But let us suppose we are fortunate enough to get a Speaker’s order, which admits us to a gallery before the other, and with well stuffed leather cushions. It is hard work sitting all night on bare boards, as one does in the Strangers’ Gallery. We get into the lobby just as the members are going in. What is that the officials are calling out? “Make way for the Speaker.” Of course we will; and as we do so, immediately sweeps by us a gentleman in full-dress, with black breeches, silk stockings, shoes and buckles, and a light Court sword. “Is that the Speaker?” one asks. Oh, no; he is merely Serjeant-at-Arms—he is the man who bears the mace, and sits in a chair of state below the bar, and is terrible in the eyes of refractory, chiefly Irish, M.P.’s, and for all which duties, though he is of the noble family of the House of Bedford, and is brother to Lord John Russell, he condescends to receive £1,200 a year. Well, next to the Serjeant-at-Arms comes the Speaker—the man whose eye aspiring orators find it so difficult to catch. Mr. Speaker has a judicious eye, and is wary as a belle of the season of her glances. Mr. Speaker is in full-dress; for he wears a flowing gown and a full-bottomed wig, and in his hand he carries a three-cocked hat; his train is borne by a train-bearer; behind him comes the Chaplain, and in this order they advance to the bar, and then to the table, where the Chaplain reads prayers prior to the formation of a House. In the meanwhile we present ourselves to the doorkeeper of the Speaker’s Gallery. “Your name, sir?” demands that acute official. “Nicks.” “Bricks, sir? I see no such name here.” “Oh, you must be mistaken—look again.” “No, sir, indeed there is no such name. I can’t allow you to pass up.” “What! not Nicks?” we repeat, indignantly. “Nicks, did you say, sir?” “Yes, to be sure.” “Oh, yes, I have that name; but you said Bricks.” “No, I did not,” growl we. “Well, sir, I suppose it is all right; but if Mr. Nicks comes, you must come out.” “Of course,” we reply, ironically, as we push the curtain on one side, and up we go.