A brisk debate, falling into most attractive sequence. This in measure accidental; looked like admirable stage management. First JOHN REDMOND, with his neatly-moulded phrases, his assumption of profound statecraft, his assertion that Tories please him not, nor Liberals either; his conclusion that since Government are on friendly terms with the major Irish Party, the minor (nine strong) will march into lobby with PRINCE ARTHUR, whom they used to hate, and JOSEPH of Birmingham, whom they scarcely love. Next JOHN MORLEY, stirred to unusually profound depths, his speech glowing above the unwonted fire. Then PRINCE ARTHUR, gracefully skating on exceedingly thin ice, incidentally dropping into imagery on successive phases of the married state, which House, ever alert for personal references, listened to with quickened interest. A scholar's current speech or writing is insensibly tinctured with flavour of his latest study. Odd that just now PRINCE ARTHUR should display this curiously minute knowledge and appreciation of various phases of married life as it is to be studied in books of reference. Finally, TIM, his truculence tempered by humour of the situation. JOHN REDMOND protested he had made no bargain with Opposition in transferring to them his handful of votes. PRINCE ARTHUR had confirmed disclaimer. Too much for tender-hearted TIM. Tears glistened in his eyes; his voice trembled; his hand shook; his body seemed to grow limp, as he lamented this last degeneration of ancient Irish spirit. "I have," he said, "been in alliance with the Tory Party before now, and may be again; but I know of no occasion when any Irish party gave their votes unless they got something for them." That only TIM'S fun. Overcoming his emotion, he, with ruthless force, pitiless logic, laid bare position of the new Party of the Muses. _Business done._--Parnellite Amendment, supported by Unionists, negatived by 256 against 236. _Tuesday._--If you want to make your flesh creep, you should have heard the SPEAKER just now challenging the Lord Mayor of Dublin, whom he discovered standing at Bar; and, as Sir WILFRID LAWSON adds, "not drinking." Lord Mayor got up in gorgeous apparel; scarlet gown, ermine-tipped, with gold chain gleaming across manly chest. Recalls days of yesteryear when DAWSON was Lord Mayor of Dublin. Being also Member for an Irish constituency, no autocratic SPEAKER might challenge his right to cross the Bar, whether in civilian dress, or in robes of office. On occasions when he had a petition to deliver he came down, cloaked, in a four-wheeler. Made the heart of Mr. COVE in Members' cloak-room stand still, when he suddenly threw back his wraps, and disclosed glittering garb beneath. Sat on front bench below gangway with inadequate legs partially crossed, his chain mysteriously clanking, motion understood at time to serve double purpose of calling attention to Lord Mayor's presence, and of hinting at the kind of bond that held Ireland to Great Britain.