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Victoria.-The King's Wager, and Wastha, have again been played all through the week; and as they prove attractive, we conclude they will-following the "fashion"-run till Christmas.

Sadler's Wells.-This theatre, we understand, has fallen into the hands of Mr. OsBALDISTON, the charlatan who formerly degraded Covent Garden theatre, by converting the dresscircle into a beer-shop, where the article' was allowed "to be drunk on the premises," and where it was the custom, oftentimes, to smoke a cigar. It is not very difficult, therefore, to foretell what management may be expected here. At present, the house is filled with "orders;" but this system can never answer any good purpose. It serves only to collect a parcel of vagabonds together, who exercise their light-fingered propensities upon the unwary.

Marylebone.-This is another new theatre, which has been recently opened in the neighborhood of Portman Square; and it adds one more to the many proofs already before us, of John Bull being a most merry-hearted, and jovial fellow-fond of plays, and every thing that appeals to the senses by means of scenic representation, The speculation has, we believe, been entered upon by Mr. HYDE, and he has formed a very respectable company. Among the corps dramatique, we recognised two old favorites of ours,-Mr. MARSHALL, and Miss TREBLE; both formerly of the Queen's. The principal performances of the week have been the nautical drama called Tom Starboard, and

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known. Being anxious to know of what the performances were to consist, we enquired for a bill," but there was not such a thing to be had-"coz," as a little urchin assured us, "nobody voud'nt pay for 'em being printed, and it vos no go,' vithout the tip." This being perfectly satisfactory, as far as it went, we revelled in pleasing anticipation of something marvellous, -nor were we disappointed. The hint given us about the "bills," prepared us not so expect any musicians; we were, therefore, not at all surprised at half-past 7 o'clock, to find the orchestra empty, and the house uproarious. During this interval, a policeman or two, amused themselves and the audience by dancing a fandango, in the Duke of Beaufort's private box, played Punch behind the and one of them " tolled. This over, at exactly 25 minutes to 8 curtain; all which performances were duly extwo heads were observed emerging from under the stage, which were shortly followed by the bodies of two individuals looking things unutterable, but very portentous. A third person having made his appearance, an extemporaneous hash was served up in the form of an overture, played on two Jews' harps, and a hurdy gurdy,— the audience beating time with their feet. This over, after an awful pause the curtain rose, and disclosed sundry bipeds "looking daggers but using none.' They tried to smile, but made a

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failure of it. In a few moments, Miss DESBOROUGH skipped forward, in the dress of Esmeralda, the Gipsy Girl of Notre Dame, and her appearance stemmed the rising storm. We cannot help thinking that this lady should have waited at least another week, before she ventured forth in public. She made great exertions to please, but evidently labored under considerable bodily weakness; which, from the nature of the

the Spare-bed, a humorous farce by Fox COOPER; both which have been rapturously received. Tragedy and comedy are also in request here. Othello was played on Thursday, and the Rivals last night. A new comic pantomime, entitled Harlequin Hunchback, is in rehearsal for Christ-performances, must have been greatly encreased mas. There being no 'gallery' here, the other part of the house is, in consequence, kept more select than usual.

Queen's. We think our brethren of the press are greatly to blame, for bearing so hard upon the managers of this little theatre; for where, we would ask, can one be so well entertained, and with so great a variety of amusements? On Monday last, we attended to witness the re-appearance of Miss DESBOROUGH, the fair lessee, whose 'confinement' had unfortunately been attended by a relapse,—from which she was on that day announced to be recovered, and to be doing "as well as could be expected." On entering the house at half-past 6, the hour named for the rising of the curtain (the doors having been opened at half-past 5)-we found every corner filled up with people of all nations, tongues, and languages; and if our eyes did not deceive us, we saw one, if not two gentlemen in the boxes, with clean collars, and one young lady with a clean face and neck, -a distinction which seemed to give great offence to the other part of the audience, to whom such luxuries were evidently all but un

before she left the theatre. It hardly seems a month since we last saw her in perfect health; and this period is, we believe, the shortest, usually assigned to persons recovering from so 'peculiar' an illness. We trust she will soon regain her strength, for she is really a very fascinating actress, and possessed of wonderful animal spirits. It is, perhaps, hardly fair to criticise the performances, on so 'interesting'an occasion, but really the Prompter took so prominent a part in the entertainment, that the house was in one continued roar of langhter. It was quite evident that there could have been no rehearsal; for every thing was, as John Reeve would say, in the most glorious confusion. WHO the actors were, we know not; neither do we care, they may, however, come very aptly under the expressive denomination of "walking-sticks."

Printed by J. Eames, 7, Tavistock St., Covent Garden

Published for the Proprietor by GEORGE DENNEY, at the Office, 7, Tavistock St. Covent Garden: sold also by Hetherington, 126, Strand; Strange, 21, and Steill, 20, Paternoster Row; Purkiss, Compton Street; and James Pattie, 4, Brydges Street, Covent Garden.

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A NEW AND FASHIONABLE WEEKLY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, MUSIC, AMUSEMENT,

EXHIBITIONS, VARIETIES, SATIRE, AND THE STAGE.

"QUALITY, NOT QUANTITY."-Common Sense.

VOL. I.-No. 35.]

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23, 1837.

[PRICE ONE PENNY.

THE FALLACY THAT OLD BIRDS ARE NOT TO this, she has other resources; she has sage counsel, adBE CAUGHT WITH CHAFF.

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The older the bird, the more he flatters himself that he is worth catching. He is easily caught, were it worth while; but you have caught nothing, perhaps, when you have got him. Chaff is too valuable, too precious, to be expended wastefully; and because you are not so silly as to throw powder away, he conceives himself to be shot-proof. As nobody tries to catch him, he fondly persuades himself that his own exceeding cun. ning secures him from capture. "Take me if you can,' chirps he, and goes dodging about the woods as though a flock of golden vultures were pursuing him. He is quite safe. He has not the felicity of being in peril. The young condor, pressed even by vulgar appetite, will not do him the honor of dining upon him. His toughness and antiquity are sure safeguards. He is only not captured because there is nothing captivating about him. But if, by any chance, he hath a tail-feather fit for plucking, or a bone worthy the distinction of being picked, then is your old bird in imminent danger, for you may catch him when you like with half a pinch of chaff. The tender foxling, not arrived at the maturity of slyness, who never tasted chicken of his own stealing, shall take him without a ruffle of his plumage-only by pronouncing its dingy brown to be rich crimson. flocks of old birds flutter about in society, all sure that they never shall be caged, and all safe until a lure is laid for them! But the longer they live, the less chance have they of avoiding the trap. The older they grow, the slenderer the means of escape. The starched matron is fain to put faith in the compliment which, in her day of youth and grace, she knew to be nonsense. She is now only half handsome, and can no longer afford to think her eyes less brilliant than she is told they are. She must make up, by exaggerating what is left, for the loss of what is gone. She is not now in a condition to call a fine remark rank flattery; she is obliged to believe, in self-defence. If her mirror will not admit of [No. 20, NEW SERIES.]

What

mirable judgment, perfect knowledge of the world. Admire these, and, with a dignity which you call Siddonian, she confesses that she is yours. You have only to convert the compliment to her beauty, at twenty, into a tribute to her sagacity at fifty-five. Tell her she is effectually. Admire her penetration, and you will find not to be imposed upon, and you impose upon her her impenetrable. The old bird devoutly believes he is no goose. The grey-headed adventurer, who would not beauty and five thousand pounds, is taken in, thirty marry at twenty-six, because the lady had only a little years afterwards, by a plain widow with a large family instead of an estate. The moralist of threescore is ruined in three months by a figurante; and a man of

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refinement, fastidious up to seventy-two, "marries his cook." Not caught with chaff! The old bird sniffs it afar off. Not a curate in the kingdom that does not once a-week unite in holy wedlock threescore-and-ten to fourscore, or fourscore to onescore. The ancient gentleman who has seen the world, who is profoundly experienced, and much too deep to be the dupe of an age so shallow as this, is to be won by an admiring glance at the brilliancy of his knee-buckle; praise his very pigtail, and you may lead him by it. None are so easily taken in as the "knowing ones." The knowing one is generally an egregious ninny. The man who loses his last shilling at Doncaster, is no other than he who was sure of winning; who could prove by his betting-book that he must win by backing chaff against the field. He is a fine specimen of the family of the Oldbirds. So is the careful, cautious wight, the original Master Sure-card, the man of many savings, who in his old age falls in love with a loan; who dies in prison.from the pressure of foreign bonds, or drowns himself in the New Canal by way of securing what he calls his share. The genuine old bird is a pigeon.-From a Series of Popular Fallacies in the New Monthly Magazine.

NumerICALLY SWEET.-Mrs. Honey has seceded from co-partnership with Mr. Cockerton, and is now receiving £40 per week salary! this is exactly £6 13s. 4d. per night, according to "Cocker"-ton.

REVIEW OF BOOKS

Sketches of Young Gentlemen. By " Quiz," Junr. The illustrations by Cruikshank. Published for the author by W. Kidd.

From the evident pains that have been bestowed on the compilation of this attractive little volume, it is pretty clear that the author intends it to become popular, and we have little doubt that it will be so. It contains a variety of lively characteristic sketches of the rising youth of the present age; and, with one or two exceptions, presents a cabinet of faithful portraits, reflected veluti in speculum. We venture to predict that the book will find especial favor, not only with the lordlings of the creation, but with our young ladies more particularly, who will now have a noble opportunity to revenge themselves on their brothers, for the laugh raised at the expense of the fair sex, by the former work of the cruel "Quiz." From a careful perusal of these "sketches," we should opine that the author is about forty years of age-a bachelorand a most cheerful companion;-one, too, who mixes (no reflection is here intended on his loving a cheerful glass of punch) a good deal in the best society, and is a philanthropist at heart. In two of his sketches,' however, he while most egregiously-for instance, speaking of the Aristocratic Young Gentleman, he draws him the very reverse of what he in reality is. He makes him virtuous, fond of good company, affable to his inferiors, and always bent on improving his mind, and cultivating his understanding, &c. &c. * This, of course, must be taken cum grano salis; as we all know, too well, that these sentiments are at the very antipodes of truth,-but let that pass.

errs

The second fault with which we have to charge Mr. Quiz, is, that in his ignorance of the wedded life (for he must be a bachelor) he has drawn too glowing a picture of nuptial felicity, which all of us, who are married, must confess is, occasionally, "all round my hat." (Our readers will pardon this vulgarism, in virtue of the extensive meaning it conveys.) CRUIKSHANK -sly dog!-has entered most minutely into the author's feeling, and drawn as a tail piece to the "Married Young Gentleman," an old Nurse, with an infant in her arms, presenting the same to the happy father at the expiration of threequarters of a year after marriage!

Thus far only, does our censure extend; of the general contents of the volume, we would speak most favorably. The following morceau is abridged from the LITERARY YOUNG GENTLEMAN:"

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"Who wrote the 'Bench and the Bar?" asks Mr. Botherum.

"The same individual, Sir, who wrote 'Random Recollections of the House of Commons,' replies young Literary.

"Beg pardon, Sir," squeaks out an honorable M. P., "who did you say wrote those Recollections?" "

"The author of the Bench and the Bar,'" answers the "Literary Young Gentleman."

"But," says old Matter-of-fact, in the corner, looking over his spectacles, "what sort of a work is the 'Bench and the Bar?'-what is it all about?"

"Oh! 'the Bench and the Bar' is-is-a-a-a lot of stuff about the Bench, and about the Bar-a great

quantity of rubbish, spun out into two volumes, nothing more, Sir, I assure you."

"A lot of stuff about the Bench and about the Bar?

why, I have heard it is a capital work, and one that no modern library should be without,*-but what is there about the Bench and about the Bar, and what are the

objectionable parts, Sir?"

"Really,' stammers the worn-out "Literary Young Gentleman," "I cannot exactly tell you, off-hand; for I only just dipped into it, when I was interrupted by Mr. Grub, Secretary to the New Literary and Scientific Institution, about to be established in Pall-Mall. Pray, Sir, have you heard of it?"

"No, I hav'nt," grunts old Matter-of-fact, and if he had given tongue to his impressions, he would have added, "nor you either."

The "Literary Young Gentleman is a member of all the debating societies, a subscriber to every new work where there is a chance of the list of contributors being made public; he takes in Blackwood, the New Monthly, and Fraser; but neither Professor Wilson, Theodore Hook, or Dr. Mc'Ginn, make him a whit the wiser. He is dead to every thing in his own conceit but literature; whereas, the fact is, that literature is dead to him. He feigns the man of letters outwardly, to mislead the world; and rejecting him inwardly, discovers the imposture to those he would deceive. It may be considered harsh to assert as much, but it is nevertheless undeniable, that in ninety-nine cases out of every hundred, the "Literary Young Gentleman" knows little or nothing of either history, grammar, languages, rhetoric, or poetry; nor has he any ac quaintance with the notions, customs, manners, tempers, and polity, of the various nations of the earth, or the distinct sects and tribes of mankind,-whilst every man who is simply a gentleman, without "literary" being tacked to that name, is bound to obtain a correct acquaintance with all these things; and if he fail to do so, it is certain that he can never maintain

his own station and character in life with honor and dignity."

In justice to the printer, we must add that this book is very beautifully got up;' the artist, too, has been most happy in his illustra tive Sketches.'

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I love its snowy branch to see

In the hall of Christmas revelry,

Quaffing oft the smiling glass,

There would I kiss the blushing lass,
Plucking each time a berry white

From the misseltoe bough on a Christmas night.

Where is the pleasure can vie with this?
Snatching oft a hard-won kiss,

Drinking the nectar from rosy lips,

As the bee from flowers the honey sips!
Would that I might for ages live,

And that life for ever such joys would give!
Quaffing oft the smiling glass,

Then would I kiss the struggling lass,
Plucking each time a berry white

From the misseltoe bough on a Christmas night. In another part of our paper, we have glanced further at the misseltoe,-a branch peculiarly sacred to Venus and Cupid.

USE OF EVERGREENS AND MISSELTOE AT

CHRISTMAS.

"Christmas, the joyous period of the year, Now bright with Holly all the temples strew, With Laurel green, and sacred Misseltoe." The custom of decking our habitations with evergreens has existed from the very establishment of Christianity, and was unquestionably derived from the like practice of our Pagan ancestors. "Trimming of the tempels," says Polydore Virgil, "with hangyns, flowres, boughs, and garlendes, was taken of the heathen people, which decked their idols and houses with such array." The Celts and Goths were alike distinguished for the respectful venerations which they entertained for the

misseltoe, and for the solemn rites with which they

The

Our Subscribers

NOTICES.

are informed, that the Title-page for Vol. I will be printed with the IDLER of next Saturday, that being the last day, but one, of the present year. On the 6th of January, 1838, a New Volume will be commenced. The size will be the same as at present, but it will consist of eight instead of four pages. It will, also, have many new and original features introduced, of which, more anon. Part 8, containing the numbers for the month of December, is now ready.

"ROBERT DIXON, Painter, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden." We regret that, from the nature of our publication, we cannot give insertion to the letter of our correspondent "JUSTUS," referring to the fellow abovenamed. We, however, thank our correspondent for his information; and at the same time inform him, that we are already well aware of the creature's dirty practices; he having, so lately as Saturday last (after first "trying it on "with the landlord of the house), made a charge to OUR OWN PUBLISHER for first erasing, and then re-writing (without any orders or instructions so to do!) the name and address over the Office door. On a refusal to pay his nefarious demand, the fellow actually had the impudence to SUMMON our Publisher! Of course, he resisted the claim;-but this does not in any way alter the baseness of the attempt at fraud.

THE THEATRES.

"See that the Players be well used."-Hamlet. "Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice." Othello.

There have been no novelties worth recording since our last; we shall, therefore, spare our tale; and merely notice the last new piece proreaders the trouble of perusing a thrice-told

duced at the

Haymarket.-Pierre Bertrand, a comic extravaganza in one act (called, in the bills, a domestic drama!) was damned on the first night of its performance (Thursday week), and doubledamned on the following evening. We understand the author, Mr. Frederick LAWRANCE, is a young Jew, and that he was formerly shop-boy at the "Penny National Library" Office, in the Strand. We mention this, to account for his introducing stale jokes about books and booksellers, titles, and authors, into his truly original production; to detail the plot of which, would be impossible, for there was none! It appeared author; and that they only appeared on the stage to us, that all the actors in the piece detested the to punish him for his conceit and excessive arro

gathered it about that period of the year, when the sun approached the winter solstice. The Druids were particularly famed for the distinguished regard they paid to the misseltoe of the oak; they attributed to it numerous virtues. At certain seasons of the year, especially at Yule Tide or Christmas, they were accustomed to gather it with great solemnity, and to sacrifice two white bullocks, that had never been yoked, (not till then), having their horns bound up. It was cut from the tree with a golden bill or pruning knife, by a priest, habited in a white vestment, and was received in a woollen cloth; many orations were then said over it, and the ceremony being deemed complete, the sacred plant was preserved for use with religious care. Druids had an extraordinary veneration for the number three, and on this principle, says Vallances, in his grammar of the Irish language, it was, that misseltoe was held so sacred by them, since not only its berries, but its leaves also, grew in clusters of three, united on one stalk. The inhabitants of Elgin, and the shire of Moray, in Scotland, according to the account written by the Rev. Mr. Shaw, are accustomed, at the full moon, in March, to cut withes of the misseltoe, or ivy, and making circles of them, to keep all the year, pretend-gance. If so, they certainly could not have hit ing therewith to cure hectics and other troubles. the ivy is dedicated to Bacchus, so should the misseltoe be to Love; not, however, to the chaste Eres, but to the sportive Cupid. The sacred regard given to it in Pagan and Druidical rites has long been terminated; but it is still beheld with emotions of pleasurable interest, when hung up in our kitchens at Christmas; it gives license to seize the soft kiss from the ruby lips of whatever female can be enticed or caught beneath. So custom authorizes, and it enjoins also, that one of the berries of the misseltoe be plucked off after every salute. Though coy in appearance, the chastest maid, at that season of festivity, is seldom loth to submit to the established usage; especially when the swain who tempts her, is one whom she approves.

As

otherwise, he would hardly eulogise a work, by the puff oblique, which is beneath contempt,-as indeed, all the flimsy works of this chimerical writer are, when properly analysed.-[Ed. I.]

upon a better plan to accomplish their object. Mr. RANGER laughed outright at what he had to say, so did Mrs. GLOVER,-so did all the performers. If ever an actor had cause to repent venturing out of his proper sphere, it was on this occasion; for the yells, hisses, roars, and groans of the audience were terrific. We understand Mr. L. took to his heels some time previous to the fall of the curtain; and that he has never since ventured to show. his face in public.* He will do well, in future, to mind the expressive phrase," Ne sutor ultra crepidam."

* On Thursday last, he 'broke cover,' and abused the Actors in a rabid letter addressed to the editor of the Times !!!!

OUR NOTE-BOOK.

FINGER GLASSES.-The proper use of fingerglasses is merely to dip the fingers, wiping them afterwards with a napkin. We recollect an instance, however, where they were used for another purpose. A gentleman at table, who we should suppose had never before seen fingerglasses, observing the manner in which they were used, actually commenced washing his hands. When he had finished, he felt horror-struck on beholding the color of the water, which was unlike all the rest! What was to be done? There was not a moment to be lost. In an agony of fear, and thinking to make the best of the matter, he put the basin to his mouth, and, at one large gulp, drained it to the bottom!-Chesterfield

Modernized.

YOUNG WOMEN.-There is nearly always something of Nature's own gentility in very young women (except, indeed, when they get together and fall a-giggling); it shames us men to see how much sooner they are polished into conventional shape, than our rough, masculine angles. What assiduity a vulgar boy requires to move three steps-I do not say like a gentleman, but like a body that has a soul in it; but give the least advantage of society or tuition to a peasant girl, and a hundred to one but she will glide into refinement before the boy can make a bow without upsetting the table. There is sentiment in all women, and sentiment gives delicacy to thought, and tact to manner. But sentiment with men is generally acquired, an offspring of the intellectual quality-not, as with the other sex, of the moral.-Ernest Maltravers.

THE PRESS. Had the art of printing been earlier practised, the additional light it would have thrown upon the past history of the world can hardly be conceived. We are prone to consider the present age not only as the most enlightened, but also the most populous-and that the inhabitants of former ages were as few as they were unenlightened. If history is to be accredited, however, such was not the fact. The dominion of ancient Gaul, which now contains about thirty millions of inhabitants, has in former times contained two hundred millions and so great has been the depreciation in other sections of the earth, that it has been estimated there is scarcely one fiftieth part of the number of men upon earth now, that there was in the time of Julius Cæsar-and that in the same ratio of decrease, it would take but ten centuries to leave the earth without an inhabitant! Had the art of printing been earlier practised, and the ancient history received as full a record as the passing occurrences of the present day-instead of the few volumes which are now the only remains of five thousand years, we should have left to us millions of incidents which have died with the age in which they transpired-records of arts which have been lost from the want of a proper recording me

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dium-and lexicons of words which are now for ever gone: for it is computed that, from William the Conqueror to the seventeenth century, between two and three thousand words were lost, by their meanings having been forgotten!

CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME.

Our ancestors considered Christmas in the double

light of a holy commemoration, and a cheerful festival; and accordingly distinguished it by devotion, by vacation from business, by merriment and hospitality. They seemed eagerly bent to make themselves and every body about them happy. With what punctual zeal did they wish one another a merry Christmas! And what an omission would it have been thought, to have concluded a letter without the compliments of the season! The great hall resounded with the tumultuous joys of servants and tenants; and the gambols they played

served as an amusement to the lord of the mansion

and his family, who, by encouraging every art conducive to mirth and entertainment, endeavoured to soften the rigour of the season, and mitigate the influence of winter. What a fund of diversion was the choosing king and queen upon the Twelfth night? And how greatly ought we to regret the neglect of minced-pies; which, besides the idea of merry-making inseparable from them, were always considered as the test of schismatics! how zealously were they swallowed by the orthodox, to the utter confusion of all fanatical recusants! If any country gentleman should be so unfortunate in this age, as to be under suspicion of heresy, where will he find so easy a method of acquitting himself, as by the ordeal of roast-beef and plum-pudding ?

To account for a revolution which has rendered this season formerly so eminently distinguished, but now so little different from the rest of the year, will be no difficult task. The share which devotion had in the solemnization of Christmas, is greatly reduced; and it is not to be expected, that those who have no religion at any other part of the year, should suddenly bring their minds, from a habit of dissipation, to a temper not very easy to be taken up with the day. As to the influence of holidays, they can have no particular effect in the present times, when almost every day is spent like an anniversary rejoicing; when every dinner is a feast, the very tasting of our wines hard-drinking, and our common play is gaming. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that there is nothing remaining in this town to characterise the time, but the orange and rosemary, and the bellman's verses.

The Romans allotted this month to the celebration of their feast, called the Saturnalia. During those holidays, every servant had the liberty of saying what he pleased to his master with impunity; and I wish, with all my heart, that the same indulgence was allowed to servants in these times, provided it would be a restraint upon their licentiousness through the rest of the year.

The most fatal revolution, and what principally concerns this season, is the too general desertion of the country, the great scene of hospitality. Of all the. follies now prevalent, it is the least to be accounted for. How small a part of such as throng to London in the winter, are those who either go upon the plea of business, or to amuse themselves with what were formerly called the pleasures of the place. There are the Theatres, Music, and, I may add, many other entertainments, which are only to be had in perfection in the metropolis; but it is, in reality, a fact, that three parts in four of those who crowd the houses that are already built, and who are now taking leases of foundations, which are to be houses as fast as hands can make them, come to town, with no other view, than to pass their time at a card-table.-DRUID'S MAGAZINE.

Printed by J. Eames, 7, Tavistock St., Covent Garden

Published for the Proprietor by GEORGE DENNEY, at the Office, 7, Tavistock St. Covent Garden: sold also by Hetherington, 126, Strand; Strange, 21, and Stiell, 20, Paternoster Row; Purkiss, Compton Street; and James Pattie, 4, Brydges Street, Covent Garden.

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