Of all the strangers who honour the Palace of Westminster with their presence none are treated with greater consideration than the reporters. This touching regard shown for the comfort of the Press is a flower of modern growth. It has blossomed forth within the last fifty years, watered by that love of publicity which is nowadays as common in St. Stephen's as elsewhere. Journalists are in the habit of complaining that the public no longer requires those full reports of parliamentary utterances which a few years ago were considered a very necessary part of the day's news. Short political sketches have taken the place of full verbatim reports, and very few papers give anything but a rough outline of the daily parliamentary proceedings. Politicians themselves, however, do not appear to share the general aversion to reading their speeches in print, and it is strange to contrast the warm welcome accorded by Parliament to modern journalism with the cold reception met with by reporters in the days of our ancestors. In the Order Book of the House of Commons there still exists a Standing Order which, though long in disuse, has never been repealed, declaring it a gross breach of privilege to print or publish anything relating to the proceedings of either House. This is but a relic of those distant days when the perpetual conflicts between the Commons and the Crown made secrecy a necessity of debate. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Parliament was anything but anxious that the result of its deliberations should be made public, except in such a form as it considered desirable. The Commons especially feared that information as to their intentions should reach the King's ears, and took every possible precaution to avert such a calamity. In this they were not altogether successful. During the debates on the proposed impeachment of the Duke of Buckingham, in 1626, members were very busy with their pencils. The King himself had as many as four or five amateur note-takers present to supply him with reports, and among the private members were many other unofficial reporters. Of these, perhaps, the most famous was Sir Symonds D'Ewes, the member for Sudbury, a lawyer with only one eye, devout, ambitious, conceited, and something of a snob.[439] Records were, to his way of thinking, the most ravishing and satisfying part of human knowledge. His historical researches had given him an acquaintance with precedents which was long the envy of his colleagues in Parliament. In 1629 he transcribed the Journals of both Houses from the original Journal books, adding comments of his own, and inserting various interesting speeches which he obtained from private manuscripts and diaries. When objections were raised to his incorrigible _cacoethes scribendi_, "If you will not permit us to write," he observed pathetically, "we must go to sleep, as some among us do, or go to plays, as others have done."[440] The contemplation of such tragic