“It will be no use going now,” said TIME, holding up his hour-glass; “it is five o’clock; the working day is practically over, and we shall find these sensible dogs travelling off to take a turn in the park, or pay a round of visits in search of the culinary receptacle that cheers, but does not intoxicate.”

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“Wrong again, young Cock-sure,” I said; “we shall just find our house of Commons settling down to the business of the night.  We begin about four o’clock in the afternoon, and peg away till any hour to-morrow morning that one or two Members please.  It is true we have a rule which enjoins the suspension of business at midnight; but instead of suspending business we can (and do) suspend the Rule, and sometimes sit all night.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Punch, gravely shaking his head, “we manage things much better than that at Westminster.”

Got my two friends with some difficulty across Palace Yard, eyed suspiciously by the police-dogs on duty.  One concentrated his attention on Mr. Punch’s dorsal peculiarity.

“We have strict orders from the Sergeant-at-Arms,” he said, “to examine all parcels carried by strangers.”

“That’s not a parcel,” I said, hurriedly, and taking him on one side, succinctly explained the personal peculiarity of my esteemed Master.  “Humph!” said the police-dog.  “Exactly,” I responded, and he let us pass on, though evidently with lingering apprehension that he was allowing a valuable clue to slip out of his hands, as it were.

“Wait here a moment,” I said, “till I get an order for your admission.”

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Absent only a few minutes; when I got back terrible commotion; Mr. P.’s friend was in the hands of the Police; they had attempted to take his scythe from him, and he had smartly rapped one on the head with his hour-glass.

“I’ve carried it a million years,” he said, swinging the scythe with practised hand, till he made a clean sweep of the police-dogs.

“Make it a couple of millions, whilst you are at it, young man,” said a sarcastic police-dog.

With some difficulty calmed him; explained that no one, not even a Member, was permitted to enter House with a scythe, or other lethal weapon.  Only exception made once a year, when Hon. Members, moving and seconding Address, are allowed to carry property-swords, which generally get between their legs.  TIME partially mollified at last, consented to leave scythe behind chair of door-keeper, where the late TOM COLLINS used to secrete his gingham-umbrella.

“It seems to me,” he said, “that the public are treated in this place worse than jackals.  Hustled from pillar to post, suspected of unnamed crimes, grudged every convenience, and generally regarded as intolerable intruders.”

“Ah,” said Mr. P., “we manage things much better at Westminster.”

“Order!  Order!” cried an angry voice, and Mr. P. and his companion were within an ace of being trundled out of the gallery, where strangers are permitted to see and hear whatever is possible from their position—­and it is not much.