debate," says Townsend, in his History of Parliament, "had been foretold, and strangers attended in great numbers. Many ladies not having been enabled to obtain seats, it was ordered that the House should be cleared of the men strangers, which was done, when the ladies entered in such numbers as completely to fill both the galleries and the seats below the bar. At this moment of victory, a member, irritated by the expulsion of some gentlemen for whom he had procured places, insisted that the House should be cleared of all strangers. The enforcement of the standing order was a matter of course. But the officers found their duty of turning out the fair intruders no easy task: a violent and determined resistance was offered to them; and for nearly two hours the House was kept in a state of the most extraordinary ferment and commotion. In the Lords" the ladies were still more daring. In 1675, Lord Shaftesbury is recorded to have complained to the House of "those droves of ladies that attend all causes; it was even come to pass, that men hired or borrowed of their friends, handsome sisters or daughters to deliver their petitions." Even after the order of expulsion from the Commons, the ladies evaded the standing orders in the most desperate manner. Wraxall mentions that he has seen the Duchess of Gordon, habited like a man, sitting in the strangers' gallery; the beautiful Mrs. Sheridan was attracted to its precincts, similarly disguised, by the charms of her husband's oratory.

THE HOUSE OF LORDS-1845.

As we enter the strangers' gallery of the House of Lords, we are at once struck with the great calm which reigns throughout the apartment. What a change from the noisy Commons to this carpeted, cushioned, wax-candle lighted banquetting-room, for such it appears to be. Upon the wool-sack, just in front of the throne, sits the Lord Chancellor, seemingly half asleep; and at the table, the Earl of Shaftesbury, the chairman of committees, and general factotum of the House. Half a dozen noble lords,

who appear to be overcome by the influence of the "land of Drowsyhead," make up the whole audience. The style of speaking here is very different to that of the Commons': there is no excitement at all about it; noble lords address each other across the table as quietly as in a private conversation. Speakers the most vehement in the other House, directly they enter this, appear to be overcome by its influence. A dissipating of the electric particles appears to be continually going on; one only of all the ennobled Commoners appears even to maintain his wonted fire-Lord Brougham-and he perhaps is the Leyden jar of the House, the grand receiver of other members' abstracted vitality. He seems endowed with a superhuman activity; not for two minutes can he remain still in one placenow 'tis the Lord Chancellor he is pushing from the woolsack -now the Great Duke that he rouses from the state of torpidity into which he falls in the House. Noble lords seem to look upon the ex-Lord Chancellor, as he glides in and about the apartment, with much the same feeling as they would watch the electric eel swimming his dismal round in the tub at the Polytechnic. If he were touched, he would doubtless snap with a blue spark, and give a pretty tolerable shock.

In strong contrast to Brougham is Lord Campbell, his eternal and relentless enemy; in fact, his Old Man of the Sea, whom he is ever endeavouring in vain to shake off. If the one gets up and makes a statement in his usual brilliant but discursive style, the other is sure to follow close upon his heels, and, in his coarse Scotch accent, to come down with a cold-blooded calmness upon its most unguarded points. To the excitable Brougham this continual galling must be almost maddening; he turns now and then upon his enemy, but alas! Campbell, like the English at Waterloo, knows not when he is beaten.

We have spoken of the Duke of Wellington's apparent torpidity in the House-torpidity is scarcely the word; he seems to be in a deep slumber, his chin resting upon his breast, his arms crossed, and his legs crooked together; he looks the very picture of an old-very old man. The Great General, however,

ever,

for all appearances, is wakeful enough; not a word that his deafness will allow him to hear is missed. This he will prove by starting up, and by some plain statement of facts setting right some noble lord in mid-erratic flight. It is too evident, howfrom his manner, that age is fast doing its work upon him. He cannot speak two sentences consecutively without a painfully long pause between them, and his voice comes up from the bottom of his chest with an unearthly hoarseness. How much he strives, however, to overcome the weight years have put upon him! How erect he walks! With what vigour he mounts his horse, and canters away from the House! How perfectly he dresses-the blue frock and the white waistcoat, and splendidly cut pantaloons, without one taint of dandyism!-he is the best dresser as well as the best general in Europe.

The form used in the Lower House, of addressing the speaker, is not adhered to here, and the debates have accordingly a much greater conversational tone. There is little of that earnestness visible, which gives such life to the proceedings of the Commons. What have the peers, in fact, to be earnest about? They have nothing to fight for-nothing to gain-they are generally old men, many of them "used up," to use Charles Matthews' phrase. We see none of the youthful blood, ambitious and daring-a Smythe with his brilliant sparkling speech--a Lord John Manners, who, despite of all his faults, is still the Sir Philip Sidney of our peaceful age; or an Ashley, who ennobles afresh his noble blood by his sympathy for the poor-these, and such as these, would indeed be out of place beside those ennuied old peers who take the House as a mild form of excitement, a change for an hour or two from the endless small talk of the clubs, and Cerito's legs at the opera.

Yes, it is a painful change, the few paces we take between the Lower and the Upper House. In the one we see all the sap and vigour of the great English people from whom this assembly directly draws its life. In the other, worn out and sleepy wardens of a garrison, who buy their safety, time by time, by the surrender of their outworks, still having the pru

dence for are they not Englishmen ?-to see that by political as well as military usages, punishment is justly reserved for those who obstinately persist in the defence of an untenable position.

SECOND-EDITION MEN IN THE METROPOLIS.

As regularly as the evening comes round, the better class of West-end streets are now infested with organized bands of newspaper touters, who shout invented news at the top of their voices. Each band confines itself to one district, which it works thoroughly, four or five generally going together, under the command of a captain, who is commonly a better educated man than the rest. It matters little to them what the news really is, they take the word from their leader, who invariably drills them before issuing but, and gets them up in proper names, and in geography, no easy matter for the common Saxon tongue, considering that it has to spit out "skoffs" and "vitches," and to pronounce mouthfuls of consonants as hard and as irregular as so much spar. The Grosvenor-square district leader is called Lord John Russell, or the Premier, by his men. This at least is his "full-dress name," the Gov'nor being a term used by his familiars. This individual is the most noted of his class. He possesses a vivid imagination, takes Sebastopol at will, and slaughters "Rooshians" up and down the streets in such numbers, that we wonder Nicholas has any subjects left at all. Now and then he invents some disaster to the British, which makes many a listening heart inside those dark, impassable-looking, house-fronts, leap for fear, a fact which we think imperatively calls for the interference of the police, for real grief as it is, is sown broadcast amongst us, and we need not the addition of imaginary horrors. With this one exception, the tricks of these fellows to dispose of their wares, dishonest though they be, are laughable enough. The other evening we happened to be present, unobserved, at the council of war of a quartet of these

worthies, overheard the plan of operations, and subsequently witnessed the manner in which it was carried out, as thus :(SCENE.-Inside of a Newspaper Office-Second Edition men folding up Evening Papers.)

1st Newsman.-Well, Gov'nor, what's the game to-night?" Governor.—'Aint nuffink up-so all on 'e holler dreadful slaughter of the British in the Crimea.

2nd Nervsman.-That cock 'ont fight agin, Gov'nor; I've hollered that afore, and the nobs sends out their flunkies to say as how they'll give us in charge if we harrers up their feelinks

them ways.

3rd Newsman.-Bless'd if Bill aint right! Come, Gov'nor, tip us somethink new.

Governor.-Cuss the bobbies; they 'ont let anybody get a honest penny no how. Well, then, let's have 'sass'nation of Prince Menchikoff.

1st Newsman.-Why, we blowd'n up a Tuesday.

2nd Newsman.-And sent 'en off in chains to Siberier Wednesday.

3rd Newsman.—And sunk 'en in the Twelve 'Postles all round the square, last night as ever was.

Governor.-Shut your traps, mates. Let's have the old dodge-Great victory-Capture of Sebastopol-Destruction of fleet-20,000 Rooshans killed. They 'aint got no friends, so we may kill as many on 'em as we like. Now mind and holler

altogether, with a vengeance.

Unanimous Newsmen.-That's the ticket!—(Exit in different directions, and noise in street without).

1st Newsman.-Sebastopol-Slaughter-20,000 RooshansCapture of fleet. News just arrived this evening-SlaughterRooshans.

go in,

Flunkey up area.-Here, you sir, what's all them lies about? 2nd Newsman.-What's the odds to you? you'd better Jeames. Don't you hear your master a-ringing for you? [Flunkey disappears chop-fallen.] Old Gentleman in street-Anything fresh to-night, my mne?