There are also telegraph offices in the corners of the lobby, with stained glass windows, from whence telegrams can be sent without delay to the Mediterranean, to Paris, St. Petersburg, New York, Washington, San Francisco, Madrid, Pekin, or any place in the bounds of civilization. As I turn from the contemplation of these offices, and from the benches where a number of messengers and smart-looking and handsomely-uniformed pages are in readiness to rush to the clubs in Pall Mall, to the Opera, or to the private residences of the members of the House, in obedience to the beck or nod of the "whip" of the government, (Sir Henry Brand,) in case of a division, I see before me in the doorway a magnificently attired gentleman, in black silk stockings, buckled shoes, and powdered hair and ruffles, wearing a bright sword at his hip. He looks like a picture stepped out of a frame of the period which Thackeray loved to dwell upon--when George the Third was king. This gentleman is none other than the Sergeant-At-Arms of the House of Commons, Lord Charles James Fox Russell, a scion of the great house of Bedford, of which Earl Russell is a member. How different he looks from the sergeant-at-arms of some of our State Legislatures, or even of the National Houses of Congress. Here is no promoted bar-keeper or reformed rowdy, but a gentleman bearing one of the proudest names in England, and befitting by position and character the elevated office which he holds. It is more than easy to believe that a slung-shot or revolver could not be pulled upon this gorgeous and venerated being while in the performance of his august duties. The most malicious derringer would be silent in his awful presence, and no slung-shot, however moulded, could ever impinge that hereditary forehead. [Sidenote: THE GREAT COMMONER.] A story is told of a man who once penetrated even to the floor of the House itself, and sat there on the benches, being taken for some new member by his colleagues who was yet to be sworn in. But before the morning broke, the House having sat all night, the horror of his position had so paralyzed him that his jetty hair had turned white. Stay, as I have no ticket I will throw myself upon the country and abide the issue. I sent in to the Hon. John Francis Maguire, M.P., my card, with the written desire that I should be admitted to the gallery, and then I awaited the issue, whether for the Tower or the House.