Chapter IX

Tom Gad, d'ye see, out on a spree,
Gets whopp'd in Covent Garden;
They knock him down, and crack his crown,
And leave him not a farden:
And then, for making such a fuss, to-day,
They give poor Thomas into custody.
* * * * *
Policemen are the "upstarts" of the nation,
For every one appears above his _station_;
And would you know his tyranny full well,
_I_ fear you'll _buy_ your knowledge in a _cell_.

1. Why is the back of a hare like a narrow escape?

Because it's "a hare's breadth."

29. Rent Day—Landlords' _levée_.

In cool grot and mossy cell.
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Rent Day!—a day when all hearts most are rent
With torture—save, the heart of lusty Dan;
Then gets he that which makes him most content,
Rent from the ragged and rent-breeches man;
Bent upon rent, and all without remorse,
Yet Dublin deems the foul extortion fair,
And swears that, as he's ridden the high _Horse_
So long and well, she now will make him _Mayor_—
A Mayor who, though he makes of _Fifties_—cronies,
Yet has a most maternal love for _Ponies_.

Leading the Van.
]

Star-gazing in season.

Yes! gaze, and cry, "My stars—all wondrous fair,
That, by your shining do behave as sich,"
Look up—you'll find your very soul is there
Look down—your body's rolling in the ditch!

"The Beauty of the Heavens."
]

NEW EDITION OF _BURNS_.

_Published October 30, 1841, at the Tower._

The indefatigable Mr. Swallow has obligingly forwarded to us the following list of valuable relics, which were rescued from the "devouring element," during the late conflagration at the Tower:—

Half of the lid of a pot, inscribed—"_Fox's_ Circassian Cream," and supposed to have belonged to _Renard_, the Spanish Ambassador at the Court of Queen Mary.

The handle of the warming-pan which was used for the bed of the young princes the night previous to their being smothered.

The bowl of the identical pipe with which the executioner of Guy Fawkes composed himself, after he had accomplished his unpleasant duty.

A portion of a bottle, which contained the liquid used to polish the Bluchers of Edward the Black Prince; part of the label, with the letters WAR——still in high preservation, and clearly indicating the determined resolution of that undaunted hero.

A tile, with the initials "W.R.," and which, it is judged from the caligraphy, belonged to the time of William _Roof_-us.

A massive trowel, the state of its edge proving that there must have been a "_strike_" of Masons in former days.

A spice-box, supposed to have contained the _mace_ of the ancient Lord Mayors of London.

A fragment of a Cigar, very probably a portion of the _Regalia_.

A five-shilling piece, in an imperfect state; doubtless the _crown_ that Richard the Second resigned to Henry of Lancaster.

A constable's truncheon, with a certificate of its having formed the Duke of Wellington's _staff_ at Waterloo.

The feet of the gridiron that cooked the last _chop_, but one, for the ill-fated Duke of Buckingham.

A _pitch_-er, used by the _tars_ to drink grog out of, after the dispersion of the Spanish Armada.

Going!—Gone!!
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GOING! GONE!
THE AUCTION-HERE.

Glasses, tables, pictures, chairs, Dutch ovens, and beds;—and knots of men upon the stairs, with knots upon their heads;—and the dining-room table put in the front drawing-room, and covered by the back parlour carpet,—supporting the auctioneer, and the clerk, and catalogues, and desk, altogether enough to warp it.—And each hale porter stout is "drawing lots" about, which, if brittle, you may think fortunate, if from the room they are thrust whole,—from the specimen post of the best front bed, and the _book_ muslin covers, that once were _red_, to the cinder-sieve and knife-board, in the dust-hole.—"Any advance upon seven— eight, nine, ten, eleven—going!—thank you, sir—twelve, thirteen. Tap! gone for thirteen—the cheapest bargain ever seen; they are yours, sir; if you pay, they may go at once away. Six iron hoops, a water-butt, a bottle-rack, and broom."—"Oh, Mr. Auctioneer, there's some mistake, I fear, for not a word I said."—"But, sir, you nodded your head."—"Oh, yes, to a friend in the room!"—And when the sale of the silver things is going to begin, the room's so hot, and the crowd so dense, from the people scrowdging in;—and the struggle for the loss is so great 'mongst those who compete, that you'd say there was a race for the plate in a general heat.—And there's a great Jew upholder, that I'm forced to uphold on my shoulder—leaning upon my chair, with long, black, greasy hair, that would make Sir Peter Laurie swear, and a coat as rough as a bear; it's rather too bad to let him in amongst respectable people, in his _bear_-skin; and I don't know what he can mean, but I suppose it's his fat that makes him _lean_.—"Ladies and gentlemen, I must beg silence,—for the babel of your tongues may be heard a mile hence.—I first offer to your notice an article of _vertu_, as old as the world itself, both curious and rare too, that was dug up beneath some ruins in the Sicilies,—and is from the undoubted chisel of Praxiteles— representing a Venus, without legs, arms, or head; _au reste_,—the _trunk_ is very beautiful, so is the _chest_."—"Mr. Auctioneer, your classic knowledge is rather queer; and I don't wish to hurt you, but I cannot understand Venus being an article of _virtue_; and if this mutilated image is Venus coming from the sea, as you say, I should rather incline to think that the sharks had been following in her lee all the way."—"We have here a fine painting by Vandyke,—a correct portrait of anybody you like—and a bust of the celebrated ballad-singer, Homer,—who, throughout the towns of Greece, was a roamer,—where 'tis known, by even the most illiterate dunce, that he'd the luck to be born in seven different cities at once;—but all his endeavours to raise a penny from each of these places seemed to fail,—for he never got out-door relief from any, although it seems to have been a Union on a most extensive scale.—I'll thank you to give me a good bidding, if you please—for you rarely see such authentic originals as these—which I have offered to the gaze of the beholders.—The bust upon which you have all bent your eyes was buried in Pompeian lava for centuries,—where it, all that time, had lain."—"Then, perhaps, sir, you can explain the meaning of the motto 'Austin and Seeley,' on the shoulders."—And in the midst of this general din the rafters of the floor all tumble in,—and down to the parlour the company and auctioneer go,—which rather cumflusticates those who are sitting below; and so,—amidst the general confusion and rout,—we ourselves will contrive to scramble out—from the room in which we were crammed;—and, on gaining the fresh air, we are almost tempted to swear, if we go there again we'll be—shot!

A SMITH'S VICE.

When late—too late, indeed—it was found out,
That shoals of large Exchequer bills were spurious,
It made, no doubt,
The holders furious—
And indignation grew quite busy with
That fraudful felon, Edward Beaumont Smith,
When prosecuted, at the Queen's expense,
Guilty, he pleaded;
An act that surely did not show his sense,
And little needed,
While he had this defence:—
"Gentlemen,—any frauds by me display'd
Were in the way of trade;
I forged the bills, 'tis true; what then, I ask?
Pray was it, do you think, the sort of task
To earn for me a scourging?
For, since the days of Vulcan, I would know,
Up to this very last Exchequer go,
How could a _Smith_ be great, except in _forging_?"

Fancy Portrait.

Forging by _Bill_ Smith—hot work.
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