This tall stout man in black is the door-keeper.

'Any room ?' 'Not an inch--two or three dozen gentlemen waiting down-stairs on the chance of somebody's going out.' Pull out your purse--'Are you _quite_ sure there's no room ?'--'I'll go and look,' replies the door-keeper, with a wistful glance at your purse, 'but I'm afraid there's not.' He returns, and with real feeling assures you that it is morally impossible to get near the gallery.

It is of no use waiting.

When you are refused admission into the Strangers' gallery at the House of Commons, under such circumstances, you may return home thoroughly satisfied that the place must be remarkably full indeed.

{122} Retracing our steps through the long passage, descending the stairs, and crossing Palace-yard, we halt at a small temporary doorway adjoining the King's entrance to the House of Lords.