_Friday, Midnight._--Since dinner-time there has been exhilarating scene in Palace Yard. Nearly every 'bus that has passed has dropped a Duchess at the gate. Four-wheelers, conveying Countesses, have regularly filed in; whilst, what Sir ROBERT PEEL would call "Noble Baronesses," have arrived on foot. As distinguished Novelist somewhere writes, "Lo! a strange thing has happened." On ordinary days House of Lords, which commences public business at 5.30, adjourns about 5.37. At this hour of midnight House still sitting, and no sign of Adjournment. Irish Land Bill under debate. Subject irresistible to Noble Lords. Have foregone their late afternoon drive in the Park. More than one has patriotically dined on a chop. A flush of honest pride mantles many a noble countenance. All very well for the Commons to boast of their long sittings; but see what the Peers can do when duty calls! At first a little consternation at the arrivals from without. But even that turns out well. There were stories of anxious wives communicating with House of Commons during All-night Sittings, and finding errant husbands not there. But here are Noble Lords unflinchingly serving their country, remaining at their post, whate'er betide. A beautiful and a soothing sight, which affects to tears some of the Commons, who sit in the Gallery, and look down upon it. _Business done._--Lords pass Report Stage of Irish Land Bill. * * * * * "HOME, SWEET HOME!" (_New Version, by a Much-Worn-out M.P._) "The welcome cry, 'Who goes home' sounds like a melancholy dirge through the rapidly-emptying lobbies."--Mr. OSBORNE MORGAN, M.P., _in the_ "_Nineteenth Century_." MIDST clauses and paragraphs though we may roam. Be it ever so dirge-like, there's no cry like "Home!" A charm undefined seems to hallow it there, After TANNER'S loud shindy and CONYBEARE'S blare. Home! Home! Sweet, sweet "Home!" Be it ever so dirge-like, there's no cry like "Home!" An exile from office, I will not complain, Give me only my calm "beauty sleep" once again; The birds singing sweetly at dawn be my lot To hear, not loud torrents of partisan rot. Home! Home! Sweet, sweet "Home!" Be it ever so dirge-like, there's no cry like "Home!" * * * * * CRICKET AT LORD'S. _Hits by Dumb Crambo, Jun._ [Illustration: A Patient Innings.] [Illustration: A Cut in front of Point.] [Illustration: Over!] [Illustration: Last Man. His usual form.] * * * * * [Illustration] NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.