“And is the country to have no service done?”

“The country gets quite as much service as it pays for,—­and perhaps a little more.  The clerks in the offices work for the country.  And the Ministers work too, if they’ve got anything to manage.  There is plenty of work done;—­but of work in Parliament, the less the better, according to my ideas.  It’s very little that ever is done, and that little is generally too much.”

“But the people—­”

“Come down and have a glass of brandy-and-water, and leave the people alone for the present.  The people can take care of themselves a great deal better than we can take care of them.”  Mr. Fitzgibbon’s doctrine as to the commonwealth was very different from that of Barrington Erle, and was still less to the taste of the new member.  Barrington Erle considered that his leader, Mr. Mildmay, should be intrusted to make all necessary changes in the laws, and that an obedient House of Commons should implicitly obey that leader in authorising all changes proposed by him;—­but according to Barrington Erle, such changes should be numerous and of great importance, and would, if duly passed into law at his lord’s behest, gradually produce such a Whig Utopia in England as has never yet been seen on the face of the earth.  Now, according to Mr. Fitzgibbon, the present Utopia would be good enough,—­if only he himself might be once more put into possession of a certain semi-political place about the Court, from which he had heretofore drawn L1,000 per annum, without any work, much to his comfort.  He made no secret of his ambition, and was chagrined simply at the prospect of having to return to his electors before he could enjoy those good things which he expected to receive from the undoubted majority of seventeen, which had been, or would be, achieved.

“I hate all change as a rule,” said Fitzgibbon; “but, upon my word, we ought to alter that.  When a fellow has got a crumb of comfort, after waiting for it years and years, and perhaps spending thousands in elections, he has to go back and try his hand again at the last moment, merely in obedience to some antiquated prejudice.  Look at poor Jack Bond,—­the best friend I ever had in the world.  He was wrecked upon that rock for ever.  He spent every shilling he had in contesting Romford three times running,—­and three times running he got in.  Then they made him Vice-Comptroller of the Granaries, and I’m shot if he didn’t get spilt at Romford on standing for his re-election!”

“And what became of him?”

“God knows.  I think I heard that he married an old woman and settled down somewhere.  I know he never came up again.  Now, I call that a confounded shame.  I suppose I’m safe down in Mayo, but there’s no knowing what may happen in these days.”

As they parted at Euston Square, Phineas asked his friend some little nervous question as to the best mode of making a first entrance into the House.  Would Laurence Fitzgibbon see him through the difficulties of the oath-taking?  But Laurence Fitzgibbon made very little of the difficulty.  “Oh;—­you just come down, and there’ll be a rush of fellows, and you’ll know everybody.  You’ll have to hang about for an hour or so, and then you’ll get pushed through.  There isn’t time for much ceremony after a general election.”