aghast at the
proposal, and walked hurriedly away. We were permitted to stand at the
glass door giving entrance to the gallery and peer upon the House, which
struck me as being very empty. The door swung easily to and fro as the
men passed in and out, taking their turn. The temptation proved
irresistible.

"I think I'll go in," I said.

[Illustration: OLD STAGERS.]

"Very well," dear old Walter hoarsely whispered. "Turn sharp to the
right, sit down on a back bench, and I daresay no one will notice you."

At the corner of the bench, presumably guarding the doorway, sat a
portly gentleman in evening dress, with a gold badge slung across his
abundant shirt front. He was fast asleep, and I passed along the bench,
sitting down midway. At that time there were no desks in front of these
back benches, which were tenantless. I suppose my heart beat
tumultuously, but I sat there with apparent composure. At length I had
reached the House of Commons, and eagerly gazed upon it, feeling like
some watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken;

Or like stout Cortez when, with eagle eyes,
He stared at the Pacific.

[Illustration: Fast asleep.]

I don't know how long I sat there; probably not five minutes, certainly
long enough to be struck with the smallness of the chamber, the
commonplace appearance of the personages forming the historic assembly,
and the perfect manner in which they dissembled their interest in
current proceedings. Then I became conscious of a movement in the sunken
boxes before me, where the reporters, taking their turn, sat. Heads were
turned and whispered consultations took place. Someone woke up the
portly gentleman, whom through many later years I knew as Steele, the
chief janitor of the Press Gallery.

In time, then far off, he became the possessor of a cottage and garden
in Kent, whither, wearied with his legislative labours, he used to
retire from Saturday to Monday.

[Illustration: Roses.]

In summer-time he always brought me two or three roses, which he put in
my hand with an awkward sort of flap, as if they were a slice of bacon
he was depositing on a counter. That was his way of intimating that it
was of no consequence. He noticed that I always comforted myself through
long debates and all-night sittings with a handful of flowers set in a
little glass on my desk, which was generally upset in the course of the
evening by some unsympathetic reporter borrowing my box during