ADDRESSES."_)

"No hardship would be inflicted upon manufacturers, if
dangerous trades in general were subjected to such a
supervision as would afford the largest attainable measure
of security to all engaged in them. The case is one which
urgently demands the consideration of Parliament, not only for
the protection of work-people, but even for the protection
of the Metropolis itself. It should never be forgotten
that fire constitutes the gravest risk to which London is
exposed."--_The Times_.

The Fire King one day rather furious felt,
He mounted his steam-horse satanic;
Its head and its tail were of steel, with a belt
Of riveted boiler-plate proved not to melt
With heat howsoever volcanic.

The sight of the King with that flame-face of his
Was something exceedingly horrid;
The rain, as it fell on his flight, gave a fizz
Like unbottled champagne, and went off with a whizz
As it sprinkled his rubicund forehead.

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