Begorra, I'm not in much av a humour for writin' this week, for sure me ould frind Sir Herkuliss has been ordhered to the right-about face, as we used to say in the milishy an' volunteers. 'Pon me conshinse, its the last time I'll ax the boys at home to vote for Gladstone, so it is. The mane page 87 spalpeen, one av his first ax (not the axe he chops down the threes wid) is to rimove the Guvnor. Undher the cloak o' promoshin, he's given Sir Herkuliss the Cape, but sure its jist done to annoy mesilf an' Sir George, so it is, bad luck to the thing else. An' thin he's sindin' us Sir Arthur Gordon, a gintleman I niver hard av before in the hole coorse o' me life, so [didn't. I'm tould he conies from Feed-Ye, an' if that's the case, he should take up his quarthers down among yer Christchurch folks, where he'd be a grand ox-sillary to the soup kitchen, bekays he'd undherstand how to Feed Ye. I sthruck off the followin' gim to ixpress me sorrow at partin' wid Sir Herkuliss. I'm gettin' it printed on green satin for presintashun:—