O, the language they used, and the pranks that they played; O, the terrible tricks that those spectres essayed; O, the sentiments shocking that came from their lips; O, the crimes that they had at their finger-bones’ tips! It was “Bedlam” and Newgate and Hanwell “broke loose,” And their language!――their mildest expression was “deuce!”―― The Lord Mayor he shuddered and fell on his knees; He had never before seen such infamous sprees. But just as his lordship was checking a sob, Right into the place burst a horrible mob; The vilest of vile and the lowest of low, And these cuddled the corpses and snivelled their woe. They were folks who regretted the jolly old days When humbugs and robbers had all their own ways; They wept for the crew by the Radicals slain, And they wished back the old days of darkness again. He crept from the churchyard, and, wiser, more sad, He confessed that the City was hopelessly bad; He confessed that in feasting and pageant and show They squandered the wealth filched from want and from woe. That scene in the charnel-house burnt in his brain; He went to Sir William[96] at once by the train, And explained that his soul would be harassed until He had helped with his vote the Municipal Bill. _The Referee._ April 20, 1884. ――――:o:―――― The Poems of M. G. Lewis were deemed worthy of imitation by the authors of _The Rejected Addresses_, and Horace Smith accordingly wrote one entitled “_Fire and Ale_,” of which Lord Jeffrey said in the _Edinburgh Review_, “Fire and Ale,” by M. G. Lewis, exhibits not only a faithful copy of the spirited, loose, and flowing versification of that singular author, but a very just representation of that mixture of extravagance and jocularity which has impressed most of his writings with the character of a sort of farcical horror.” FIRE AND ALE. My palate is parched with Pierian thirst, Away to Parnassus I’m beckoned; List, warriors and dames, while my lay is rehearsed, I sing of the singe of Miss Drury the first, And the birth of Miss Drury the second. The Fire King, one day, rather amorous felt; He mounted his hot copper filly; His breeches and boots were of tin, and the belt Was made of cast iron, for fear it should melt With the heat of the copper colt’s belly. Sure never was skin half so scalding as his! When an infant ’twas equally horrid; For the water, when he was baptised, gave a fizz, And bubbled and simmer’d and started off, whizz! As soon as it sprinkled his forehead. O! then there was glitter and fire in each eye, For two living coals were the symbols; His teeth were calcined, and his tongue was so dry, It rattled against them, as though you should try To play the piano in thimbles.