1813 (?). _Witches in a Hayloft._ Woodward delin., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg (226).--Two witches of orthodox type, with broomsticks, red cloaks, and steeple-crowned hats, are seated at a cauldron, working incantations, to assist at which serpents, hobgoblins, and various weird monsters are conjured up. A rustic clown, with a lantern and hayfork, who has thrown back the trapdoor, and is ascending to the hayloft for some purpose, is paralysed with horror and affright at the unholy spectacle suddenly revealed to his sight. 1813. _Business and Pleasure._ Published by T. Tegg. (272). 1813. _The Glutton._ Published by T. Tegg (274). 1813. _The Quaker and the Commissioners of Excise._ Woodward del., Rowlandson sculp. Published by T. Tegg (276).--Four well-fed Commissioners, the members of a board, seated at the green baize, are cross-questioning a Quaker, represented in a suit of conventional sad-coloured apparel, and wearing the typical broad-brimmed hat. The humility of the sectarian has proved too deep for the inquisitors, whose exactions he is evading. The chairman is indignantly remarking, 'What an impertinent fellow to keep on his hat before such a dignified assembly!' Cries one of the examiners, 'None of your _thees_ and _thous_ here, sir--come to the point--we know you have evaded certain duties.' 'Pray, sir, do you know what we sit here for?' pertinently demands another commissioner; to which the Quaker, with clasped hands, and rocking himself, like _Mawworm_, on his toes, responds, 'Verily I do--some sit here for five hundred, others for a thousand; and moreover I have heard it reported that some sit here for two thousand pounds per annum!' [Illustration: DR. SYNTAX, IN THE MIDDLE OF A SMOKING HOT POLITICAL SQUABBLE, WISHES TO WET HIS WHISTLE.] 1813. _Doctor Syntax, in the Middle of a Smoking Hot Political Squabble, wishes to Wet his Whistle._ Published by Thomas Tegg, Cheapside (209). 1813 (?). _A-going! A-going!_ Newton del., Rowlandson sculp., Published by T. Tegg.--A wretched invalid--propped up in an armchair, without the power to assist himself--has evidently done with the 'prescriptions, boluses, and blisters' at his side, since the ranges of physic-bottles which ornament his apartment have, to all appearance, finished the patient's business effectually; he is visited by a corpulent self-satisfied practitioner, whose hat is under one arm and his cane under the other; the doctor is addressing his unconscious patient: 'My dear sir, you look this morning the picture of health; I have no doubt at my next visit I shall find you utterly cured of all your earthly infirmities.'