We shall treat the porters at Liverpool Street with more respect in future.

* * * * *

MICHAELMAS AND THE GOOSE.

(_Lines written under the threat of a Coal-strike_).

You for whose Mass by immemorial use,
When Autumn enters on his annual cycle,
We offer up the fatted goose
Mid fragrant steam of apple-juice,
Hear our appeal, O Michael!

Sir, do not try our piety too sore,
Bidding us sacrifice--a wrench how cruel!--
Her whom we prize all geese before--
The one that lays that precious ore,
Our priceless daily fuel.

Her output, as it is, shows want of will
To check the slackness growing rife and rifer;
And it would fall far lower still
(Being, indeed, reduced to _nil_)
If they should go and knife her.

Yet there are men who press the slaughterers' claim
In sympathetic language, talking loosely;
Among them Mr. GOSLING--shame
That anyone with such a name