The sound of his voice as he soared to the sky Was that of a ghoul with the grumbles. His teeth were so hot, and his tongue was so dry, That his shout seemed us raucous as though one should try To play on a big drum with dumb-bells. From his nostrils a naphthaline odour outflows, In his trail a petroleum-whiff lingers. With crude nitro-glycerine glitter his hose, Suggestions of dynamite hang round his nose, And gunpowder grimeth his fingers. His hair is of flame fizzing over his head, As likewise his heard and eye-lashes; His drink's "low-test naphtha," his nag, it is said, Eats flaming tow soaked in combustibles dread, Which hot from the manger he gnashes. The Fire King set spurs to the steed he bestrode, Intent to mix pleasure with profit. He was off to Vine Street in the Farringdon Road, And soon with the flames of fired naphtha it flowed As though 'twere the entry to Tophet. He sought HARROD's Stores whence soon issued a blast Of oil-flame that lighted the City Then he turned to Cloth Fair. Hold, my Muse! not too fast! On the Fire King's last victims in silence we'll cast A look of respectfullest pity. But the Fire King flames on; Now he pulls up to snatch Some fodder. The stable's in danger. His whip is a torch, and each spur is a match, And over the horse's left eye is a patch, To keep it from scorching the manger. But who is the Ostler, and who is his lad, In fodder-supplying alliance, Who feed the Fire King and his Steed? 'Tis too bad That TRADE should feed Fire, and his henchman seem glad To set wholesome Law at defiance. See, Trade stocks the manger, and there is the pail Full set by the imp Illegality! That fierce fiery Pegasus thus to regale, When he's danger and death from hot head to flame-tail, Is cruelly callous brutality. Ah, Justice looks stern, and, indeed, well she may, With such a vile vision before her. The ignipotent nag and its rider to stay In their dangerous course is her duty to-day, And to _do_ it the public implore her. "By Jingo!" cries _Punch_, "you nefarious Two, Your alliance humanity jars on! If you feed the Fire Fiend, with disaster in view, And the chance of men's death, 'twere mere justice to do To have you indicted for arson!" * * * * * [Illustration: FELICITOUS QUOTATIONS. "OH, ROBERT, THE GROUSE HAS BEEN KEPT TOO LONG! I WONDER YOU CAN EAT IT!" "MY DEAR, 'WE NEEDS MUST LOVE THE HIGHEST WHEN WE SEE IT!'" (_Guinevere._)] * * * * * VOCES POPULI. AT THE FRENCH EXHIBITION. _Chorus of Arab Stall-keepers._ Come and look! Alaha-ba-li-boo! Eet is verri cold to-day! I-ah-rish Brandi! 'Ere, _Miss_! you com' 'ere! No pay for lookin'. Alf a price! Verri pritti, verri nah-ice, verri cheap, verri moch! And so on.