Ag. What matter, if the price was far too low?

  Cly. Then call you eighteen shillings low for coal?

  Ag. Yes, for “Prime Wallsend”—­what could you expect?

  Cly. Listen!  In passing ’long the public way
    I saw a notice telling of these coals. 
    It called them “ever-burning”:  said no skill
    Could put them out when once they were alight,
    Because they were “the best the world produced.” 
    I purchased some.  Ai! ai!  They turned out slates. 
    My household maidens by Prometheus swear
    They never saw such stuff for lighting fires. 
    What of it is not slag, that part is slate,
    And slated should they be that sold it me. 
    Moreover, when with anger I remarked
    To those who bore the sacks upon their backs,
    Within our cellars to deposit them,
    That they had better bear their loads away
    Seeing I ordered coals, not lumps of slate,
    They answered that, if they refused to burn,
    They might be useful for a Rockery! 
    So now they have the shillings, I the coals.

  Ag. And having them, we have no household fires.

  Cly. What then to do? You sit with idle hands.

  Ag. I cannot turn to Wallsend bits of slag.

  Cly. But you can seek the Archon, and denounce
    The man whose cunning robs our hearth of flame.

  Ag. (going out).  In what you say not nothing I perceive. 
    Women, in hunting cheapness, capture costs.

      CHORUS.  STROPHE.

      The puny race of men
      Soars, in imagination, to the skies;
      While tackling Science and Theosophy
      Their hands the coal-scoop grasp!

      CHORUS.  ANTISTROPHE.

      From high Olympus Zeus
      Smiles at the perjuries of coal-heavers. 
      Not always is the cheapest article
      The one that turns out best.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THINGS ONE WOULD WISH TO HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.

“WELL, GOOD-BYE, MISS SMITH.  TELL THE OTHERS I WAS VERY SORRY NOT TO FIND ANYONE AT HOME—­A—­A—­A—­EXCEPT YOU—­A!”]

* * * * *

A BOARD-SCHOOL CHRISTMAS.

(AN ANTICIPATION OF THE NOT VERY DISTANT FUTURE.)

[Illustration]

It was a very unseasonable Yule-tide.  Instead of the old-fashioned mild weather that had been the constant companion of Christmas for many years, the ground was covered with snow and the river blocked with ice.  However, thanks to modern improvements, the artisans had not been impeded in executing their four hours of labour as provided by a recent statute.  They had been sitting at their Club (supported by the State), reading the newspapers purchased out of the rates, and were only annoyed that no food and drink was supplied them free gratis and for nothing.