Sunset came, and still the fight went on; the gas was lit, the crowd in the galleries began to thin, but the contest continued; the crowd returned, by and by, with hunger and thirst appeased, and aggravated the hungry and thirsty House by looking contented and comfortable; but still the wrangle lost nothing of its bitterness. Recesses were moved plaintively by the opposition, and invariably voted down by the University army.

      At midnight the House presented a spectacle calculated to interest a stranger. The great galleries were still thronged — though only with men, now; the bright colors that had made them look like hanging gardens were gone, with the ladies. The reporters’ gallery, was merely occupied by one or two watchful sentinels of the quill-driving guild; the main body cared nothing for a debate that had dwindled to a mere vaporing of dull speakers and now and then a brief quarrel over a point of order; but there was an unusually large attendance of journalists in the reporters’ waiting-room, chatting, smoking, and keeping on the ‘qui vive’ for the general irruption of the Congressional volcano that must come when the time was ripe for it. Senator Dilworthy and Philip were in the Diplomatic Gallery; Washington sat in the public gallery, and Col. Sellers was, not far away. The Colonel had been flying about the corridors and buttonholing Congressmen all the evening, and believed that he had accomplished a world of valuable service; but fatigue was telling upon him, now, and he was quiet and speechless — for once. Below, a few Senators lounged upon the sofas set apart for visitors, and talked with idle Congressmen. A dreary member was speaking; the presiding officer was nodding; here and there little knots of members stood in the aisles, whispering together; all about the House others sat in all the various attitudes that express weariness; some, tilted back, had one or more legs disposed upon their desks; some sharpened pencils indolently; some scribbled aimlessly; some yawned and stretched; a great many lay upon their breasts upon the desks, sound asleep and gently snoring. The flooding gaslight from the fancifully wrought roof poured down upon the tranquil scene. Hardly a sound disturbed the stillness, save the monotonous eloquence of the gentleman who occupied the floor. Now and then a warrior of the opposition broke down under the pressure, gave it up, and went home.

      Mr. Buckstone began to think it might be safe, now, to “proceed to business.” He consulted with Trollop and one or two others. Senator Dilworthy descended to the floor of the House and they went to meet him. After a brief comparison of notes, the Congressmen sought their seats and sent pages about the House with messages to friends. These latter instantly roused up, yawned, and began to look alert. The moment the floor was unoccupied, Mr. Buckstone rose, with an injured look, and said it was evident that the opponents of the bill were merely talking against time, hoping in this unbecoming way to tire out the friends of the measure and so defeat it. Such conduct might be respectable enough in a village debating society, but it was trivial among statesmen, it was out of place in so august an assemblage as the House of Representatives of the United States. The friends of the bill had been not only willing that its opponents should express their opinions, but had strongly desired it. They courted the fullest and freest discussion; but it seemed to him that this fairness was but illy appreciated, since gentlemen were capable of taking advantage of it for selfish and unworthy ends. This trifling had gone far enough. He called for the question.

      The instant Mr. Buckstone sat down, the storm burst forth. A dozen gentlemen sprang to their feet.

      “Mr. Speaker!”

      “Mr. Speaker!”

      “Mr. Speaker!”

      “Order! Order! Order! Question! Question!”

      The sharp blows of the Speaker’s gavel rose above the din.

      The “previous question,” that hated gag, was moved and carried. All debate came to a sudden end, of course. Triumph No. 1.

      Then the vote was taken on the adoption of the report and it carried by a surprising majority.

      Mr. Buckstone got the floor again and moved that the rules be suspended and the bill read a first time.

      Mr. Trollop — ”Second the motion!”

      The Speaker — ”It is moved and — ”

      Clamor of Voices. “Move we adjourn! Second the motion! Adjourn! Adjourn! Order! Order!”

      The Speaker, (after using his gavel vigorously) — ”It is moved and seconded that the House do now adjourn. All those in favor — ”

      Voices — ”Division! Division! Ayes and nays! Ayes and nays!”

      It was decided to vote upon the adjournment by ayes and nays. This was in earnest. The excitement was furious. The galleries were in commotion in an instant, the reporters swarmed to their places. Idling members of the House flocked to their seats, nervous gentlemen sprang to their feet, pages flew hither and thither, life and animation were visible everywhere, all the long ranks of faces in the building were kindled.

      “This thing decides it!” thought Mr. Buckstone; “but let the fight proceed.”

      The voting began, and every sound ceased but the calling if the names and the “Aye!” “No!” “No!” “Aye!” of the responses. There was not a movement in the House; the people seemed to hold their breath.

      The voting ceased, and then there was an interval of dead silence while the clerk made up his count. There was a two-thirds vote on the University side — and two over.

      The Speaker — ”The rules are suspended, the motion is carried — first reading of the bill!”

      By one impulse the galleries broke forth into stormy applause, and even some of the members of the House were not wholly able to restrain their feelings. The Speaker’s gavel came to the rescue and his clear voice followed:

      “Order, gentlemen — ! The House will come to order! If spectators offend again, the Sergeant-at-arms will clear the galleries!”

      Then he cast his eyes aloft and gazed at some object attentively for a moment. All eyes followed the direction of the Speaker’s, and then there was a general titter. The Speaker said:

      “Let the Sergeant-at Arms inform the gentleman that his conduct is an infringement of the dignity of the House — and one which is not warranted by the state of the weather.” Poor Sellers was the culprit. He sat in the front seat of the gallery, with his arms and his tired body overflowing the balustrade — sound asleep, dead to all excitements, all disturbances. The fluctuations of the Washington weather had influenced his dreams, perhaps, for during the recent tempest of applause he had hoisted his gingham umbrella, and calmly gone on with his slumbers. Washington Hawkins had seen the act, but was not near enough at hand to save his friend, and no one who was near enough desired to spoil the effect. But a neighbor stirred up the Colonel, now that the House had its eye upon him, and the great speculator furled his tent like the Arab. He said:

      “Bless