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MRS. BROWN ON FURNISHING.

was "Rubbish!"

I SAYS, "BROWN, do as you please," for knowin' what a worret he is, and one of those peculant dispositions, I thought it was as well as he should go hisself, and so he did; but when he come home and said as he'd gone in for a rosewood sweet at twenty-two guineas, all I says And true my words was proved as ever the sun set upon, for of all the things as that Tottingem-court-road can produce I never see the like. When they was brought in, my heart misgive me for them men's feet, as I know'd must be filthy. So I says, "Bring 'em as far as the parlour-door, for bein' on castors me and SARAH can wheel 'em in easy." So we did, but, law bless you, them white cheney castors was that brittle as to crumble like ashes on the lips, as the sayin' is. So I says to the young man, I says, "Them castors must be took off and proper ones put," as promised me faithful should be done the next day followin', as it's now more than a fortnight, and me never to set a eye on, as is a young man that conspicuous with coal-black whiskers and a squint as made your eyes water for to look at. Well, we got the things in, as looked very well on my new carpet, as covers both rooms thro' bein' a large pattern of roses in bunches, with rugs of a Newfoundland and a sleepin' lion, as is BROWN's taste; not as I held with furniture thro' its bein' green, as is a unlucky colour, for well I remembers MRS. WHITESIDE, as lived near Horsely down, a-havin' on it and her husband thro' the court in no time, and obliged for to go back to her father, as was a bed-ridden

man with twins.

BROWN he would have green, and if he didn't go and buy curtains with yellow fringe, as was a different shade from the furniture, as was covered in rip, and rip it proved, for I never see such stuff to tear, and them is rips as sells it.

Certainly they was beautiful chimley-glasses, as come to ten guineas thro' takin' a pair, and the young man put up the front room one, a-takin' off his shoes, as proved he'd a tidy wife, for I never see stockings more darned nor neater, but thro' not havin' long nails wasn't able for to fix the back room as he stood agin the wall, and just as things was pretty straight who should come in but Mas. BRODLINS, as is own sister to MRS. YARDLEY, and her figure all over thro' them a-takin' after the mother's side, as was that lusty as brought on palpitations, as took her sudden, as the sayin' is.

Glad I was to see her, for I don't believe there is a fairer-hearted woman out as would give you her last crust, which some begrudges. So I says, "Take a settin', MRS. BRODLINS, mum, on my new sofy, as nobody ain't more welcome."

Down she sets, and I heard a crunch like, as was the back leg give way, up goes her 'eels, down goes her 'ead with a hollar crash. I goes for to save her, and if she didn't pull me right on to her, as was more than that sofy could bear up agin, and away it went back'ards altogether, and I do believe as we should be in that corner to this very hour if SARAH hadn't called back the men as had brought the things, as managed to pull us up.

Certainly I don't see as there was anythink to laugh at, as I told SARAH pretty plain, and them men too, as was a-makin' free in their remarks about 'eavy weights.

As to them easy chairs, they was a mockery, as gave way with BROWN the second time as ever he set on it, and one of them six drawin'-room chairs, as was very bowed about the legs, I was a-settin' on it givin' of SARAH a character to a lady, as is goin' to better herself, as I don't see it myself with nine in family, and all the washin' done at home. I was a-sayin' as she was a willin' gal to that lady, tho' required lookin' after, when with no more warnin' than nothin' if that chair didn't fly to bits like splinter bars under me, there wasn't a bit bigger than my hand, and as to stuffed with horsehair, why it was haybands, as no doubt is the case all round.

BROWN he says to me, "You're always a-growlin' and a-howlin'," as if castors was trifles as come off everything. So he brings some home for to put 'em on hisself, but, law bless you, the wood wouldn't hold the screws as he got, so he had for to take 'em all off, as has made that sofy scrape my carpet raw.

BROWN he wouldn't hear a word agin the things, and had the man in for to mend the leg of the sofy, as he said wasn't never intended for to bear two hipplepotumuses, illudin', in course, to MRS. BRODLINS and me, as brought on words thro' me a-sayin' as it wasn't a epitaph for to apply to a lady.

And glad I was for to see it come home to him thro' his own aunt, as is a elderly party, and that 'ard of 'earin' as she says thro' a-sleepin' with a crack of the window open as come close agin her tester; but I say rubbish, for it's my opinion as seventy-eight is about the size on it, as she must be if she's a hour thro' my own dear mother bein' only two years' difference, as never see but three score and six.

Well, the old lady she'd come to tea, and precious cranky too, and made remarks about the 'ouse as I didn't care for. So I says, "MRS.

CARDING, mum, is your tea agreeable ?" but law, I might as well aspoke to Aldgate Pump, for she only says, "It must be gone six," which it were not, and her temper ruffled thro' me not a-teain' at five punctual, as I should have done if the gal, thro' bein' a stranger, hadn't forgot the kittle.

take a cup of tea, when a somethin' give way in that sofy, and shot Well, the old lady she'd got her mouth full of muffins a-goin' to her up like a cork from a bottle. I never see such a thing. If I didn't think she'd gone sudden mad when I see the cup and saucer fly up, and her give a jump ever so high, a-sendin' the tea all over the place, and her a-gulpin' at that muffin as wouldn't go up nor down. Cough, I believe she did cough, till I thought as strangulation was to be her end; and when she drawed her breath agin she did set to and abuse everything, and made BROWN cut the sofy open to prove as it wasn't no trick as we'd been and played, as was proved thro' it's bein' a spring as had got broke, thro' that SARAH, I do believe, a-standin' on that sofy for to pull back the curtain, as got hitched the very day before as she was a-cleanin' up afore leavin', as was always too flyaway a gal for me.

It was well as we proved to the old lady as it was the works as had give way, or I don't believe as she'd ever have spoke to us agin, for she thought as it was fireworks under her, as has a pretty income. Not as I cares for her money, tho' she can't take it with her, and not a soul but BROWN for to leave it to. But she come round agin with a drop of something in her tea for to settle her nerves, as was shook to fiddlestrings I could see, and had give me a nasty all-overish turn as made me feel all of a chill, as something hot is the only thing as will check.

I was that put out with them things, for the weneer on the claw table had bulged up like a human blister, that I says, "I'm a-goin' for to see MRS. BRODLINS, as lives in Marry bone, and if I don't give that furniture man a bit of my mind my name ain't MAKTHA." So I goes by the 'bus from Kennington, as put me down close by MRS. BRODLINS, where she appointed for to meet me, and as she was a-goin' shoppin' accordin' to agreement.

We walks along Oxford-street, and after a-looking at the shops I asks her if she'd mind a-steppin' as far as Tottingem-court road, and as soon as we got there I see the shop as I remembered the name on immediate, and there was a man and a woman a-standin' outside, with walnut sweets in the winder. The man he says to me, "What can I show you to-day?"

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Well," I says, "I wish as you'd show me some furniture, and not the rubbish as you've sent home to me, as is a mass of fragments, and a downright disgrace for any one to look at, leave alone to set upon. So he stares, and up comes the woman a-askin' what I was a-sayin'.

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So I says, "I can speak agin, tho' pr'aps you mayn't care to hear it, as is a gang of swindlers.' "What are you a-talkin' about?" says she. to South Lambeth without a castor as didn't scrunch under your own Your furniture," says I, "as is ketchpenny rubbish as you sent weight." So she says, "You did ought to have cast-iron to bear you; but," she says, "I scorn your words, for I never sent you no furniture, and never see you before," and turns round.

I says, "You'll deny your own name, I suppose." So the fellow as was dustin' with a feather broom he says, "Now step along, if you please, and don't be kickin' up no row here."

I says, "You take back your rubbish, and give me back my money." He says, "Who's got your money?"

I says, "You! for," I says, "I've got the card," as I was a long time a-gettin' out thro' my pocket bein' that deep; "but," I says, "here it is, deny that if you can." So he says, "That's not my card;" and if I hadn't been and made a mistake about the name, as it was the wrong shop, and I don't know what would have happened, only MRS. BRODLINS she ketched 'old on me and pulled me on quick, and that man and woman hollared after me as I must be mad or drunk, and hooted at us, and I do believe if we hadn't took a cab as we should have been mobbed.

And next time as BROWN makes a bad bargain he may get out of it hisself, for the way as he abused me for interferin' was downright outrageous, and all I got to say is no more of your sweets for me, but steady-made furniture as will bear the 'uman form,

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SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.

BERMONDSEY.

REVERED AND HONOURED SIR,-When a man has arrived at the period of NICHOLAS, he is not over likely to take a sanguineous and enthusiastical view of human nature; but never you believe, Mr. Editor, what the cynic would tell you with regard to the innate depravity of the mortal heart. It is only when a man is really down upon his luck that he knows how much good nature and benevolence is possessed by those around him, a conspicuous instance of such having been your generous insertion last week of my countrybution at enormous length at a time when my literary earnings are almost the only emolumentary resources which a ruinons old man can metaphorically fall back upon, although he considers that some of your editorial commentations, however well meant, were less calculated to convey the idea of your regarding him in the light of Age and Virtue under a temporary cloud of adversity than of one who was rather a disreput

able old tout.

Your Prophet has likewise to acknowledge the extreme kindness of his temporary landlady, MRS. CRIPPS, than whom I am sure a more amiable person, though, perhaps, a little middle-aged; and remarkable, indeed, have been the increased kindness since the appearance of your paper (Number Twenty-six of the New Serious) where she was put in print, she having been previously rather distrustful whether NICHOLAS was indeed the eminent man he represented, but on seeing him to be really your Sportive Editor, and as such in the possession of a moderate but certain income, immediately came up-stairs to inquire whether the Prophet would object to such a thing being offered as a few shrimps for a relish to his tea, and very nice they were. Yes, Sir, woman's heart is indeed a well-spring of affection; and I send you a slight instalment of a poem on the subject in emulation of the "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." I call it an "Elegy in a Bermondsey Parlour," and the first line must be understood as purely

IT-IT

A REGULAR FIX.

I CARE not whether poets sigh

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Parting is sorrow sweet,"

I find 'tis pain to say good-bye,

'Tis sweeter far to meet.
Although I practise strength of mind,
When weaker feelings flow,
The obstacle I always find

Is "ARTHUR, must you go?"

The other night I took "pot luck"
Alone at GENERAL LONG'S,

'Twas late, for twelve o'clock had struck, But sweet were ETHEL's songs.

I rose, but who could stand that look,
When ETHEL whispered low,
"Papa, is sleeping o'er his book,
Oh! ARTHUR must you go?"

As sure as summer comes I grieve,
My holidays are short,

'Twas hard indeed this year to leave
The girls at Manor Court.

The old, old tale, "What, go away
Before the Flower Show,

The fair-haired ROBSONS come to-day,
So, ARTHUR, must you go?"

Only last night I met by chance

A dear old friend of mine

The same warm heart and open glance

He asked me home to dine.

We talked 'till four, I thought of bed, "Why ;-am I getting slow?

We have not met for years," he said,
"Old fellow, must you go?"

It is not pleasant every day
Invariably to find,

When I have torn myself away
I've left my heart behind.
Cannot blind fate to ease my pain,

Some kinder lot bestow?
If people wish me to remain
Why should I have to go?

figurative, taking such a liberty in real life being what NICHOLAS would never dream of doing so if sober:

Here rests his head upon the lap of CRIPPS,
A Prophet who to FUN was well beknown;
But Fortune frowned on his autumnal tips,

And Gardevisure marked him for her own." And may send you other specimens of what he will venture to invoke as the Eligiac Mews.

But if you, Sir, have been more than kind, and if MRS. CRIPPS be all my fancy painted her, only in still more roseate hues, how different has been the treatment he receives from many who ought to have known better!

Never until Michaelmas had your Prophet been behind hand with the rent for his Belgravian mansion, and to all his servants he wa really benevolent, without the longwindedness of a person by the name of RUSKIN, which has recently been writing to the papers on the subject, and seems to be a sort of a house-agent, though a little unintelligible. And yet, Sir, what were the expressions of the landlord when told that NICHOLAS must relinquish his palatial abode, and would be glad of a little time to make up the quarter's rent? Sir, he said, "I am glad to get rid of you at any price, and to free my house from the incubus of a notorious betting-man, who has at length met with the proper fate of his disgraceful avocations;" and this, Sir, after many is the glass of sherry-wine that he has partook at my expense!

This is not the only indignity your NICHOLAS has had to endure. His valet, meeting him promiscuous at a public I use, absolutely turned up his purse-proud nose at one who had seen better days, and spoke of him to the landlady as "a low reporter;" but I remembered the dignity of Literature, Šir, as one entrusted with your confidence, and bearing likewise in mind the period at which I have arrived, NICHOLAS forebore to smite the arrogant menial to the earth, and being a very nicely sanded floor, and only regarded him with a

8

contumelious expression to which the glare of the angriest basilisk i a gentle glance of connubial affection. And then, Sir, leaving the house and paying my score with a conscious dignity of a honest though a ruinous old man, I wended my way to another establishment, where a man is still treated as a man in spite of unmerited pecuniary affliction, and washed away the memory of the insult in a glass of something warm.

A few of my friends are talking of "A NICHOLAS TESTIMONIAL," in recognition of his services to the Turf. You may possibly remember, Sir-not that you know much about sportive matters, nor ever did, though the ablest of editors and the best of friends-that a similar compliment was recently paid to ADMIRAL ROUS.

I have a good thing for next year's Derby.

NICHOLAS.

IN THE NAME OF THE PROFIT FIGS. FOR what purpose do our very intelligent readers suppose that the British army is maintained in its present state of efficiency? For the defence of our hearths and homes? No. For the prevention of foreign invasion? No. To quell the Fenians? No. For the glory of the British name? No. For the admiration of little boys and servant-maids? Oh, dear, no. For none of these high purposes is our army kept up, but only for the special benefit and profit of the British grocer and tea-dealer. At least so his organ of currant literature, The Grocer, informs us.

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The authorities at Woolwich and Chatham have lately been experimenting on the possibility of putting a good many pence weekly into the pockets of the British soldier without increasing the army estimates one farthing, by supplying him with his beer, tea, coffee, and sugar at wholesale prices. The experiment, as far as it has gone, has succeeded admirably, and has, in the case of Woolwich and Chatham, shown that our soldiers can do very well without that gorging cormorant, the canteen man. But the Woolwich grocers are not to be done out of their profits upon the sanded sugar, and birch-broomed tea that they hitherto sold to the British soldier. They meet, they pass resolutions, they unearth some forgotten rule contained in the Regulations and Orders for the Army," to the effect that it is desirable that the troops should be supplied with groceries from local sources. They have held meetings, they have passed resolutions, they have written to the organ of their order, The Grocer, they are going to petition Parliament, and intend carrying their complaints to the foot of the throne if necessary. The British soldier always has been their lawful prey, and they mean him always to remain so. The Artillery barrack canteen has violated every principle of the British constitution, Magna Charta, the bill of rights, &c., &c., by selling good groceries at wholesale prices, and has actually had the impudence to refuse the British tradesman access to his former victims. Not only this, the canteen is now manned with a staff of soldier assistants in black coats, and white ties, in the place of drunken, dirty potboys, and instead of being ruled by a voracious canteen keeper, it is watched over by a committee of officers who have the assurance to see that all the liquors are of the best quality.

Is this to be borne? No. They have sworn it on their scales and sugar scoops, and they are going to memorialize the War-office to restore things to their former footing. Cunning grocers and tea-dealers! They well know their best friends are the powers that be at the Horse Guards and Pall Mall, who, if sufficiently worried by these tradesmen, are exceedingly likely to show themselves what they always have been, the enemies of the units of our army, and take their stand on their old and stupid regulations.

Answers to Correspondents.

SIGMA."The Pilgrimage" is not quite in our walk. "The Strains" were better, but unsuitable in subject. If parmaceti is good for an inward bruise, it might be good for strains-still, if you get the effect you must not mind a little straining after it.

EIKEER, jun., uses a good deal of bad language to convince us that Scotch is not jargon. What will he say when he learns that MRS. BROWN is a Scotchman? We are not alarmed by his awful threat that he will cease to "take in FUN"-he never has taken it in it has only been an outward application; and, as to his "advising his friends to do the same," his friends, if he have any, will know him too well to listen to his advice. Only we stipulate that he shall spend the bawbee so saved in paying for EIKEER, juvenissimus, the extra for "manners," which have been so neglected in the case of E., junior. H.H.B.-Author of a "Fly Leaf" will find a fly left at the office till called for-declined with thanks.

A POSER FOR THE TEETOTALLERS.

FROM OUR STALL.

THERE is as much difference between the audience that assembles at the Lyceum on the first night of a new piece, and the usual "first night" attendants at a theatre, as between a special train and an ordinary ditto. MR. FECHTER doubtless feels complimented by this important fact. Everyone knows that any play produced under the management of this celebrated Parisian-London actor, who is the theatrical incarnation of the entente cordiale, is sure to have been the subject of careful study, minute research, and elaborate detail. Civilized people like their dramatic food, as well as their animal and vegetable refreshment, cooked, and not raw, and MR. FECHTER is about the only chef we have in London. He does not produce a piece in large lumps on the principle that an "oil-striker" would give a dinner if left to his own devices. "Here you are! hot! hot! all hot! mock turtle hot! fish hot! joints hot! puddings hot! brandy sauce hot! port hot! sherry hot! punch hot! and lots of everything! Eat, clatter, be happy and dyspeptic!" No. MR. FECHTER serves up daintier dishes, fit for refined palates. In place of plum-pudding he offers you an omelette; instead of punch he presents you with tokay in a curiously carved and quaintly-cut wine-glass. Hence the special audience we speak of, hence the presence of literary and artistic notabilities. It is pleasant to see the authors of famous books and poems, and painters of famous pictures, beaming from their private boxes like ordinary mortals. Hence the charming toilettes and the charming faces in the stalls, the handsome snowy opera cloaks, and the still handsomer, snowier shoulders. But we must not pursue this dangerous though charming theme. We know our place, and when a description of that sort of thing is required, we move aside and yield the pen to the author of Lady Clare, The Miller's Daughter, and The Queen of the May.

However, with the strongest predilection for MR. FECHTER, and his style of "mounting" his productions, we cannot commend him for his choice of the piece with which he has opened this, his present season. The Watch Cry is not worthy of the adapter, the theatre, the company, or the management. The Watch Cry is entirely devoid of any central interest whatever. The incidents and the complications arising from them are extremely ingenious, and the situations are striking and dramatic. But these advantages will not atone for the complete absence of any love story, for the entire lack of what is called in the greenroom "female interest," and the weakness of every character except the principal one. On the first night The Watch Cry lasted above three hours, and three hours, unless there be a strong love interest or very excellent comedy, is a long time. In one of SHAKESPEARE's greatest "sensation" scenes, the trial scene in the Merchant of Venice, where a Jew is about to slice flesh from off a Christian's breast, every now and then Gratiano has an amusing line to speak. Even when cruelty is defeated by a quibble, and the sword of the law hangs over the head of the disappointed Hebrew, Gratiano talks comedy. The scene would be too horrible but for this relief. Possibly the "fool" appears upon the heath with Lear, for the same good reason. The one effect of the new drama, the giving of the watch-cry to the Palace guard by the emaciated prisoner, who is supposed to have lost the power of speech, is admirable, and had the effect of rousing the audience to enthusiasm. We were sorry though that MR. FECHTER had to remain dumb throughout a whole act, for the sake of producing this effect, though now that we think again he was not dumb, his face and his eyes spoke though his tongue was silent. It is needless to say that MR. FECHTER acted throughout with grace and truthfulness, with the picturesque tenderness of a gipsy-mother, and the fiery chivalry of a knighterrant. The rest of the dramatis persone were mere stage lay-figures. No actors could have done more with them than the members of the troupe of the Lyceum. The parts were long, and that was all, with the exception of the one allotted MR. RAYMOND, who played a rough, unscrupulous bravo excellently. We fear that The Watch Cry is not and of Romeo. MR. FECHTER should always make love he does it destined to be a success. There are rumours of Edgar of Ravenswood

so well.

King John has been revived at Drury-lane, with great pomp and splendour. If we defer our notice of it, it is because King John will keep, whereas The Watch Cry is composed of materials that are perishable. An account of the two hundred suits of armour, of the two hundred supernumeraries enshrined therein, of cruel John, unfortunate Arthur, ambitious Constance, artful Pandulph, scrupulous Hubert, abused Austria, and gallant Fitzroy Faulconbridge, may safely be postponed, for they will be to be seen-alive-for many nights to come.

PHILOSOPHY IN SPORT.

THE savants, not contented with the comicalities they are guilty of in their serious publications, are going to bring out a "Comic ScienWHY do we all drink table beer? Because every one has his weak tific" paper. They propose to call it Gammon and Spinach-why not p'int. Bubble and Squeak, which is what it is likely to do.

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JOHN BULL IN "LITTLE FRANCE."

SOME time since we gave a picture of "Mossoo" in Little France, now it is JOHN BULL'S turn to be marked down in the same locality. The café which he most frequents in this neighbourhood is named after a French victory in Italy, let us say Magenta, and it imports into the centre of London an air of the Boulevards, which makes JONES, who has been twice to Paris for three days, say that it reminds him of that delightful city. But it has a charm for people who know more about Paris than even JONES-people who lift their hats easily to Madame, at the comptoir, and who can manage more lingo than JONES. JONES is noble in his first sentence to the garçon, but if that worthy makes a reply that requires a further remark in answer, JONES returns to his native tongue, which at all events he does not speak quite so imperfectly as French.

To the placid philosopher who pens these lines, the S- the Magenta (the P. P. begs pardon) is a source of endless and calm delight. He has seen Podger, Bodger, and Snodger, City clerks, come in and order plain chops and plain potatoes, things which are simply raw material in the eyes of a French cook, and grumble at the beer, which is about the best in London, for the plain reason that the adulteration of British beer is a science yet unlearnt by the foreign proprietary of the Magenta. However, as P. B. and S. don't know beer when they get it pure, the Placid Philosopher can only pity their ignorance, and pray for the continuance of that of the foreign proprietor. He also sees a gentleman who is much addicted to athletic sports come in with a friend, who is going to dine. Athletic party "has dined," but will "take a snack" for company's sake. Athletic party takes about a dozen dishes, winding up with plum pudding and sweet omelette, and is horrified to find the bill exceeds five shillings. The Placid Philosopher not being athletic, enjoys a cosy little dinner, say half-a-dozen courses, and drains his modest bottle of Macon, and then takes his cigar and his one luxury, a glass-say a glass-of Chartreuse Jaune, and he reflects that he might have dined for double the amount, on half the choice of dishes, with one-tenth of the comfort, and he begins to agree with JONES that it is "Tray jolly de deenay issee."

Of the varieties of people who frequent the café no catalogue can be given on a smaller scale than that of the British Museum. Besides JOHN BULL, travelled and untravelled (who is more especially the

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subject of the Placid Philosopher's essay), there are foreigners from every quarter, Spaniards, Italians, Germans, French, and Russians; and the things they eat, and the way in which they eat them strike wonder and sometimes alarm into the breast of JONES. How such a polyglot custom is met is a mystery only to be unravelled by the polyglottest garçon that ever totted up l'addition and carried twenty dishes and three bottles of different wines in his head at once. Placid Philosopher verily believes that if CHANG walked into the Magenta to-morrow and asked for puppy pie, that garçon would without an instant's hesitation, inform him in the best Pekinese that it was not on the carte. And how polite he is to the ladies! For ladies do come there; quiet little Frenchwomen who dine all alone, quite at ease and unmolested, and Monsieur who keeps the boot shop not far off (and is unconscious of the terrific meaning of the inscription over his door, "Percussion Screwed Boots,") brings Madame and his daughter, and they dine very comfortably, and very cheaply.

Of course the Briton Rampageous who doesn't like these "confounded French messes," and the Briton Snobbish, who puts up an eyeglass he can't see through, when a lady enters the café, occasionally stray into the precincts, or people intrude whom one would not ask into one's drawing-room; but on the whole this café in Little France is quiet, and pleasant, and respectable, and a man who doesn't care to have a mountainous joint bleeding under his nose, and who is not eaten up with the desire to pay half-a-crown for a bottle of wine which MR. GLADSTONE has arranged to let him have at eighteenpence, may enjoy a good and cheap dinner there, and-oh, rare privilege and most valuable!-may smoke his cigar afterwards without stirring and without incommoding his neighbour. And that neighbour! Why such is the influence of the place he will allow you to ask him if he objects to smoking while he is eating, and drop into a chat, just as if you were not both Englishmen.

"Pst! Charles; encore de Chartreuse!"

Now ready, printed on TONED PAPER, price Twopence, "GONE FROM THE HELM."

To ADVERTISERS.-Our largely increasing circulation compelling us to go to press earlier, no advertisements can be received after the Thursday previous to publishing day.

London: Printed by JUDD & GLASS, Phoenix Works, St. Andrew's Hill, Doctors' Commons, and Published (for the Proprietors) by THOMAS BAKER, at 80, Fleet-street, E.C.-November 18, 1865.

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VOL. II.

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