Beetle" for some time.

The late Professor Thorold Rogers was for many years a familiar
Bohemianish figure in Parliament. He had a marked individuality, a
strong head and a rough tongue, an uncouth manner, sloppy attire, and
his conversation was anything but refined. Still he was kind and
amusing, and, for a Professor in Parliament, popular. Professors are not
liked in St. Stephen's, and never a success; and as a politician
Professor Thorold Rogers was no exception to this rule. It was he who
introduced me to the Sergeant-at-Arms' room, that _sanctum sanctorum_ of
the lively spirits of Parliament. Perhaps I ought correctly to call it
Captain Gosset's room, for although Captain Gosset was the
Sergeant-at-Arms, the Sergeant-at-Arms was by no means Captain Gosset.
An anecdote will illustrate this.

A friend of mine, a well-known journalist, travelling abroad during the
Recess, fell in with Captain Gosset, and they became companions in their
journey. A few days after they arrived home my journalistic acquaintance
was in the Inner Lobby of the House of Commons as the Sergeant-at-Arms
was passing through, and he called out, "How are you, Captain Gosset?
Any the worse for your journey?"

"I beg your pardon, sir, I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance.
You are mistaken."

"Nonsense, Captain! Why, we travelled together. I am----"

"That may be, but---- Oh, I see, you are thinking of that fellow Gosset.
Sir, I am the Sergeant-at-Arms!" And he strode off with the greatest
dignity.

I was agreeably surprised when I was introduced to the "Black Beetle."

[Illustration: THE BLACK BEETLE.]

"Here is Harry Furniss, Gosset" (not Sergeant, I observed); "now give it
to him."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Furniss. You see how I
appreciate your work." And he pointed to a row of black beetles, cut out
of _Punch_ and pasted on the wall, the rest of the wall being covered
with interesting and dignified portraits of Members. Here was Gosset at
twelve o'clock at night. At twelve noon he would be Sergeant-at-Arms,
with power to take me to the Clock Tower.

[Illustration: THE SERGEANT-AT-ARMS' ROOM. _From "Punch."_]

This room is still the Sergeant-at-Arms' office, but in it are no
portraits, no black beetles--on paper; there may be some living
specimens, for aught I know, haunting the old room in search of the
lively company, the pipes, and the huge decanters. The present
Sergeant-at-Arms is as unlike a black beet