e,
Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows."]

* * * * *

POLITICS UP TO DATE.

(_SPECIMEN LEADER FROM AN IRISH PAPER IN A CHRONIC STATE OF
REVOLUTION._)

WEDNESDAY, 9 A.M.--We appear this morning awaiting the future with
confidence and hope. So far, we have been able to conduct this journal
on patriotic lines. We have denounced the Leader of the Party as the
enemy of his country, and have applauded his opponents as the saviours
of society. But we cannot conceal from ourselves that the time may
arrive when this policy may be reversed. The hour may come--

10 A.M.--It has! We have much pleasure in informing our readers that,
after a vigorous fight (honourable to all who took part in it), we
have conquered. This paper is in our hands, and henceforward we shall
support, to the best of our ability, the Leader of the Party, and
denounce the infamous pretensions of his opponents; still, it would
be unwise to ignore the possibilities of the future. We may be
overpowered by a tyrannical majority. The time may come--

11 A.M.--It has! Hurroo! It was hard fighting to get back; but here
we are again, ready to denounce the leader, and support his opponents.
For the moment we are victorious, but who shall prophesy what may be
looming in the distant ages? The hour may come--

12 NOON.--It has! And now that we have again taken possession, we
must say we have never had so elegant a quarrel. The shillelaghs were
flinging about all over the place, cracking crowns in all directions,
and the scrimmages were just magnificent! It was an elegant row
entirely! But now to work. Our noble leader deserves his triumph, and
his opponents are nowhere. Still in the moment of victory, it would be
foolish to overlook the chances of to-morrow. The hour may come--

1 P.M.--It has! Be jabers, what a contest! But we have just
slaughtered them! Oh, it was a fine sight entirely! How the ink-pots
flew about! Easy now, let us to business. The shorter we make
our remarks the better, as no one can say what will be happening
hereafter. The hour may come--

2 P.M.--It has! With a vengeance! We have defeated them! Hurroo, boys!
This is not the time for composition! Tread on the tail of my--we
mean--our coat! Come on, ye dirty spalpeens! Hurroo!

[_Publication suspended until someone can be found--not
otherwise engaged--to write and print it, while someone else
starts a rival and "suppressed" edition._