pounds six shillings. The next, also a brown
bear, nearly as big, for five pounds. The
other two for four pounds, and four pounds
ten shillings. Poor things! They also, by
this time, are probably defunct; for they
were all bought by an eminent hair-dresser
in the city.

Shortly afterwards, a hair-dresser with
whom we were talking on this subject
informed us that some years ago, there was a
man in London, who did a good trade in
bear's grease, and all with one bear—which
one bear he killed three times a week. He
kept the bear in an area, where he could be
plainly seen by the passers by. At the
appointed day the bear was made to retire from
the area, and shortly afterwards, were heard
the most dreadful yells and roarings, followed
by groans as of the poor bear in the agonies
of death at last. All was over and the bear's
cage was brought out, apparently empty, and
taken off to the docks, as the crowd were
duly informed. The next morning another
bear was brought back from the docks, and
deposited in the area, in his turn to be killed,
and so on. But the truth was at last
discovered. There was a certain Jew fishmonger,
who went by the name of Leather-mouthed
Jim, on account of his tremendously powerful
voice. This man was hired on bear-killing
days to produce the roars and groans of
the dying animal, which he did with wonderful
accuracy. On one unfortunate day, the
hair-dresser would not give the accustomed
fee of five shillings. Leather-mouthed Jim
immediately told the whole conceit, and the
hair-dresser was obliged to shut up his shop.

After the sale of the bears came a hybrid
(between a zebra and wild ass), this spiteful
brute sold for eight pounds, he was formerly
the property of Lord Derby, and when
brought up per train from that sale kicked
the horse-box to pieces and did ten pounds
worth of damage, so that he is dear at any
price. A fine ostrich sold for twenty-seven
pounds, and a nylghau for nine pounds, both
fair prices. Then came the lions and tigers.
The first, a fine tigress, sold for seventy-nine
guineas, not her value. The second, a very
fine lion, for two hundred guineas; just as
the hammer was going clown this noble brute
stood upright in his den, and looking sternly
at the crowd gave a roar of indignation, a fine
study for an artist.

The evening was now drawing in, but the
people did not seem to show signs of
impatience, as the elephant and larger animals
remained. "Next we will proceed to the
elephant," exclaimed Mr. S. The folding
doors opened, and gently led by his keeper,
the elephant came forth; sad and demure
the poor beast looked, never again to draw
his cart full of happy, smiling children round
the gravel walks of the Surrey Gardens,
receiving biscuit contributions from his young
employers.

"Trot him out," cried a bidder, as two
hundred guineas were bid.

"By your leave," cries the keeper. The
crowd cleared away, and the elephant made
a sort of a mock trot; his price went up in
the market immediately, and he was finally
knocked down to Mr. Batty, the circus
proprietor, for three hundred and twenty guineas.
He will, therefore, be destined to a life of
gas-light and saw-dust in the theatre, instead
of breathing the fresh air, and parading the
grounds of the Regent's Park Gardens, the
managers of which we understood were
anxious to buy him.

After the elephant came the camels, male
and female; being stupid, they looked stupid.
Nevertheless, the male was knocked down
for sixty-two pounds, the female for fifty
pounds, to Mr. Edmonds, late of Wombwell's
concern. Lastly, came the giraffe. It was
too cold for him to come out, and his house
was not big enough to hold the good folks
present, so that while he was pacing his
stall in solitude, the figures two hundred
and fifty pounds were put down opposite his
name on the catalogue outside. We have
been informed on the best authority that the
only animals bought in, were the giraffe and
the lions, and that the remainder of the
animals realised very fair prices in general.

THE END OF VOLUME THE TWELFTH.