n is up," says
one. You are alarmed; you think the bottle-holder is in a rage, and you
tremble for the consequences. Again you hear, "Lord John is down;" you
are distressed at the intelligence, the old champion of civil and
religious liberty you hoped would long have been preserved from such a
catastrophe. The gentlemen around you, however, listen to such
statements with the coolness of stoics, paying little or no regard to
such announcements. One says to another, "When are you on?" another
demands of his friend, whether he is off; another says he comes on at
nine. You are puzzled to know what manner of men you are amongst. They
are not strangers fresh from the country--they have too pale and
town-like a look for that; they are not members--because members feast in
another part of the house. You will soon see what they are! you leave
that room and enter another, in which are a few well-dressed personages
transcribing hurriedly, as if for life. The truth flashes upon you.
"These men are the reporters," you exclaim. For once, my good sir, you
are right; and if you go through that glass-door you will find yourself
in the REPORTERS' GALLERY.

We will suppose that for this time only the doorkeeper has relaxed his
usual vigilance, and you have managed to effect an entrance. There is as
much difficulty in getting a stranger into the Reporters' Gallery as in
getting Baron Rothschild into the House. As the gallery will not hold
more than thirty, it is quite right this should be the case. On the back
seats the reporters are sitting idle--some criticising the speakers in a
manner anything but complimentary--some sleeping--some reading a
quarterly; but on the front seat you see some dozen or thirteen, each in
a little box to himself, busily engaged. If the speaker be a great gun,
the reporter puts forward his utmost energies and takes down every
word--if he be one of the illustrious obscure the task is less difficult,
and a patient public is saved the painful duty of reading the _ipsissima
verba_ of Smith or Brown. Beside the reporter, in some cases, sits
another gentleman, who has, comparatively speaking, an easier office to
perform. He is the gentleman that does the parliamentary summary to
which you instinctively turn, instead of wading through the eight or nine
columns that give the debate itself. I believe the summary writer in the
gallery remains all night, while the reporters take their turns, which
last on a