insult and my own ridicule to obliterate, and I said to myself, that should it cost me all I possessed, I would have this girl, and that I would take as a right the place I had abandoned so soon, and which was now occupied by individuals whom I detested, because I saw them laugh, no doubt at me, with Mar- guerite. ( To be continued.) covers the imposition, he endeavours to pin a piece of one of his tickets inside the sleeve, or some other part of his garment; this speaks for itself the next shop it is i ff. red at, and sometimes the example is followed by half- a- dozen shops, and the woman may walk half over town before she discovers it. If, however, she's an old hand, she'll undo the parcel and examine it before she gives it a second trial. This system of clobbering is made use ot' upon almost every article of wearing apparel, silk dresses and bomba- zeens, particularly : they turn them, make them up afresh, and dye them, and then tliev can plant them on the pawnbroker for new. With linen also much is done; the worn out places on the shoulders of fine shirts are drawn up under the collar and shoul- der straps; sheets are turned sides into the middle, and table- cloths are served in the same manner, nicely washed, mangled and mended; a pretty servant- looking girl often bounces the pawn- broker not to open it for fear of putting it into rumples. Says Ned," One kiss is all I implore, And grateful will be for receiving." Says Kitty, " One kiss, and then nothing more, Is neither worth taking nor giving." THE WISH. I wish I could like Zephyr steal, To wanton in thy mazy vest, Or thou wouldst ope thy bosom veil, And take me panting to thy breast. I wish I might a rosebud grow, That thou wouldst. cull me from the bower, And place me in that breast of snow, Where I should bloom a wintry flower. I wish I were the lily's leaf, To fade upon that bosom warm ; There should I wither, pale and brief, The trophy of thy fairer form. TOWN OUT OE TOWN- SIR— TOWN TRIFLES. We have been informed that harmonic- hall Bill Warde, Reuben Hyams, and Harry Fox, made a very good thing of their nigger hnsking trip to Epsom on the Derby- day; the engraving of them in the Illustrated London News of this week, is very excellently done; the figure with the tambourine is Harry Fox, and they are supposed to have made a pitch in front of Ben Caunt's booth. They would have done much better, but Bill Warde went into one of the bye lanes with a girl with a hurriey- gurdey, got all the black rubbed off his face, and missed his companions. He, however, got a job coming home, and a lift on the road, by acting as conductor to one of the return ornnibusses. Fox got very drunk with a real waggoner, who gave him several bits of provin- cial slang, and a new style of laugh ; Harry was so delighted that he mistook James's- terrace for Bow- street, and never found out his mistake till he got into bed and wanted to sing " waggoning." " Give me, sweet maid, one little kiss, One little kiss," I said, and sigh'd; Scarce had I felt the trilling bliss, Scarce were your glowing lips to mine applied, When from my lips your lips you take, In sudden haste, and burst away : Soj when he feels the coiling snake, Tiie heedless rustic startles in dismay; Not this, to give the balmy kiss ; Ah ! no, my love, but in the mind To raise the fond idea of bliss, Then leave the sting of fierce desire behind." Old [ Jack II— ys, dead twenty years since, was a devil of a fellow amongst the women, and seduced many of them; he tried it with a girl for several months, but being unsuccessful, eventu- ally married her; the morning after the wedding, however, he told her he should never have married her if she had consented. " I thought as much," she answered, " for I was served that trick by at least twenty fellows." Jewellery is an abomination; it is never worn by gentlemen or men of fortune, unless it be a signet ring, or some remarkable antique, a cameo, or something notable as a curiosity, a thing of value, not as a jem of price. Jewellery, with this exception, and that of a plain neck pin, when necessary, to fasten the tie, is never seen about a gentleman, except when in full dress for a party. The watch of a gentleman is always small, and the chain, which fastens it, concealed. Utility, be it remembered, is an essential part of elegance, and a well- dressed gentleman would just as soon think of putting a ring through his nose, as bedizin- ing his shirt, breast and waistcoat, with diamond studs, pins, and chains, to make his breast look like the front of a pawnbroker's window in full display ; such show of ornament is either the pre- tension of wealth or the ostentation of riches. The true gentle- man requires neither. Mother Emmerson was one day admiring the figure of a gladia- tor in the British Museum, when a young swell who happened to be near her, observed—" Why, mother, I'm surprised to hear you say that; I think it's anything but correct to nature ; I think the parts are badly proportioned,— this, for instance, is much too small for the rest of the body, and this part too stiff and formal." " My dear fellow," answered Mother, " if you'd been standing here but one quarter of the time this has stood, you'd be stiff enough in all your parts." ADVICE TO LADIES. Ladies, when you dress at morn, Be careful that no hay or corn Is pack'd, or placed in the behind For donkies, you must bear in mind, Will follow their noses like christian men, And seek for the fodder, so sweet to them. So, beware how your bustles you fill with hay, For fear, as you travel the Queen's highway, oome donkey should follow to nature's call, And bolt with provender, bust and all. The laws of matrimony were observed by our Saxon ancestors with great strictness. Examples of adultery were extremely rare, but when they did occur, they were punished with great severity. The husband of an adulteress cut off, in the presence of her rela- tions, all her hair, stripped her almost naked, turned heroutof his house, and whipped her from one end of the street to the other. A woman who had been thus exposed, never recovered her cha- racter; and neither youth, beauty, nor riches could ever procure her another husband. It is truly wonderful, the dodges that are worked in London for an existence, by which, even the downiest are done, the pawn- broker occasionally coming in for his share of the imposition. Will it be credited, that even this last- named class are " done" by persons, who make it their game to pawn old clothes for new ones ? These clever and industrious people are termed " clobberers;" the garment being nearly boiled to rags ere it is sent to pawn; the party, however, who does the work, does not pawn the gar- ment ; the dye on his fingers would betray him; the pawner is generally the wife of the clobberer, who is I invariably a Jew, or Irish tailor. The woman steals into the shop ' neath the shades of twilight, just as the pawnbroker is particularly busy, inasmuch as all the hands are employed, and his attention is divided, by serving a shop full of customers, and watching the window, lest there should be any " starring" of the glaze. ' Tis, we say, at this moment, that the wife of the clobberer puts forth the neatly folded specimen of her husband's ingenuity, and often, too often for the pawnbroker, she succeeds in making a good day's work by her evening's perambulations. If, however, the pawnbroker dis- TO THE EDITOR OF THE TOWN. A nuisance has of late sprung up here which, if not imme- diately checked, will serve very much to injure the morals of the females of this " good old town," and I know of nought so likely to check the infatuation than a lash from your editorial whip. The nuisance I complain of is the soldiers, which have been quartered here for now nearly twelve months; they are placed in the most fashionable part of the town ( not your's), right amongst the ser- vant girls, and, in consequence, the destruction of virtue has been dreadful. Policemen are quite out of fashion; none but soldiers will do for them now. But if it were " slavers " alone that were captivatcd by these red things, their presence would be bearable; but even respectable, decent,, well- to- do females are in the snare, all, all are mad after the soldiers. You will hardly see a female after six p. m. alone. A soldier accompanies them, sometimes three or four girls to one man. To look at this in a moral view, it is dreadful; for what do these come- and- go fellows care what injury they may do the girls ? to them ' tis nought but a " jolly lark." I will cite one instance of their usage of them, that came under my own observation, no doubt there are many such scenes. Last Saturday night, as I was sauntering up Everton- terrace, I observed by the light of a lamp a female vanish into a sentry- box. I walked cautiously to the spot, thinking J might see some fun, and heard, when I got within a few feet of tiie box, a giggle from the female ; I slowly passed the entrance, looking in as I did so, and could see the sentinel with the female, and her c! nt, h<"> above her knees; hasty as my glance was, I can assure you my statement is correct; no doubt I occasioned alarm, for she soon came out; I followed her home at a distance, and found that her father is in a respectable way of business, if this state of things continue, the frequenters of Williamson- square will receive an increase so large as to spoil the trade ; " Tyrer- slit" will not have houses enough to contain them. Trusting you will, at your earliest conve- nience, notice the freaks of these soldiers. I remain your well wisher, Liverpool, 26th May, 1849. NIGHT- CAP. BIRMINGHAM. THE TREE, GREAT HAMPTON- STREET. It is strange how soon the reputation of a house, and the cha- racter of a proprietor for civility, may be injured by the conduct of some of the visitors : had we been strangers to this house, we should have left it the other evening, and never again entered it, so thoroughly were we disgusted by the behaviour of a certain young snob, who fixes himself in the bar and gives himself the airs of a master. Miss Tuckey must attend to this, and provide the fellow with some instruction on politeness and etiquette of manners. On calling at the window for a glass of grog, the fair one being absent, we tapped; Spooney exclaimed, " Don't knock the house down ; you're in a hurry, ain't you ?" Such an absolute ape we never saw before; and can't imagine why Miss T. can be so nuts on him. Surely, she must have had some of Oberon's love juice dropped in her eyes, thus preventing her seeing the green about him. LINES FOUND IN CHARLEY CHESHIRE'S. When Ludlow tries to come out strong, And swears, and cuts it flash, The coves they chaff, and girls they grin, And ask, who finds the cash? In Diiibetli, there's a story told About this butchering wight, That, rather than he'd pay u wench, He'd bounce, and bilk, and fight. Beware! my blade, the TOWN That home you earlier toddle, Nor do the toadey at Charley's bar, . By talking such d— d twaddle. GLASGOW. We are informed that the rising generation have been much affected here, since some snobs at one of the warehouses in Ja- maica- street took objections to the carnal positionizings of cer- tain young ladies at. the windows of No. 88, and that poor, dear Miss Meeks has been compelled to cut her stick. We should be delighted to hear ot the old girl's retreat, that we might be able to quell the perturbed spirits of some of the young fellows in Argyle- street, who are so constantly writing to us. Meeks was certainly a stunner in her way, and, no doubt, she is much missed in the neighbourhood of Glasgow- bridge. Poor Fitzroy's shop in Brunswick- street looks awfully solitary; some of the girls, who, when Miss F. " kicked the bucket" with the cholera, stripped the place of all the moveables, talk of joining Wharton's truup here. A very splendid boarding- house is, we are informed, shortly to be opened on the London fashion, in Maxwell- street, and several of the people at the Tontine, we hear, talk of patronizing it. BORROWING A BELLY. In the season of 1833, Mrs. G—, the celebrated actress of the Haymarket, performed the character of Falstaff, for her own benefit. Mr. Dowton, who had been for many years famed for his very able delineation of that part, was astonished at leceiving the following singular note a few days prior to her performance:— DEAR DOWTON— As they have nothing of the kind in the wardrobe of our theatre, will you have the kindness to lond me your belly for one night ? Your's truly, G—. To which he sent the following answer:— DEAR MADAM— I am very fearful my belly will not fit you ; but being for one night, you are welcome to try it. Your's, DOWTON. THE TOWN. 3 NOTICE TO CORRESPONDENTS- TO OUR READERS. We wish it to be distinctly understood by our correspondents, both in town and country, that we insert nothing of a libellous or personal character; we love a joke or double- entenilre, as well as most : but it is no joke to insinuate that a respectable married woman is a prostitute, or a modest girl a whore. We mav be somewhat cerulean tinted, but we never have, nor ever will attack the sanctity of a family circle. We make this public announcement, in consequence of having, within the last few days, received a number of letters containing " advice" to per sons— the initials of whose names are given; this " advice," a it is termed, contains hints of a " show- up" at some future period : the hints are THREATS, and in nine cases out of ten, threats of such a character, that a magistrate would have but very little trouble in deciding upon them. The name not being in full is too stale for the Town— the intent is the question the law looks at; and our correspondents must not, therefore, after this announcement, feel surprised if we pay no attention to their communications when they are of the character just alluded to. JAMES CAMPBELL, ( Manchester).— Our publisher duly received your letter of the 14th inst.; we could not obtain the directory, will you, therefore, again communicate with us? No. 11, FULWOOD'S RENTS, HOLBORN.— The particulars for- warded are too terrible for belief; is the name Payne or Spain? send the address of the father of Harry, and also the account of the Stacey- street affair. p, q. R — They are all single women, so that if we inserted your notice as written, they must be prostitutes— observe how we have changed it. 0. J. The articles you inquire for are not so blue as the parties who buy them are green. K. K. G. ( Sunderland)— You're a first- rate flat.— Charley West- brook has had no old woman to have her goose cooked for these two years. MASON, R. T. ( Kensington)— We never does nothing for nothing for nobody.— All Advertisements must be paid for ia advance. EPHRAIM BOND, THE GAMBLER.— Our correspondent. " Un, deux, trois," is mistaken. Mr. Ephraim Bond, the Gambler, although a poor Jew boy originally, was in his manners a most accom- plished gentleman. We will use the article if sent ia time. JOHN DILLON, ( Dublin).— It is our intention of acting as you suggest, and the first will be the celebrated case of Queen Caroline. S. R. ( Camberwell).— Send us some " marriages expected," & c., or fun of that kind. J. B. M. ( Glasgow).— Your note of the 22nd May has reached us. Try and, if possible, comply with the request we made in our note to you. MR. CHARLES LAMBERT, alias JOHN SMITH.— If the gentleman with the carminative- coloured countenance, who handed to us a communication, " TheRace Course on the Derby Day," relative to this person, will send us a line stating where we can see him, we shall feel obliged. SHOBT AND DIRTY.— Where's the wit ? Read our Notice. Re- write the letter, and then we may use it. PETER FLIPPIT, ( Birmingham).— Where can we send you a line privately— you need be under no fear as to your communications. All letters are committed to the flames. What is Herbert Hudson doing ? AMO, ( Exeter).— If you write to Mr. Winn— Yes ! GREAT CAMBRIDGE STREET, HACKNEY ROAD.— We could scarce- ly have believed C. J. Bird, of the Britannia, would behave so sillily as you assert. SOPHIE.— You had better give us an opportunity of judging if you have a pretty leg and foot. A CONSTANT READER, ( Birmingham).— Write to T. Hicks, 34, Holywell Street— it is the only thing of the kind. JAMES HANNAM, ( 18, Bank Street, Leeds).— Send us a post- office order for £ 3., and we will attend to you. S. G. H., ( Peacock Hotel, Wolverhampton).— Don't you wish yo » may get it? If you come to London, inquire for an individual of the name of " Walker!" " PICKLES MIXED."— Can't you contrive to write on one side of your paper, old fellow ? F. R. D. ( Princess- street, Edinburgh.)— The TOWN is always issued to the trade on Saturday morning. The Epsom week was an exception, to allow of the proprietor, editor, publisher, and printers, to be at the Derby. he recommended mc to a small concern on the sharing principle, which had started for the fens in Lincolnshire— a place redolent of agues and eels; so that an active young man who could avoid the first and catch the second, might, by the disposal of his over- plus of the slippery dainty, ensure a decent maintenance. The process adopted for ensnaring them was to divest oneself of one's shoes—- stockings if one had them— proceed to the ditches, and literally " walk them out." Ben, furthermore, presented me with a wig suitable for all occasions and characters; the ditforent. effects being produced by weaving it— for tragedy, with the back, where the hair was longest, brushed up before, and for comedy to adopt the reverse. I found, however, that it was impossible immediately to act upon this suggestion, for, in a few days I was penniless. Joining, therefore, a friend ( also a printer), we determined upon going on what is called a husking expedition. It were useless taking up time to attempt to describe the multiplicity of places we visited, but I began to get thoroughly disgusted with my friend, who I discovered ( when too late) could do nothing but play the pipes and the drum, but as he possessed only the former, could only gather the pence from the crowd. I determined, therefore, to give him what is termed the " cut" at the first available opportu- nity. I was the more induced to do this from the fact, that he got very drunk, and being cashier, almost every day lost some of the money. We were at a suburban fair. I had just concluded the hercu- lean antipodean feat of tossing the cannon ball with my feet, standing on my head. The coppers had showered handsomely into the ring, and my companion was busily engaged in picking them up, when, seeing an opportunity, I suddenly darted off through the crowd, dodged into a mass of carriages, threaded a labyrinth of booths, and, unperceived, jumped into a tilted waggon that was journeying leisurely over the heath alone, the driver having stopped at one of the outlying booths to take a drain with a friend. I buried myself in the straw under the tilt, and tired with my run, languid with the heat, for it was summer, and lulled by the motion of the waggon, fell into a sound sleep. I don't know how long this may have lasted, for, when I awoke, we were stand- ing in the inn- yard of a country town, which I afterwards learnt was Maldon, in Essex. The horses had been taken out, and I had not been discovered. On bolting from the ring I bad an old great- coat over my mountebank's fleshings, so that I was able to move about without exciting any very annoying observation. It was a Saturday even- ing, and I made my way to the market- place, which was crowded with country people, to whom the sight of strollers like myself was familiar. As good luck would have it, right before me I saw a canvas booth of large dimensions— its front ornamented with a gay proscenium bearing in gigantic letters the words, " Gaggem's Thespian Company." The stage in front was crowded with the members of the company, promenading in pairs; all but one gen- tleman, in a Roman costume, who, with folded arms, walked alone and surveyed the crowd with a look of calm, half- desponding dignity. A portly man, with a red face, his upper man dressed in a tunic, the spangles showing doubtfully in the daylight, his lower in very common- place corduroys and anklejacks, was an- nouncing for the hundredth time to the crowd that " the perform- ances were just agoing to begin." My experience of such things told me at once that this was the manager. " I'll apply for an engagement," said I to myself; " I'm worth my salt, I know ; and at any rate, if they don't do anything in my line inside, I shall be useful on the parade."* After the life I had led, you may sup- pose I did'nt know what bashfulness was, and, if I had, I was too hungry to stop for that— so, pushing boldly up the broad steps, I caught hold of Mr. Gaggem's tunic just as he was disappearing into the interior at the tail of his company, after a stentorian " All in !" and said, " I say, mister, do you want a hand V He turned sharply round, aud, after a demure " travel of re- gard" from my very unkempt head to my delapidated canvas shoes, exclaimed, with an indirect answer to my question, " Well, young Dirty," said he, I was now between 16 and 17, " clothes is scarce where you come from ! What can you do ?'' [ To be continued.] THE SLEEP OF VENUS. ( FROM THE FRENCH.) Mars one day found Venns dear, Softly on her back reclining; He, with agile step, drew near; Too- ral- loo. A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF AN ACTOR. I was intended for a printer, but my impressions were early affected by a play bill, a portrait of Kean and a pit order. In the glorious days of the drama, when shriekintr was'nt mistaken for sentiment, " the Vic" the Cobourg, and Grammar much more plentiful there than now, I went with a companion to taste the " feast of reason aud tha flow of soul"— a typical expression for sucking oranges and wondering at the " Forest of Bondy." From that night the dye was cast. As far as printing went, my occupation was worse than gone : everything bore evidence ot my dramatic mania. Tha tickets of the Surrey Trust were worded " two to the pit;" and a last dying speech in large caps, announc- ing it was his first appearance in that arduous character, and positively for that morning only 1 I took to spouting Shaks- pere, and spouted everything else to indulge my passion. Re- monstrance was useless, and thrashing at length became irksome. One night I might have been seen in a tight suit of faded velvet and the very last stage of funk, waiting the running- up of the sixteen- feet- square green curtain at a small private theatre ; there and then did I enact Horatio, amid the plaudits of my bro ther devils, who all declared, upon their Satanic words, that my appearance was not so bad. Occasionally I figured in theatrical toga at masquerades, but finally, my father aud mother dying, I cut the composing- stick for ever. I should mention that'I bad always felt as much at my ease with my legs over my shoulders and my head downwards as when those limbs were in their more usual positions; could throw twelve summersets running; was an adept with balls, plates, and knives ; and, in short, master of a hundred tricks for gaining my bread. Finally, I betook myself to a theatrical agent; that agent was the late immortal Smith son !— a mountain of a man with a mammoth of a heart!— as much good nature and honesty as ever fell to the lot of a dress- ing- gown to envelope, was dressed up in " Dear Ben's " Duffield robe of office. The case was stated and the fee refused! Ben hinted at some slight obstacles to my instant engagement in the place of Keau or Young— having stated in confidence that I was willing to take a trifle less than the above worthies, if the London managers would give me a chance ; and further, after referring to various books, declared that, to the best of his belief, every theatre in the town and provinces had already made up their companies. To an enterprising man, Scowton was an object, and the great Richardson held out vast inducements, as it was well known, in sporting phraseology, the first favourite of his day had taken his start from his outsiders. Still he feared, as my edu- cation appeared to have been neglected, that my deficiency in architectural knowledge would militate against me, as the geniusos who acted in those splendid peripatetic establishments were ex- pected to lend a hand in their demolition and erection. However, as practice was or ought to be, the chief aim of a young beginner, With trembling hand he raised the veil That gently o'er her bosom fell, And sees her breast, as lilies pale; Too- ral- loo. With rashness then and passion hot, lie pressed those fairest hills of snow, She still slept on and heeded not; Too- ral- loo. To curb his passion now he fails, At every spot he sees fresh charms, Till with kisses he regales; Venus still in slumber bound, Arranged herself in order quite, And the hero lost no ground; Too- ral- loo. Too- ral- loo. " The bliss of heaven these joys transcend 1" Cried Mars, enraptured at the sight, We shall see where this will end ; Too- ral- loo. ' Tis said, that for three hours, God Mars Impressed with kisses soft and sweet, Her breast, and dear et ceteras ; Too- ral- loo. When Venus wakes with troubled air, And blushing says, with some surprise, " Ah, dear Sir, what, are you there? Too- ral- loo. BIRTHS WISHED FOR. Mrs. Garney ( late Miss Miller), of Spencer- street and Goswell- street Road, twins. Mrs. Still, ( Effingham Saloon) a couple of girls, one marked with a Great Mogul. Mrs. Randell, Bear- yard, Lincoln's Inn Fields, a thumping boy, the mould of dirty- faced Tommy. Mrs. Henry Goodfellow, of Bedford- street, Red Lion- street, of a very little boy, the image of a typo. Mrs. Stirling, New Strand Theatre, three fine boys, not a bit like Ned. MARRIAGES LOOKED FORWARD TO. Short Jem Pritchard, the fighting van- man, of the Hampstead- road, to fat Jane Putitaway, of Little Church- street, Pad- dington. Zoo Levy, the barker at No. , Holywell- street, Strand, to Mar- garet Nasteyface, the shiclcster, of 7, Little Shire- lane. Mr. Morton, the light tragediau of the Royal Albert Saloon, te Miss Backous of the same place. James Katt. y- Darling Lawson, the vocalist, to Long Racliael, of the Almonry, Tothill- street. J. Durham, to Miss Garcia, Regent- street. 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