BALFOUR REJOICES.

SO the toil of the session is over, My woes for a period cease, And hey for a journey by Dover To latitudes promising peace; Away to recuperate vigor— Away from obstruction’s mad spell— Away from the questions of Biggar— Away from the taunts of Parnell. No more my poor head shall be aching With night after night of debate— No more shall my soul feel a quaking At bald, irrepressible prate. And, though ocean attack me with rigor, While sea-sick, with joy I will dwell On the fact that I’m leaving Joe Biggar, And getting away from Parnell. No more to be quizzed on each capture Of priest or of peasant by night— I could dance the can-can in my rapture, Or stand on my head with delight. Play the banjo and sing like a nigger, Or like a wild Irishman yell Hurroo! I am free from Joe Biggar, And don’t give—ahem—for Parnell! Yet I feel an occasional spasm At thoughts of returning at all, ’Twere better to leap down a chasm Or under an avalanche fall; Or, fingers embracing the trigger, Let the pistol’s report loudly tell How I hated the queries of Biggar And the dolorous talk of Parnell.