(_Latest Irish Edition of the Old German Romance_.)

[In the course of the Debate last Monday week, Mr. DILLON said, "I was
never shadowed."]]

Irish Constabulary Vote on; Prince ARTHUR lounging on Treasury Bench;
prepares to receive Irishry; engagement opens a little flat, with
speech from JOHN ELLIS, oration from O'PICTON, and feeble flagellation
from FLYNN. Then Prince ARTHUR suddenly, unexpectedly, dashes in.
Empty benches fill up; stagnant pool stirred to profoundest depths:
ARTHUR professes to be tolerant of Irish Members, but declares himself
abhorrent of connivance of Right Hon. Gentleman above Gangway. Talks
at Mr. G., who begins visibly to bristle before our very eyes as
he sits attentive on Front Bench. ARTHUR in fine fighting trim;
Ministerial bark may be labouring in troubled waters; a suddenly
gathered storm, coming from all quarters, has surrounded, and
threatens to whelm it; MATTHEWS may be sinking under adversity; the
Postmen may pull down RAIKES; GOSCHEN is gone; OLD MORALITY'S cheerful
nature is being soured; there is talk of Dissolution, and death. But
if this is Prince ARTHUR'S last time of defending his rule in Ireland,
it shall not be done in half-hearted way. Come storm, come wrack, at
least he'll die with harness on his back.

The accused becomes the accuser. Called upon to defend himself, he
turns, and makes a slashing attack on his pursuers, carrying the
war into their camp. Scorning the Captains and Men-at-arms, he goes
straight for Mr. G., and in an instant swords clash across the table,
and shields are dinted. Nothing more delightful than to hear Mr. G.
complaining, as he rose, and took his coat off, that Prince ARTHUR