By way of balancing eccentricity of uproarious Wednesday, the sitting just drawing to close has been unrelievedly dull. Yet it was the sitting solemnly set aside for Irish votes. Battle-royal expected, with nothing left at its close but few fragments that had once been GERALD BALFOUR, and here and there the limb of an Irish Member. Nothing happened, not even a division. Only long succession of dreary diatribes, with GERALD BALFOUR occasionally interposing with new promise of benignant sway. "Very odd," said Truculent TIM, annoyed to find himself mollified. "The voice of the new Chief Secretary is uncommonly like the voice of ARTHUR BALFOUR. But the hands promise to rule after the fashion of the hands of JOHN MORLEY." _Business done._--All the Irish votes passed. _Friday._--House sat to-day, pegging away again at Supply, so as to prorogue next week. Navy Votes on; Cap'en TOMMY BOWLES attempts to boss the show, making light of Lord High Admiral JOKIM, openly alluding to Corporal HANBURY as a horse-marine, this too much for an ancient friendship strained by altered circumstances. "TOMMY," said the Financial Secretary to the Treasury, turning round upon his former ally, after he had been up for twentieth time dictating marine tactics to the Sea Lords and policy to the First Lord; "did you ever hear a story LUBBOCK tells about the Maori convert? As he had not been seen for some weeks inquiry was made as to his welfare. 'Oh,' explained the chief of his tribe, 'he gave us so much good advice that at last we put him to death.' Think it over TOMMY. It's a nice story, and there's a moral in it." _Business done._--Nearly all. * * * * * [Illustration: GENTLE EXERCISE. _Mrs. Jones._ "COME ON, OLD SLOWCOACH! LET'S RACE UP THIS NEXT HILL, OR WE'LL BE LATE FOR TEA!" [_Jones is beginning to doubt the wisdom of having sold his Pony and Trap, and taken to Bicycles. He lives seven miles from a Town where Mrs. J. takes him shopping four times a week with the greatest regularity._ ] * * * * * A PIECE FULL OF POINT.