"The Hon. Member had availed himself of the privilege accorded to Members of Parliament in debate to fire a shameful barbed arrow at Colonel CADDELL, in order that some of the mud might stick."--_Colonel Saunderson in the House of Commons_. Come, listen to my story: it's a sort of shilling-shock tale, With no end of fire and fury, and a modicum of blood, And a Colonel who mixed metaphors as Yankees mix a cocktail, And a quiverful of arrows, shameful arrows, barbed with mud. It was DILLON who had used them, and he spoke of Tipperary, Tipperary new and rentless, where the tenants have combined. And the Parnellites were gathered like the chicks of Mother CAREY, When they feel the tempest rising, and give warning of the wind. And the pale and angry Tories sat impatient of the battle. And the benches of the Commons, where they love a fight, grew full; And, although they knew 'twas better not to hurry people's cattle, They implored their fiery Colonel to oblige them with a bull. But the Colonel needs no prompting, straight rises to address them, And his eye now flames in fury, and now twinkles like a star; And he turned on Mr. PARNELL'S men, and didn't rightly bless them, This flashing, dashing, slashing _militaire_ from North Armagh. And before a man could whistle there were ructions and denials, Shouts and countershouts of anger--quite a House of Commons scene; While the Colonel, who had bottled all his wrath, poured out the vials On the heads of Irish gentlemen whose wigs were on the green. 'Twas in vain they sought to daunt him; like a flock of noisy sparrows When a hawk comes grimly swooping, or like moths that tempt the wick, So they scattered when the Colonel told the House of shameful arrows, Which were fired (I quote the Colonel) in the hope that mud might stick. When Sir BOYLE, the ever famous, smelt a rat (you've heard the story)-- Saw it floating in the air, he promptly nipped it in the bud; But I think our modern Colonel gets the greater share of glory For inventing shameful arrows that could only spatter mud. And, oh, ye sons of Erin, when the coat-tails next are trailing, Make your weapons on this pattern, think of SAUNDERSON, his bull; And no mother's son will suffer, though the missiles should come hailing, If you only use mud-arrows, or shillelaghs made of wool * * * * * DEVOUT WISH OF IRISH LANDLORDS FOR MR. BALFOUR.--"May his shadowing never grow less!" * * * * * [Illustration: "FIGURES OF SPEECH." _Balfour_ (_the Showman_). "NOW, YOU'D LIKE TO SEE SIR WILLIAM V. HARCOURT IN FOUR REMARKABLE SITUATIONS."] * * * * * ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT. EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P. [Illustration: A New Subscriber to _The Morning Post_.]