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.