And, behold the words that Gladstone uttered sounded like unto a death-warrant to the ears of Dizzey and his pals, and his nose turned blue when he thought it was U. P. with his greatness. Now in due time the Great Election Battle took place, and the Place-loving Tories, in spite of their back-sliding capers, were dead licked; and Dizzey retired to Buckinghamshire, and fasted for three whole days, and sat up to his blessed chin in sackcloth and ashes. For the voice of the Country was with Gladstone, for they knew well he was a Brick, and would hold the balance justly between the rich and poor. Now it was two days after St. Valentine, that the Liberal Chief buckled on his armour, entered St. Stephen’s, and prepared himself for the fight. And his war-cry was “Justice to all men,” “Liberty to Ireland,” and “Disendowment of the Irish Church.” And the sons of the Land of Buttermilk, shouted, “More power to you, Gladstone!” And lo, the cry caused certain prelates to curtail their shovel hats of their fair proportions and go into mourning, by converting their silk aprons into hatbands, at which the grunters nearly split their side with laughter. And there arose a cry from the exiled sons of Erin, which sank deep into the heart of noble Gladstone, and with the battle-axe of Mercy struck off their fetters and they were free! And there was loud cries of “Long life to noble Gladslone, the Liberator of the Land of Donovans!” And Hardy the bosom friend of Poleaxe Dickey the hero of Hyde Park, protested loudly against Gladstone and his measure, and he and Dizzey wept bitter tears, when they saw that they were licked. And the land of donovans and buttermilk shouted, No surrender, faugh o’ballagh! go it Gladstone, and the Sandys danced tullochgorum round the rims of their porridge-pots, and in whiskey, success to the Church Bill. Thus endeth the lesson for the day. LET US SAY. From all Church monopoly, good Gladstone, save us. Save us, good Gladstone. From being compelled to keep the fat shepherds of every creed. Good Queen deliver us. Spare us, good Queen. From maintaining such a large staff of idlers in silk aprons and shovel hats, Friends of Reform, spare us. Friends of Reform, spare us. From all undue taxes in the shape of tenths and sucking pigs. Common sense, save us. Spare us our grunters, we beseech thee. For the liberation of the exiled sons of Ireland, we thank thee, good Gladstone! In the name of the sons of Erin, we thank thee, oh, Gladstone. Hear that, oh, Dizzey. And now to Gladstone, the father of Reform, and the friend of the people, be all thanks due both now and for evermore, and success to the Irish Church Bill. So be it. H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles. A LITANY ON THE IRISH LAND QUESTION.