e
assure them that we are not about to become political, neither have we
the slightest intention of being more prosy than usual--if we can help
it. It has occurred to us that a slight sketch of the general aspect of
'the House,' and the crowds that resort to it on the night of an
important debate, would be productive of some amusement: and as we have
made some few calls at the aforesaid house in our time--have visited it
quite often enough for our purpose, and a great deal too often for our
personal peace and comfort--we have determined to attempt the
description. Dismissing from our minds, therefore, all that feeling of
awe, which vague ideas of breaches of privilege, Serjeant-at-Arms, heavy
denunciations, and still heavier fees, are calculated to awaken, we enter
at once into the building, and upon our subject.

Half-past four o'clock--and at five the mover of the Address will be 'on
his legs,' as the newspapers announce sometimes by way of novelty, as if
speakers were occasionally in the habit of standing on their heads. The
members are pouring in, one after the other, in shoals. The few
spectators who can obtain standing-room in the passages, scrutinise them
as they pass, with the utmost interest, and the man who can identify a
member occasionally, becomes a person of great importance. Every now and
then you hear earnest whispers of 'That's Sir John Thomson.' 'Which? him
with the gilt order round his neck?' 'No, no; that's one of the
messengers--that other with the yellow gloves, is Sir John Thomson.'
'Here's Mr. Smith.' 'Lor!' 'Yes, how d'ye do, sir?--(He is our new
member)--How do you do, sir?' Mr. Smith stops: turns round with an air
of enchanting urbanity (for the rumour of an intended dissolution has
been very extensively circulated this morning); seizes both the hands of
his gratified constituent, and, after greeting him with the most
enthusiastic warmth, darts into the lobby with an extraordinary display
of ardour in the public cause, leaving an immense impression in his
favour on the mind of his 'fellow-townsman.'

The arrivals increase in number, and the heat and noise increase in very
unpleasant proportion. The livery servants form a complete lane on
either side of the passage, and you reduce yourself into the smallest
possible space to avoid being turned out. You see that stout man with
the hoarse voice, in the blue coat, queer-crowned, broad-brimmed hat,
white corduroy breeches, and great bo